If you don't terrify people, what's the point.

“You think we should tell them?” you asked.

It was deep into the shift. Jack was perched on his workstation, charting and clearing emails while you leaned against the counter, discussing logistics. So far you had decided to move to his place given he had two bedrooms and you had roommates. You’d settled on a city hall wedding, and he’d attend in uniform so the photos would be sufficiently intimidating to anyone reviewing your file. You had even a cover story: secretly dating for a year, with the marriage spurred by your residency rejection.

“Ask your attorney,” he muttered.

“I can’t. I’d be disclosing my intent to commit a felony. She’d have to report it.”

He shook his head, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.

“Don’t laugh,” you warned, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“Wasn’t gonna.” He finished typing, his hand coming up to rest at the nape of his neck. “I think we should tell them. It makes more sense if they know beforehand.”

“Yeah. I think so, too.” You sighed.

“Why don’t we invite a few people to dinner? We tell them then, and set a date for, say, a month out?”

“Jack, I don’t have a month.” Your voice turned firm, drawing his gaze upward to lock with yours.

“Then we tell them tonight, and you move in tomorrow.” He gave a single, confident nod—a gesture you had come to interpret as an order over the last three years.

“Who are you inviting?” You asked after a minute of silence. 

“Mmmm” His mouth twitched, “Robby, Ellis, Shen, Lena, Dana, and I think that’s it. You?” 

“Viv and my friend Sarah.” You said, considering he had covered almost half the people you knew. “You don’t have any family you want to invite?” 

He shrugged. “What family do you think I still have?” he asked while he typed.

“I don’t know? Uncle Sam?” 

Jack snorted. “He doesn’t like you very much.” Soft crinkles appeared in the sides of his eyes, a soft smile still on his face. “And we definitely need to marry soon so I can’t testify about your felonious plans.” His brows danced in that intimidating way of his, though you knew by now it was just teasing.

“Or I could just kill you,” you snapped.

He snorted. “You?”

You leaned forward, dropping your voice to a whisper. “I’m a bad, bad immigrant, Jack. You really shouldn’t trust me.”

He barked a laugh, but it was cut short by the screech of the ER doors swinging open.

“Multiple trauma, motorcycle versus SUV!” a paramedic shouted, shoving the gurney into the bay. “Compound fracture of the right femur, pelvic instability, likely massive internal hemorrhage!”

Jack was on his feet instantly, moving with an efficiency that silenced the room. He guided the team into Trauma 1, his hands already braced against the patient’s leg to prevent further damage. You were at the bedside before the gurney stopped rolling.

“Get the traction splint!” Jack barked. “And we need a pelvic binder, now!”

You snatched the binder from the supply cart. “I’m on it. You keep that traction.”

You didn’t miss the subtle arching of brows from the nursing staff at the command you’d just barked at the Chief. Ignoring the spike of nerves, you locked the binder around the patient’s pelvis, cinching the straps with everything you had while Jack held the femur steady.

“Pelvis is set,” you grunted.

“Good,” he breathed. His eyes met yours, intense and unnervingly patient. “We have to reduce this fracture before he loses the limb. I’m going to provide traction. When I tell you to, you align it. Don’t hesitate.”

You nodded, your heart hammering against your ribs. You were impossibly close; his forehead was nearly touching yours, and you could feel the heat radiating off him.

“On three,” Jack commanded. “One. Two. Three.”

He pulled, his muscles straining against the patient’s weight. You felt the resistance of the bone, the sickening grind as it moved, and then you reached in, guiding the bone back into its groove.

“Feel that?” Jack asked, his voice low and warm against your ear.

“I’ve got the snap,” you breathed. “It’s seated.”

“Stable,” a nurse called out. “Fracture reduced. Pelvis secure.”

Jack released the traction slowly. He stood, his face flushed, eyes scanning yours for a lingering tremor of shock. The room felt like it had suddenly shrunk; you were hyper-aware of the eyes on you.

“Good call on the binder placement,” he said, his voice snapping back into full attending mode.

You leaned against the trolley, your legs turning to jelly. “I learned from the best.”

Jack didn't smile, but the hard line of his mouth softened just a fraction. He turned to the team. “Get him to the OR. He’s going to be on the table for six hours.”

You stood by the gurney, already vibrating with the urge to scrub in, but when you reached for the chart, Jack shook his head.

“Not you.”

“Why?” you whined, your professional pride stinging.

He didn’t grace you with an answer, already walking toward the exit. You followed, stripping off your gloves and tossing them toward the bin as you hurried to catch up, ignoring the way the nursing staff watched you.

“I deserve that surgery!” You felt like a child trailing a parent, but you couldn't help it.

He stopped and turned, his eyes hard. “I said no.”

“Give me a reason.”

His brows creased into a cruel, amused scowl. “I don’t owe you one.”

Your eyes closed in instant regret. “Jack—” The name slipped out before you could stop it, earning a sharp look from him that challenged you to continue.

Before you could defend yourself, Ellis’ scoff cut through the air.

“‘Jack’?” she teased, leaning against the nurses' station. “Are we on a first-name basis now?”

You turned to her like a deer in headlights. “I—no, sorry, Dr. Abbott. I just got carried away.”

“Well,” Lena chipped in, trying to smooth things over, “it happens to the best of us, dear.”

Jack huffed a laugh, his gaze flicking to you with an edge of malice. “We’re together. We’ve been a couple for a while.” He took a step closer, a predatory glint in his eyes. “That’s why ‘Missy’ here thought she could talk to me—her attending—like that.” He leaned down until he was hovering just over your eyes, his voice a dangerous grunt. “Isn’t that right, honey?”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. He’d outed the relationship to shut them up, but the weight of it felt suffocating. You nodded, dumbfounded. You suddenly were grateful to be in an emergency room,suddenly very aware that this man could eat you alive.

