Page 84 of The Wild Card

And we just… stand there. In the dark apartment. Neither of us is reaching for the light.

“So,” I say.

“So,” he echoes.

Another silence. My heart is beating so loud I’m sure he can hear it.

“That kiss—”

“We should probably—”

We both stop. We both wait.

“You first,” he says.

I take a breath. “That kiss. On the patio. That wasn’t… that wasn’t part of the arrangement.”

“No. It wasn’t.”

“So what was it?”

He’s quiet for a long moment. I can barely see his face in the dim light filtering through the windows, but I can feel the weight of his gaze.

“I don’t know,” he finally says. “I don’t know what it was. I just know I’ve been wanting to do it for weeks, and I couldn’t stop myself anymore.”

My breath catches. “Weeks?”

“Maybe before that.”

I think about all the moments I’ve been cataloging. All the glances I thought I imagined. All the times his hand lingered on my back a beat too long.

So it wasn’t just me. He’s been feeling this too—this pull, this heat, this tension that’s been building since the first mandatory cuddle session.

But what is this, exactly?

He takes a step closer. Then another. Until he’s standing right in front of me, close enough to touch, not touching.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admits, and it sounds like it costs him something. “This wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Since when do things go according to plan?”

His jaw tightens. “They’re supposed to. That’s the whole point of having a plan.”

I almost laugh. Of course that’s what’s bothering him—not the kissing itself, but the fact that the kissing wasn’t outlined in his roommate agreement.

“Crew.” I step closer, closing the gap between us. “We’re two adults who are attracted to each other. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

His eyes darken. “What are you saying?”

What am I saying?

I’m saying he’s gorgeous, and I’m wound up, and we live together, and maybe—just maybe—this fake relationship should come with some real perks. No strings. No feelings. Just… blowing off steam with someone I trust.

People do that all the time, right?

“I’m saying…” I reach up and straighten his collar, letting my fingers brush the warm skin of his neck. “We’re already pretending to date. Would it be so bad if some parts weren’t pretend?”

He goes very still. “You want to add a physical component to the arrangement.”