Page 90 of How To Tackle A Crush
“I’m not talking about Paris catwalk beautiful,” I say quietly. “Who the hell needs that.”
She goes still.
“I mean the kind you notice slowly,” I continue. “The kind that gets more distracting the longer you look.”
My fingers brush lightly along her hairline.
“Like this spot,” I murmur, kissing her temple. “Where your hair never quite behaves.”
Her breath stutters slightly.
“These,” I say, brushing my thumb under her glasses mark and kissing the faint indentation on her nose. “Proof you actually live in your own head most of the time.”
A small, helpless laugh escapes her.
“These dimples,” I continue softly, kissing the corner of her mouth, “because you always look like you’re about to say something clever but aren’t sure if you should.”
Her hand comes up to my shoulder without her seeming to realise it.
“And this,” I say, kissing just below her ear, “because you go pink when you’re being brave.”
She exhales my name very quietly.
“And this,” I murmur, my hand settling over her heart, “because you feel everything properly even when you pretend you don’t.”
She swallows.
“No one’s ever said things like that to me,” she admits.
“They should have.”
My mouth finds hers again. Slower this time. Softer. Not the urgent heat from earlier. Something steadier. Intentional.
Her hands slide up my back as she kisses me with a quiet confidence that wasn’t there yesterday.
This time it isn’t about urgency.
It’s about staying.
About learning each other slowly. Touch becoming familiar instead of exploratory. Heat building in that quieter way that feels somehow more dangerous.
Outside London is waking up to a new day.
Inside we forget about the time for a little while longer.
Chapter 16
Ava
Iarrive early enoughto secure my preferred survival position. I could have headed back to the hotel straight after the game. I don’t actually need to be here. The article is about Jack, not this particular match.
Instead I join the pool of journalists filing into the small press room.
Because apparently I am now the kind of woman who shows up.
Still, bravery does not mean stupidity. I weave through the rows of chairs.
Back row. End seat. Minimal visibility. Maximum escape routes.