The silence was deafening until Ellis finally broke it. “I knew you two were too close.”

“You didn’t tell me?” Viv asked from behind the station.

You shook your head, unable to form a word.

Lena smirked, extending a hand toward Mateo, who grumbled and handed her a twenty-dollar bill.

“What was that?” you asked, pointing at the exchange.

Jack walked away, entirely too relaxed, leaving you to deal with the fallout.

“She bet that you two had something,” Mateo said, not looking at you. “I bet you had something with Walsh.”

“Walsh?” Your brows creased.

“Yeah. She looks at you a lot,” Mateo said, as if it were obvious.

It took a few seconds for your brain to catch up. You turned to Jack, who had stopped a few feet away. When your eyes locked, you raised an eyebrow, hoping it screamed, I got my reason, thank you.

“Why did you think we had something?” Jack asked, his voice dropping.

Lena smiled at him. “Because you don’t flirt with her.”

You held Jack’s eyes in the silence, waiting for a reaction, but he turned and busied himself with a chart before you could read him.

“So,” Shen stood in the middle of the hub, looking between you and Jack. “Since when?”

“A while,” Jack said, his gaze fixed on the screen while every eye in the room pivoted to you.

“Like a year or so,” you managed to say, feeling the pressure.

Jack looked up from the other side of the hub, his head tilting the slightest bit to the side, his brows doing a lousy job of hiding his irritation.

“A year?” Lena asked, shocked. “How come we didn’t know?”

Jack stood straighter, sliding the tablet back into its slot. He squared his shoulders, looked the room in the eye, and said, “Because it’s none of your goddamned business.”

Then, he signaled you to come closer with one finger.

When you reached his side, his chin almost touched your shoulder as he whispered. "Don't ever think that because of our agreement, you’ll get to question my decisions on my floor again." 

You swallowed, nodding in silence as you made your retreat.

Jack slid into the booth beside you.

Not too close.

Close enough.

His thigh brushed yours beneath the table, and your body reacted with the embarrassing speed of a woman who had very recently learned exactly what that thigh felt like pressed between your legs.

Fantastic.

Completely normal.

Across from you, Robby settled beside Liv with a drink in one hand and an expression that made it very clear he was enjoying himself.

Liv looked even worse.

Smug. Bright-eyed. Far too pleased with the crime she had committed.

You stared at her.

Liv blinked at you. “What?”

“You know what,” you said.

Liv lifted her glass. “I have done nothing wrong.”

Robby leaned back beside her. “That’s not true.”

Liv turned to him. “Whose side are you on?”

Robby took a sip of his drink. “The side with appetizers.”

Jack glanced at the baskets in the middle of the table. “Smart.”

You looked at him. “Do not encourage them.”

Jack’s mouth barely moved. “I’m encouraging the appetizers.”

Liv pointed at him with her drink. “See? He gets it.”

You narrowed your eyes at her. “He was not invited into this.”

Jack’s knee brushed yours again beneath the table.

This time, you were almost sure it was not an accident.

Your fingers tightened around your glass.

Jack noticed.

He did not look at you right away. That would have been too merciful. Instead, he leaned back into the booth, slow and calm, and rested his arm along the top of the seat behind you.

Not around you. Not touching you.

Just there.

Close enough to feel the shape of him beside you. Close enough that if you leaned back even an inch, your shoulder would brush his forearm. Close enough that your entire body became aware of how easy it would be to close the distance.

You took a drink.

A large one.

Liv watched the movement, then looked from Jack’s arm to your face. Her mouth curved.

You lowered your glass. “Don’t.”

Liv leaned back, looking painfully innocent. “I was just noticing how comfortable everyone looks.”

Robby looked at Jack’s arm stretched along the back of the booth.

Then he looked at you.

Then, wisely, Robby picked up a fry instead of speaking.

Liv did not have the same survival instinct.

“You are glowing,” Liv said.

Your eyes widened. “I am not glowing.”

Jack’s mouth barely moved beside you.

You turned your head toward him. “Do not laugh.”

Jack looked at you. “I didn’t.”

“You thought about it,” you said.

Jack’s eyes stayed on yours. “Maybe.”

Heat moved through you so quickly that you had to look away.

Mistake.

Looking away meant looking at Liv, and Liv looked delighted.

“Oh, this is bad,” Liv said.

You pointed at her. “No.”

Liv held up one hand. “I’m just saying.”

“You are always just saying,” you said.

Liv leaned forward, lowering her voice as if she were sharing something private with the entire table. “I’m happy for you.”

Your eyes narrowed. You did not trust it.

You were right not to trust it.

Liv’s gaze flicked to Jack, then back to you. “I’m just glad breakfast worked out.”

Your whole body went hot. Jack went very still beside you.

Robby looked between you. “Breakfast?”

You stared at her. “Liv.”

Liv blinked at you. “What? You said he made breakfast.”

Robby’s brows lifted. “He made breakfast?”

Jack’s arm stayed stretched along the back of the booth behind you, but you felt the shift in him anyway. The faint tightening. The pause.

You refused to look at him.

Liv took a sip of her drink, eyes bright over the rim. “And coffee.”

You set your glass down very carefully. “Liv.”

“What?” Liv asked, far too pleased with herself. “That was respectful.”

“It was not,” you said.

Liv smiled. “It could have been worse.”

Robby looked at her. “How?”

Liv’s gaze flicked to you. You stared at her.

Jack’s voice came from beside you, low and dry. “Don’t.”

Liv pressed her lips together.

Robby looked at Jack. “Now I want to know.”

“No,” you said immediately.

Jack took a sip of his drink. “You don’t.”

Robby’s mouth curved. “That bad?”

Your face went hot.

