Page 39 of Power
“I think staying locked in here is making it worse.”
Fair enough.
I glance at the clock. “I’m coming with you.”
She lets out a dry laugh. “Didn’t realize I needed a babysitter.”
I push off the desk and step toward her. “You don’t. But if you collapse in a ditch, I’d rather not deal with the paperwork.”
“There’s paperwork for ditch collapses?”
“There is when you’re under my roof.”
Her lips twitch, but she fights it. “Sounds like a terrible system.”
I shrug. “Blame the management.”
She shifts her weight, her arms still crossed, but I don’t miss the way her fingers flex against her skin, like she’s resisting the urge to reach for something—maybe brace herself, maybe me.
The damp strands of her hair cling to her collarbone, the scent of whatever she used in the shower still clinging to the air between us. Floral, but not delicate. Something richer, headier. Like jasmine at night, when the bloom is fullest, when it pulls you in before you even realize you’re breathing it in too deep.
I shouldn’t care how she smells. Shouldn’t care how the dim light catches the drop of water sliding down the curve of her throat. But I do.
She’s close, but fuck it’s not close enough.
It would be easy—too easy—to close the distance, to test if her skin is as warm as I know it must be. To see if she’d push me away or pull me in.
Her lips part like she has something else to say, but she hesitates, tongue darting out to wet them.
I could kiss her. If I leaned in just a little, if I reached for her, she’d have to decide to let me or walk away.
And damn it, I want to know which she’d choose.
Instead, she exhales and looks past me, like she’s already moving forward and taking herself away from whatever is going on between us now.
The moment snaps. “So at dawn, we leave.”
I nod once. “At dawn.”
***
The park is quiet, just a few early risers making their rounds, bundled in hoodies, lost in their own thoughts. She stretches, rolling her neck and testing her limbs like a caged animal about to be let loose. Then she takes off.
I match her pace easily. She’s fast, but I’m faster. The wind pushes against us, cold against my skin. Her breaths are stable,determined, but there’s something else underneath—a kind of desperation. Like she’s running from something she can’t outrun.
We push harder, the world narrowing to the rhythm of our feet hitting the pavement. It’s only when she starts slowing that I do too, following her to a bench beneath an old sycamore tree.
She braces her hands on her knees, catching her breath. “You…you really don’t get tired, do you?”
I smirk, stretching my arms across my chest. “You were the one who wanted to do this.”
She flops onto the bench, sighing. “Yeah, well. I forgot how exhausting it is.”
I sit beside her, and watch the early sunlight cut through the trees. The world feels different here. Less suffocating. She leans back, eyes closed, her skin still warm from the run.
“You’re staring,” she mutters.
I don’t deny it. “You like it.”
