Page 94 of Blades Out
No. God, no.
My jaw clenched so tight something in my teeth ached.
I heard her move closer. Felt the air shift. The warmth of her body radiating against my back like a physical touch.
"You don't get to do that."
Her voice shook but held firm. Angry now. Raw.
"You don't get to pretend nothing happened." Another step. Close enough I could feel her breath. "You kissed me like you meant it. Like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. Then you vanish like I'm something you need to scrub off your skin."
My hands curled into fists at my sides. Every word landed like a blade between my ribs.
"It can't happen again." The response came automatic. Hollow. "You need distance. I shouldn't have touched you."
"Then stop acting like you want to."
The statement detonated between us.
I froze. Breath caught somewhere in my chest. Every defense I'd constructed crumbling to nothing under six simple words.
Stop acting like you want to.
Because she was right. Because despite every wall I'd thrown up, every attempt to create space, every cold word and averted gaze—she'd seen straight through to the truth underneath.
I wanted her. Again. Wanted her so badly it felt like dying.
She moved into my space before I could react. Suddenly, there—inches away, close enough I could count the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat.
I stepped back instinctively. My shoulders hit the wall. Trapped. Cornered by someone a foot shorter and half my weight, but somehow more powerful than any opponent I'd ever faced on the ice.
"Olivia—" Her name barely made it past my lips.
She placed both hands flat against my chest.
The contact burned through my hoodie. Hot. Shaky. Soft but determined. Her palms pressed over my heart like she could feel it trying to break through my ribcage.
I grabbed her wrists. Meant to push her away. Create the distance we desperately needed.
But my hands wouldn't cooperate.
My fingers wrapped around her wrists—gentle, trembling, holding her there instead of pushing her back. Betraying every intention I'd walked in here with.
She looked up at me. Eyes narrowed. Lips parted. Face flushed with anger and hurt and something else I couldn't let myself name.
"You're shaking," she whispered.
My grip tightened fractionally. "Stop."
"Stop what?"
Stop being everything I can't have. Stop looking at me like that. Stop making me want things I gave up years ago.
"This." The word came out broken. Desperate. "Whatever this is. It ends now."
"Liar."
Her pulse hammered against my thumbs. Quick. Frantic. Matching the rhythm of my own heart, trying to tear itself apart.