Jack’s eyes stayed forward. “That private.”

The booth went quiet for half a second. Not awkward. Just enough for the words to land.

Your fingers tightened around your glass. Liv’s expression softened slightly, but only for a moment. Then she ruined it by smiling. You picked up a mozzarella stick because dignity was clearly no longer available. Liv watched you with open amusement.

You pointed the mozzarella stick at her. “You do not get to talk.”

Liv lifted her brows. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” you said.

Liv sat back. “I have been nothing but supportive.”

You smiled sweetly. “How’s the beard burn, Olivia?”

Robby choked on his drink.

Jack’s eyes widened beside you. Just slightly. Barely. But you saw it. Then his mouth almost curved before he looked down at his glass.

Liv’s mouth fell open. “You bitch.”

You took a sip of your drink. “You mentioned breakfast.”

“I did not mention what happened during breakfast,” Liv said.

Robby coughed into his fist, then reached for a napkin like he needed a second to recover.

Liv turned on him immediately. “You are not allowed to look pleased.”

Robby’s eyes were still watering, but his mouth curved anyway. “I’m not pleased.”

“You are extremely pleased,” Liv said.

Robby set his glass down slowly. “I’m remembering.”

Liv went very still.

The table went quiet for half a second.

Robby looked at her like he had forgotten there were other people sitting there. Like the joke had slipped into something else before either of them could stop it.

Liv’s cheeks went pink.

“That is not better,” Liv said, but her voice had changed.

Robby leaned back a fraction, still watching her. “It was for me.”

Liv’s mouth parted.

You blinked.

Jack went still beside you again, but this time it felt different. Less startled. More like he knew exactly when to stop looking across the table.

You looked away first.

Mostly to give Liv a chance to remember how breathing worked.

Unfortunately, looking away meant looking at Jack.

He was already watching you.

His arm was still stretched along the back of the booth behind you. His thigh was still close to yours beneath the table.

His expression was calm, but his eyes were not.

There was amusement there. And heat. And something private that made your stomach drop.

Jack leaned slightly closer, his voice low enough that it stayed between the two of you. “That was mean.”

You smiled into your glass. “She started it.”

“She did,” Jack said.

Your fingers tightened around your drink at the quiet agreement.

Across from you, Liv and Robby had dropped into their own low argument, but it barely sounded like arguing anymore. Robby said something too quiet for you to catch. Liv looked at him as if she were deciding whether to kick him under the table or kiss him.

Maybe both.

You turned your attention back to Jack because watching them felt suddenly intrusive.

Jack’s gaze dropped briefly to your mouth.

Only for a second.

Then he looked back into your eyes, and the corner of his mouth shifted as if he knew exactly what you were remembering. The kitchen counter. His hands under your shirt. His voice rough against your mouth.

“Leave it on.”

Your pulse jumped.

His knuckles shifted against the booth behind your shoulder.

Still not touching. Almost. Worse.

You breathed in carefully.

Jack leaned in a little more, close enough now that the noise of the bar seemed to fall away around his voice.

“For the record,” Jack said, “this is not what I meant when I said I wanted to see you again.”

Your breath caught. “No?” you asked.

“No,” Jack said.

You looked at him. “What did you mean?”

His eyes stayed on yours.

“Dinner,” Jack said. “Just you and me.”

The words landed somewhere low in your chest.

Across from you, Liv said something under her breath. Robby answered even lower.

You barely heard either of them.

“A date?” you asked.

Jack’s mouth curved faintly. “A date.”

You looked down at your drink because looking at him directly felt like a bad idea.

“This is kind of dinner,” you said.

Jack glanced at the table. “This is Robby and Liv committing crimes with appetizers.”

Your laugh came out softer than you meant it to. Jack’s gaze dropped to your mouth.

He did not kiss you.

That was worse.

“Next time you’re off?” you asked.

Jack looked back at your eyes. “Next time I’m off.”

“And if that’s not soon?” you asked.

“Then I’ll find time,” Jack said.

Simple. Certain. Him.

Your stomach flipped so hard you had to look away. Jack leaned back a fraction, giving you space he had not been asked to give. His arm stayed along the back of the booth behind you. Not around you. Not touching you.

Just close enough to make every inch of you aware that he could.

Across from you, Liv laughed quietly at something Robby said, softer than before, almost like she had forgotten she was supposed to be denying him.

Robby’s smile went crooked.

Their knees were probably touching under the table, too.

Good for them.

Terrible for you.

You reached for your drink again, mostly because your hands needed something to do.

Jack’s knuckles shifted behind your shoulder. Barely. Not touching, but almost.

Your grip tightened around the glass.

His voice came lower this time, quiet enough that it barely reached the space between you.

“Still with me?” Jack asked.

You turned your head. He was closer than you expected. Not too close. Close enough.

Your pulse jumped. “That depends.”

Jack’s eyes moved over your face. “On what?”

You swallowed, then glanced at his arm stretched behind you along the booth. “On whether you’re doing that on purpose.”

His mouth barely moved. “Doing what?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. Jack held your gaze, calm and infuriating. The man knew exactly what. He knew, and worse, he knew you knew. You looked back at your drink before your face could betray you more than it already had.

“Never mind,” you said.

Jack leaned in just enough for his voice to brush against your ear.

“Use your words, Trouble,” Jack said.

Heat moved through you so quickly you almost forgot where you were. You looked at him sharply. Jack looked back, quiet and controlled and far too aware of what he had just done to you.

Across the table, Liv’s voice cut through the haze. “I need another drink.”

Robby looked at the glass in her hand. “You have one.”

Liv looked down at it. Then she looked back at him. Then she finished it in two swallows and set it on the table.

“Now I don’t,” Liv said.

Robby stared at her.

You should have stayed seated.

You should have let Liv go alone.

