Page 81 of Under Pressure

“We have cheeseburger breath.”

I shake my head, not giving a shit. Our mouths are so close now, I could eliminate that final inch of distance with a slight tip of my chin. She’s not pulling away from me, either. I’m not the only one who wants this. I’ve never been surer of anything.

“You need to tell me if you regret what happened. Because if you do, I’ll let you go, and we can finish our food without another word of it. But if you don’t, then I’m going to kiss you. And after that, I want to make good on my earlier promise.”

Her breath audibly skips, and I go tense, waiting for the rejection to come.

“I don’t regret it. We didn’t do anything wrong. I . . . had a good time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, Beck. I?—”

Her words die against my lips. There’s nothing else I need to hear from her right now.

Just like last time, she kisses deeply, as if she wants to drown in me. Or maybe like she wants to be the one to drown me. Either way, it’s fucking perfect. I’m fully tangled up in her. The scent of her perfume, the feel of her skin beneath my fingers, and the way she tastes like my most perfect happily ever after.

I’ve always believed that fate was a hoax. That it’s a belief used to excuse your lack of plans or follow-through with the ones you do manage to come up with. You rely on some mystical force to forge your path for you, and then when things don’t turn out, you can put all the blame on it because, well, that’s just the way it was supposed to happen.

The very first time I felt that opinion shake was when I walked into Blank Page that first day and saw her standing behind the counter. It was like going back to high school, a time where everything was simple and easy and lacked the weight of every decision I made having consequences that could ruin my life. She was so familiar to me, even though we didn’t know each other well then, and she’d grown into a woman far, far beyond my wildest expectations.

But it was easy for me to write it off as two people living in the same city, going to the same coffee shop.

Then it became impossible to ignore the need to go back. Over and over again, even when it was obvious she clearly didn’t care for me much, I was there just so I could hear her voice. Her blunt rejection or brush-offs didn’t offend me, and they didn’t keep me from returning day after day or wishingthat when I was on the road, I could take a red-eye back to Vancouver just to see her.

Kissing her was when I knew, though.

It wasn’t a random decision that led me to her coffee shop, and it wasn’t just intrigue that kept me coming back. That was all fate, and even just acknowledging that feels incredibly humbling.

There’s no other explanation for the way my heart is leaping in my chest as she runs her hand over my shoulder to the back of my neck or the bliss flowing through my veins when she tugs on my hair and hauls me closer.

I lean over the centre console and palm her waist, trying to haul her across it, into my lap. She shakes her head, our lips refusing to separate. The refusal bites at me, but I let it go, remembering where we are.

“You hardly fit in that seat as is, let alone with me in your lap,” she whispers, explaining shyly.

My teeth graze her bottom lip as I groan. “Do you want to be risky with me?”

“Risky is all I feel when I’m with you.”

My throat tightens. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“I want you to feel safe with me,” I admit, my entire body burning.

Her eyes open just enough that I can see the pale blue colour of her irises. Even that’s enough to rock me. She swallows, and I hold my breath.

“I do.” Her fingers curl in my hair, and the tip of her nose runs along the bridge of mine. “You’ve never made me feel unsafe.”

I release my breath. It’s more than enough for me. Way, way more.

“Then get in the back seat with me.”

30

For half a second,I think he’s joking.

I haven’t fooled around in the back seat since I was a teen and the one and only guy who ever put any moves on me back then attempted to put his hands in my jean shorts. It was awkward and clunky, and he didn’t think to undo the button before rubbing me hard over my panties. The rest is a blur. From what I remember, I pretended to come just so he’d finally take pity on me and pull his numb hand free.