Page 48 of Iced Out
She scoffed. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to look at me that way with her still clinging to you, acting as if she owns you.”
“I didn’t invite her to sit next to me.”
“But you didn’t push her away either, did you?”
I wasn’t giving her an answer, not when she seemed more than happy to have Simon next to her.
She shook her head. “You think you know me. You don’t. Not anymore.”
“I know what we are,” I said.
Her laugh was soft. Broken. “No. You know what wewere.”
My fingers itched. And before I could stop myself, I reached out—just a brush of knuckles along the curve of her hip.
She sucked in a breath. Froze. Just stared.
I stepped closer. Her back hit the car behind her. We were in the shadows between two parked cars, mostly hidden from the windows but not invisible. If Elise craned her neck, if Avery looked out at just the right moment… they would see. The risk only made my pulse kick harder.
My hand planted on the metal near her shoulder, caging her in. Her eyes darkened.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
But when my mouth crashed into hers, it was ignition—a spark to gasoline, and we were already soaked in everything that could burn.
She froze a fraction longer than she should have, like something else was in her head. For a second, I thought she might shove me off. But then her fingers fisted my shirt, gripping me like an anchor, the only thing keeping her from drowning.
And I let her. Because I was already gone.
The way she kissed me—fuck, it was ruin and resurrection. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t shy. It was teeth and tongue, a year of silence detonating between us. Every breath we didn’t take together. Every word we’d choked back. All of it surged through our bodies, wild as a power line snapping loose.
She tasted of salt and storm and home—every place I’d ever run from and every reason I wanted to stay.
Inside, a burst of laugher hit the glass. Mila broke just long enough to dart a glance toward the diner window, as if half-afraid someone was watching. Her lips were swollen, breath ragged, but when she met my gaze again, she didn’t pull away. She kissed me harder, daring the whole damn town to see.
Her mouth moved against mine, as though she could memorize the shape of redemption. Her hands slid up my chest, frantic, trembling, grounding herself and setting fire at the same time.
I grabbed her waist, hauled her tighter against me, her heartbeat crashing into mine. There was no space. No logic. Just her.
She kissed like she’d break if she stopped. As if this was all we had. I could feel her anger in the way she gripped me, taste her fear in the way her breath hitched when I deepened it.
And maybe that was why I couldn’t stop. I needed her to feel this. To know I still wanted her. Needed her. That she ruined me and rebuilt me in the same kiss.
I slid a hand in her hair, tilted her chin. She moaned into my mouth, and I swear it undid me.
Because she was right there—broken and bold and mine.
I kissed her, starved, as though she was the only thing that could fill the hollow in my chest. And maybe she was.
She made me desperate. Made me dangerous. And when she pulled away, just barely, breath ragged, eyes wild—I didn’t see the girl who left. I saw the girl I never stopped loving. The girl who could still bring me to my knees. Even if she was the one who taught me how to fall.
Then she shoved me back a step, our breath crashing between us. “That can’t happen again.”
“Why not?” My voice rumbled low.
She blinked up at me. “Because we don’t trust each other.”
The words hit harder than they should’ve. I knew why—I’d iced her out the second she came back. She’d vanished without warning, left me with questions and no answers. And she still hadn’t told me everything. Not about her mom. Not about that night.