Instead, you reached for your own glass like you had any business making decisions while Jack Abbot’s arm was still stretched along the booth behind you.

“I’ll come with you,” you said.

Jack did not move. That was a problem. Because Jack was sitting at the end of the booth. Because Jack’s knee was still close to yours beneath the table. Because his arm was still stretched behind you, and the only way out of the booth was past him.

You looked at him. Jack looked back. For one terrible second, neither of you said anything.

Then his mouth barely moved. “Need something?”

You swallowed. “To get out.”

His eyes stayed on yours. “Do you?”

Your stomach dipped.

Liv made a very small sound across the table.

Robby looked into his drink like he had suddenly found religion.

You narrowed your eyes at Jack, mostly because it was safer than reacting honestly. “Are you going to let me out?”

Jack held your gaze for half a second longer. Then he shifted. Not enough. Just enough to make you aware of exactly how close you would have to get.

Asshole.

You slid toward the edge of the booth, your thigh brushing his.

Jack’s hand dropped from the back of the booth to give you room, but he did not fully stand. He turned slightly, one hand braced on the table, the other low near his thigh, making a narrow space for you to pass through.

You could have asked him to move more.

You did not.

That was on you.

You stepped past him carefully, your hip brushing his knee, your hand catching the edge of the table for balance.

Jack’s hand moved automatically to your waist. Not grabbing. Not holding.

Just steadying. Warm, brief, and devastating.

Your breath caught.

Jack’s thumb moved once against your side before he let go.

“You okay?” Jack asked, voice low.

You looked down at him. He was too close. His face tipped up toward yours, his eyes dark, his mouth calm like he had not just put his hand on your waist in front of God and appetizers and everyone.

“Fine,” you said.

Jack’s gaze dropped to your mouth. Only for a second, long enough.

Then he looked back at your eyes. “Sure?”

You should have said yes and walked away.

Instead, you said, “You’re in my way.”

Jack’s mouth curved faintly. “Am I?”

Your pulse jumped.

Liv grabbed your wrist from the aisle before you could answer.

“We’re getting drinks,” Liv said brightly.

Jack leaned back, finally giving you the rest of the space. His eyes stayed on yours as you stepped into the aisle. You held his gaze for half a second too long.

Then Liv pulled you toward the bar.

The bar was busier than it had looked from the booth.

Bodies pressed closer near the counter, voices overlapping with the low pulse of music and the sharp clink of glasses. Liv slipped into a gap near the end of the bar like she had been trained for it, and you followed, still trying to shake the feeling of Jack’s voice near your ear.

“Use your words, Trouble.”

Absolutely not.

You were not thinking about that.

You were not thinking about his arm along the back of the booth, or his knuckles inches from your shoulder, or the way he had looked up at you when you stood, as if he were deciding whether to let you leave.

You also weren't thinking about the fact that he had asked you on a date.

“Dinner. Just you and me. Then I’ll find time.”

You exhaled slowly.

Beside you, Liv leaned both elbows onto the bar and stared straight ahead.

For once, she did not immediately say anything. That alone made you look at her. Liv glanced over her shoulder toward the booth. You knew better. You looked too. Mistake.

Robby was still in the booth, leaning back with his drink, watching Liv with an expression that was entirely too satisfied for a man who had nearly drowned himself over the words beard burn.

Beside him, Jack sat with one arm still stretched along the back of the booth where you had been sitting.

He was looking at you.

Your pulse jumped. You faced the bar again immediately. Liv faced forward, too. For half a second, neither of you spoke.

Then Liv exhaled. “We are so fucked.”

You nodded, still staring at the bottles behind the bar. “Completely.”

Liv pressed her lips together as if she were fighting a smile. “At least they’re hot doctors.”

A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. “That does help.”

“It does,” Liv said.

You glanced at her. Liv’s cheeks were a little pink, but her eyes were bright. Too bright. Like she was trying to be normal about Robby and failing just as badly as you were failing to be normal about Jack. Honestly, it was comforting. Terrifying, but comforting.

Liv turned slightly toward you, her shoulder brushing yours. “So.”

You closed your eyes. “Don’t.”

“So Forearms wants a date,” Liv said.

Your face warmed. You looked down, but your smile gave you away before you could stop it.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “He does.”

Liv’s expression softened. Just for a second. Then her mouth curved. “And you’re feeling very normal about that?”

You shook your head. “Not even a little.”

Liv smiled, warm and wicked. “Good.”

You looked at her. “Good?”

“Good,” Liv said, turning back toward the bar. “Because he is absolutely not feeling normal about you either.”

Your stomach flipped. You wanted to ask what she meant. You did not get the chance. The bartender passed by without stopping, and Liv lifted two fingers. He nodded, then got pulled toward someone else before he reached you.

Liv groaned softly. “He saw me. I know he saw me.”

“Maybe he’s scared of you,” you said.

“He should be,” Liv said.

You laughed.

At the booth, Jack heard it.

He had been trying not to watch you too closely.

Trying, apparently, was the important word.

Robby was saying something beside him, probably about Liv, probably about the movie, probably about the fact that he had no intention of walking back the word date no matter how many times Liv glared at him.

Jack should have been listening.

He was not.

His eyes were on you at the bar.

On the way your shoulders had loosened beside Liv. On the way your head tipped when you laughed. On the smile you were trying to hide because Liv had said something that made you soft around the edges.

Then Jack saw the man near the far end of the bar look at you.

Once. Then again. Slower.

Jack went still.

The man stood with two other guys, all of them half-turned toward the room, drinks in hand and too much confidence in their posture. The first one let his gaze move over you openly, not quick, not subtle, not accidental.

Jack’s jaw set.

The man nudged the friend beside him with his elbow.

Jack watched his mouth move. Watched his chin jerk in your direction. Watched the other two look. One of them grinned. Another nodded like he was giving approval.

Something sharp and unpleasant moved through Jack’s chest.

Robby stopped talking and followed Jack’s gaze toward the bar.

“Oh,” Robby said quietly.

Jack did not look away. “What?”

Robby leaned back slowly. “Nothing.”

Jack’s hand tightened around his glass.

Across the room, you still had not noticed.

You were looking toward the bartender, one hand wrapped loosely around your empty glass while Liv said something under her breath. You laughed again, smaller this time, and the man at the end of the bar watched your mouth like he had been invited to.

Jack set his glass down.

Robby looked at him. “Jack.”

Jack’s eyes stayed on the man. “I see him.”

“I know you see him,” Robby said.

The man pushed away from the stretch of bar where he had been standing with his friends.

One of them clapped him on the shoulder as he left.

Jack’s expression did not change.

That was how Robby knew it was bad.

The man started toward you. Slow. Casual. Already smiling.

Jack moved before Robby could say anything else.

At the bar, Liv was still glaring toward the bartender. “The bartender saw me.”

“You said that,” you said.

“He’s ignoring me on purpose now,” Liv said.

You shrugged. “Maybe he knows you’re going to order a complicated drink.”

Liv turned to you. “My drink is not complicated.”

“It has muddled fruit,” you said.

“That is not my fault,” Liv said.

You opened your mouth to answer.

You did not get a chance to answer.

“Busy night,” a man said.

You turned, caught off guard. He was closer than you expected. Around your age, maybe a little older, with a neat shirt, an easy smile, and the kind of confidence that felt rehearsed. Not threatening. Not exactly. But his eyes dipped too quickly before they came back to your face.

Liv noticed. So did you.

You gave him a polite smile anyway. “Looks like it.”

The man leaned one elbow against the bar. “You waiting for a drink?”

You lifted your empty glass slightly. “Trying to.”

His smile widened. “Can I buy you one?”

You opened your mouth, but did not get a chance to answer.

Because the air behind you changed.

A shift at your back. Warmth. Presence.

Jack.

His voice came low and calm from behind your shoulder.

“I’ve got it covered,” Jack said.

Your pulse jumped.

Liv went perfectly still beside you.

The man looked past you as you turned.

Jack stood close enough that you could feel him, not close enough to touch. His expression was controlled. His hand rested low at his side. His eyes were on the man, steady and unreadable.

Not loud. Not angry. Not making a scene.

Somehow, that made it worse.

The man’s smile faltered, then recovered. “Sorry, man. Didn’t know she was here with someone.”

Jack’s gaze shifted to you.

“She is,” Jack said.

Two words. Calm, certain, and devastating.

Your mouth went dry.

The man lifted both hands slightly. “All good.”

Jack did not answer him. He was still looking at you.

The guy stepped back, easy enough not to make it awkward, but his friends were still watching from the other end of the bar.

Jack noticed, and his jaw shifted once.

You looked at him, pulse already too fast. “That sounded jealous.”

“It was,” Jack said.

No hesitation.

No denial.

Your breath caught. You liked that. You liked that far too much.

Liv made a quiet sound beside you, then seemed to remember she had somewhere else to be.

“I’m going to…” Liv said, gesturing vaguely toward the booth. “Not stand here.”

You did not look at her. Neither did Jack.

Liv left anyway.

You held Jack’s gaze, heart beating too hard beneath your ribs.

“You know,” you said, softer now, “we haven’t actually been on that date yet.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I know.”

“So technically,” you said, letting the word sit between you, “he could buy me a drink.”

Jack’s mouth barely moved. “Technically.”

You smiled a little. “You don’t like technically?”

“Not when you’re using it to test me,” Jack said.

Your smile faltered. There it was. He had seen straight through you.

Of course he had.

“Is that what I’m doing?” you asked.

“Yes,” Jack said.

Your pulse jumped.

“And what are you going to do about it?” you asked.

Jack went quiet.

The bar moved around you. Glasses clinked. Someone laughed behind him. Music hummed low through the speakers. Jack did not look away from you. Then he set his glass on the bar.

“Take you outside before you make it worse,” Jack said.

Heat rushed through you so fast it almost made you dizzy. You should have had something clever to say, but you had nothing.

Jack’s eyes moved over your face. “Still playing?”

Your mouth went dry. “No,” you answered.

His gaze sharpened. “No?”

You swallowed. “Maybe a little.”

Jack leaned closer, just enough that his voice dropped against your ear.

“Then stop,” Jack said.

Your breath caught as he pulled back and looked at you.

“You want to leave?” Jack asked.

You nodded.

His eyes stayed on yours. “Words.”

“Yes,” you said. “I want to leave.”

Jack glanced toward the booth. “Robby.”

Robby looked up immediately. One look at Jack’s face. One look at yours.

Then Robby lifted his glass. “I’ve got it.”

Liv sat across from him with both hands wrapped around her glass, eyes wide and delighted.

You did not look at her for too long.

If you did, you might lose your nerve.

Jack held the door open for you.

Because apparently he could admit he was jealous, threaten to take you outside, and still hold the door like a gentleman.

Deeply unfair.

The night air hit your face, cool enough to make you inhale sharply after the heat of the bar. Behind you, the music and voices dulled through the closed door, muffled by brick and glass and distance.

Jack stepped out after you.

For one second, neither of you moved.

The main parking lot was packed, cars tucked into every space near the entrance. Headlights swept across the pavement as someone pulled in, slowed, and gave up immediately.

Jack nodded toward the far side of the building. “I’m in the overflow lot.”

You looked.

Past the line of cars, past the side of the bar, a smaller lot sat half-hidden behind a row of low shrubs and a single tired streetlamp. It was mostly empty, darker than the main lot, the pavement cracked in places where weeds had started to push through.

You looked back at him. “You parked in the murder lot?”

Jack’s mouth barely moved. “It’s overflow.”

“It’s where horror movies start,” you said.

Jack started walking. “Then stay close.”

Your stomach flipped. You hated that.

You followed anyway.

Jack walked beside you, not touching you, which somehow felt worse than if he had put his hands on you right there in the lot.

His shoulder nearly brushed yours. Nearly.

Every step was almost.

You lasted maybe ten seconds before you broke.

“You said I was with you,” you said.

Jack did not look over. “You are.”

Your pulse jumped.

“We haven’t even had our date yet,” you said.

“No,” Jack said.

“So that’s a little presumptuous.”

This time, Jack stopped.

So did you.

He turned toward you slowly beneath the weak spill of parking lot light.

“You liked it,” Jack said.

Your breath caught. It was not a question. He was not teasing. It was a fact.

“You don’t know that,” you said.

Jack stepped closer. Not enough to crowd you. Enough that your body noticed.

“Yes, I do,” Jack said.

He looked at you like he was done pretending he had not seen every reaction you had tried to hide.

“You liked that I came over,” Jack said.

You swallowed.

Jack continued. “You liked that I said it like it was true.”

Your pulse hit hard.

“You liked that I told him,” Jack said.

Heat moved through you. Dangerous and everywhere.

Jack’s hand came to your waist. Firm and certain. Possessive enough to make your knees feel unreliable.

“You’re trying to pretend this is just sex,” Jack said.

Your breath caught. The words hit too close and too fast.

You lifted your chin anyway. “Maybe it is.”

Jack’s eyes stayed on yours. Calm, certain, unmoved.

“No,” Jack said.

Your pulse jumped. “You sound very sure.”

Jack stepped closer. “With you? I am.”

You tilted your face up to him, eyes finding his.

“You can play,” Jack said, his hand staying on your waist. “I’ll be patient.”

Your breath shook as his thumb moved once at your side.

“But you know it’s not just sex,” Jack said.

Your lips parted. Nothing came out.

“You know it,” Jack said quietly.

Your fingers caught the front of his jacket before you could stop them. He looked down at your hand. Then back at your face.

“And I know you know it,” Jack said.

Your whole body went hot.

“Jack,” you said, trying to make your voice steadier than it felt. “We barely know each other.”

Jack went still. For one second, the air changed. Then his hand lifted from your waist to your jaw, his fingers warm against your skin as he tilted your face up to his.

“Try again, sweetheart,” Jack said.

Your stomach dipped.

“You know what my hands feel like,” Jack said.

His thumb dragged slowly along your jaw. “You know how I kiss you.”

His mouth brushed the corner of yours, not enough to be a kiss, just enough to make your breath catch. “You know what I feel like inside you.”

Your fingers tightened in his jacket as Jack’s other hand slid to your waist, pulling you half a step closer.

“I know what you taste like,” Jack said.

His mouth moved to your jaw and your eyes fluttered.

“I know the little sounds you make when you’re trying not to come.”

His lips touched the side of your throat. Slow. Hot. Deliberate.

Your grip tightened in his jacket. Jack felt it. His mouth curved against your skin.

“And I know the sounds you make when you can’t stop it,” Jack said.

Your knees nearly gave. His hand tightened at your waist, holding you there, keeping you upright. Keeping you honest.

“Jack,” you whispered.

He lifted his head just enough to look at you. His thumb brushed beneath your chin.

“Don’t tell me we barely know each other,” Jack said. “Not when I know you like that.”

Your breath caught. The words landed low and hot and somehow deeper than they should have. Jack’s eyes stayed on yours.

“And don’t use dinner to pretend this isn’t already something,” Jack said.

Your chest tightened. “Something?”

Jack’s jaw moved once. For half a second, the heat shifted. Still there. Still thick. But softer at the center. More dangerous because of it.

“I want the date,” Jack said.

Your fingers tightened in his jacket.

“I want dinner. I want you across from me. I want to hear you talk when you’re not trying to win.”

You stopped breathing as his thumb moved once along your jaw.

“But I also want this,” Jack said.

His hand tightened at your waist. “You.”

The word hit harder than it should have.

Jack looked at you like saying it cost him something and he had decided to pay it anyway.

“I want you,” Jack said. “And I know you want me.”

You tried to breathe.

His mouth lowered to your neck again, gentler this time, but no less devastating.

“You feel this like I do,” Jack said against your skin.

Your eyes closed.

“Don’t act like you don’t,” he murmured.

The words went straight through you. Your hand tightened in his jacket. His mouth curved faintly against your skin.

“There she is,” Jack said.

Your stomach dipped.

You hated how much that worked on you.

“You’re impossible,” you said.

Jack lifted his head, his eyes staying on yours. “You’re still here.”

Your gaze slid past him. Toward the truck. Dark and familiar. Parked several spaces away beneath the tired streetlamp.

Your first kiss came back all at once. His hands at your waist. Your back against the truck. His voice low against your mouth.

“If you keep making those sounds, I’m going to fuck you in the back seat.”

Jack followed your gaze. The silence changed. His hand stayed at your waist.

“You remembered,” Jack said.

Your throat tightened as you looked back at him. “Remembered what?”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Trouble.”

One word. A warning and a promise. A reminder that he could see straight through you and was done pretending otherwise.

You swallowed. “What?”

His voice dropped. “Don’t.”

Your breath caught because you knew what he meant.

Don’t dodge. Don’t play innocent. Don’t act like you did not know exactly where your mind had gone.

You looked toward the truck again. Then back at him.

“You said something about the back seat once,” you said.

Jack went still.

There it was. The memory, the almost. The thing he had threatened outside this truck and never done.

“I did,” Jack said.

Your pulse tripped. “Still mean it?”

Jack looked at you for one long second. Then his hand left your jaw. The loss of it made you almost lean forward.

Jack’s gaze stayed on yours as he reached past you and opened the back door of the truck.

The sound was too loud in the quiet lot.

Your stomach flipped.

Jack did not move you. He stood with one hand on the open door, eyes fixed on yours.

“You want the back seat?” Jack asked.

Your mouth went dry and you stared at him. Then at the open door. Then back at him.

“Yes,” you said.

Jack’s eyes darkened. “Say it.”

Your breath caught. “Jack,” you said.

His expression did not change.

“Say it,” Jack said again.

You swallowed. You could still go home. He would take you. You knew that.

Your fingers curled once at your sides.

“I want you in the back seat,” you said.

Jack held your gaze. “Again.”

The word hit hard. Because of the text. Because of the morning after. Because of every time he had made you say what you wanted and then given it to you. You took one step closer.

“I want you in the back seat,” you said again.

Jack’s eyes dropped to your mouth. Then back to your eyes.

“Good,” Jack said.

The word went through you.

Then his hand came back to your waist.

“Get in the truck,” Jack said.

You climbed into the back seat.

The leather was cool beneath your thighs, and the air inside the truck smelled like him. Clean soap. Coffee. Something warmer underneath that made your stomach twist.

Jack stayed outside for half a second, one hand braced on the open door. He looked at you. Not rushed. Not careless. Not like this was a game anymore. Your heart beat too hard beneath your ribs.

Then Jack climbed in after you and shut the door.

The sound cut off the rest of the world.

For one second, there was only the dark truck, the quiet lot, and Jack sitting close enough that your knees brushed his. He looked at you. You looked back. Neither of you moved.

Then Jack reached for you.

Not slowly or carefully. Not like he was trying to prove anything anymore.

His hand slid behind your neck, and then his mouth was on yours.

Hungry. Hot. Immediate.

The kind of kiss that stole the breath out of your lungs before you could decide what to do with your hands.

Your back hit the seat, not hard, just enough to make you gasp into his mouth. Jack followed the sound like it had done something to him, his body shifting closer, one hand braced beside your hip while the other stayed firm at the back of your neck.

He kissed you like he had been waiting all night.

Like the booth had tested him. Like the bar had pissed him off. Like the parking lot had finally made him say too much to stop now. You made a small sound against his mouth, and Jack’s fingers tightened once at your neck.

“There,” Jack said against your lips.

Your stomach dropped.

You barely had time to inhale before he kissed you again.

Deeper this time. Slower and somehow worse. His tongue brushed yours, and your whole body went soft and electric at the same time. Your hands caught in his jacket, pulling him closer before you could think better of it.

Jack went willingly, more than willingly. He leaned into you until his chest pressed yours, until the weight of him made the truck feel smaller, darker, warmer.

Your knees parted around him without permission.

Jack’s hand left the seat beside you and slid down your thigh, firm and possessive, dragging you closer until your hips shifted beneath him.

Your breath broke.

Jack’s mouth left yours just long enough for him to look at you. His eyes were dark. Not calm now. Not even close.

“You okay?” Jack asked.

The question came out rough.

You nodded too quickly.

His hand flexed against your thigh. “Words.”

Your heart kicked.

“Yes,” you said. “I’m okay.”

Jack watched your face for half a second longer, like he needed to believe you before he let himself move again.

Then his mouth was on yours. And there he was. The hunger. The heat. The thing he had been holding back behind all that patience.

You pulled at his jacket, and Jack shifted closer, one knee pressing into the seat between yours. His hand slid from your thigh to your waist, then under the edge of your shirt just enough for his palm to find bare skin.

Your body arched into him.

Jack groaned. Low and rough against your mouth, like he hated how badly he wanted you and loved it at the same time.

The sound ruined you.

Your fingers moved into his hair, and Jack’s kiss turned messier, his mouth dragging over yours with less precision, more need. He kissed your bottom lip, then the corner of your mouth, then along your jaw like he could not decide where he wanted to be and chose everywhere.

“Jack,” you breathed.

His hand tightened at your waist.

“I know,” Jack said against your skin.

You did not know what he meant. That he knew you wanted him. That he knew you were overwhelmed. That he knew exactly how close you were to falling apart and had every intention of taking you there.

Maybe all of it.

His mouth moved to your throat, and your head tipped back before you could stop it.

Jack followed the invitation.

He kissed your neck the same way he had outside, only worse now. Less restrained. Less polite. His teeth grazed your skin, not enough to hurt, just enough to make your breath catch and your hips shift beneath him.

Jack felt it.

His hand slid lower on your waist, pulling you closer.

“Careful,” Jack said.

Your laugh came out breathless. “You keep saying that.”

His mouth brushed your throat. “You keep needing it.”

Your fingers tightened in his hair.

Jack made a sound that went straight through you. Then he lifted his head and kissed you again, hard enough that your back pressed into the seat, hard enough that every thought in your head went quiet except him.

His hand moved up your side. Slow. Dragging heat with it. Not rushing. Not fumbling. Touching you like he had already learned enough to be dangerous and was very interested in learning more. Your jacket shifted open beneath his hand. His palm slid over your ribs, his thumb brushing just beneath the curve of your breast, and your breath hitched into his mouth.

Jack stopped. Barely. Just enough to look at you.

“Still with me?” Jack asked.

Your chest rose against his.

“Yes,” you said.

His eyes searched yours. “Tell me if you need me to stop.”

You nodded, but he did not move. His gaze sharpened. Your pulse jumped.

“I’ll tell you,” you said.

Jack’s jaw moved once.

“Good,” Jack said.

Then he kissed you again.

Softer for half a second.

Almost tender.

Like the check-in had cracked something open between the heat.

You felt it in your chest first, the ache of it, the way his mouth slowed but did not cool. The way his hand at your side stayed steady instead of demanding. The way he kissed you like he wanted all of you awake and present for this.

You pulled him closer.

Jack inhaled against your mouth.

Then the softness broke under the weight of everything else.

He moved into you, and you moved back, your body answering his before either of you said a word. His hand slid to your hip and pulled you beneath him, closer, closer, until there was nowhere for the wanting to go.

The truck windows had started to fog.

The lot outside disappeared into dark shapes and streetlamp haze.

Inside, there was only Jack.

His mouth. His hands. His breath catching when you tugged at his shirt. His forehead pressed briefly to yours between kisses, like he needed one second to survive you.

“You have no idea,” Jack said.

His voice was rough.

Your fingers stilled against his shirt. “What?”

His eyes opened. He looked at you so closely it made your chest hurt.

“What you do to me,” Jack said.

Your breath caught. There it was again. That thing underneath. Not just heat. Not just sex. Something warmer.

Scarier.

You swallowed. “Jack.”

He kissed you before you could say anything else.

Not to silence you.

To answer.

His hand slid up to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as his mouth moved over yours, hungry and emotional and too much in the best possible way. You held onto him because you had to. Because he was kissing you like he had already chosen something and was waiting for you to catch up.

Your chest ached. Your body burned. Your fingers slipped under the edge of his shirt, finding warm skin, muscle, the faint give of him beneath your touch.

Jack broke the kiss with a rough breath.

His forehead touched yours.

For a second, neither of you moved.

You could feel his pulse. Or yours. Maybe both. His hand stayed at your jaw. His thumb moved once against your cheek.

“You still want this?” Jack asked.

The words were quiet now. Serious. The heat did not leave. It deepened. You looked at him, breathless and dizzy and so far past pretending you almost laughed.

“Yes,” you said.

Jack’s eyes held yours. You touched his face, fingers brushing the rough line of his jaw.

“I want this,” you said.

His expression shifted. Something in him gave.

Then Jack kissed you again.

His mouth found yours, harder this time, and your hands moved just as quickly as his. His jacket shifted off one shoulder. Your shirt rode up beneath his palms. His fingers found bare skin, and the heat of his touch made your hips lift before you could stop them. Jack felt it. He pulled back just enough to look at you, breathing hard, eyes dark and fixed on your face.

“No more playing?” Jack asked.

Your pulse jumped. You shook your head. His gaze sharpened.

“Words,” Jack said.

“No more playing,” you said.

Jack’s jaw moved once.

Then his hand slid beneath your thigh and pulled you closer. The movement dragged a gasp out of you, your body shifting under his, the space between you disappearing all at once.

Jack kissed your throat once. Hard. Messy. More claim than tenderness.

Then his hips pressed into yours.

Your breath caught.

He was hard.

Hard enough that the realization went through you hot and immediate, stealing every clever thing you might have said.

Jack’s mouth brushed your ear, his breath rough against your skin.

“You feel what you do to me?” Jack asked.

Your fingers tightened in his shirt. You nodded before you could stop yourself.

His hand gripped your thigh.

“Words,” Jack said.

Your pulse hit hard.

“Yes,” you breathed. “I feel it.”

Jack went still for half a second, like hearing you say it did something to him. Then his forehead touched yours.

“Then let’s stop pretending we don’t feel this,” Jack said.

Your breath caught. For one second, neither of you moved. Then you kissed him. Not careful. Not soft. Not like you had anything left to deny.

You kissed him like an answer.

Jack made a rough sound into your mouth and reached for you immediately.

His hands went to your hips, your thighs, the button of your jeans. Everything was crowded and awkward in the back seat, too many limbs and not enough room, but somehow that only made it hotter. His shoulder knocked the seat. Your knee bumped the door. Jack swore under his breath when his hand caught on the edge of your jacket, and you laughed against his mouth, breathless and unsteady.

His eyes lifted to yours.

“Funny?” Jack asked.

“No,” you said, still smiling.

His mouth curved faintly. “Liar.”

Then he kissed you again, and the laugh disappeared completely.

His fingers found the button of your jeans. You helped him. Or tried to. Mostly, you made it worse.

Jack huffed a rough breath against your mouth. “Jesus.”

His mouth found your neck again as he worked your jeans down your hips, his hands firm and sure even with the awkward angle. You lifted enough to help him, and the movement made your body brush his. Jack went still for half a second. Then his grip tightened.

“Careful,” Jack said.

Your breath caught. “I’m not doing anything.”

His eyes came back to yours.

“You’re doing plenty,” Jack said.

Your stomach flipped. He pulled your jeans and underwear down together, working them awkwardly over your hips, then your thighs, then lower in the cramped space. One of your shoes caught. You swore softly. Jack’s mouth curved.

“Don’t laugh,” you said.

“I’m not laughing,” Jack said.

Your eyes narrowed. “You’re thinking about it.”

His eyes flicked up to yours. “I’m thinking about a lot of things.”

Your mouth went dry. The shoe finally came loose, and then your jeans were off, shoved somewhere onto the floor. Jack looked down at you. The humor disappeared from his face. Your breath caught at the way his expression changed.

Hungry. Focused. Almost undone.

Then your hands were on him.

His belt first.

Your fingers shook so badly the buckle slipped once, and Jack’s hand covered yours, not stopping you. Helping. Guiding. His breathing had gone rough again, his forehead almost touching yours while you unbuckled him. You got the belt open. Then the button. Then the zipper. Jack’s jaw flexed. Your hand brushed him through his boxers, and his breath broke.

“Fuck,” Jack said.

The word came out low and wrecked. It made your whole body ache. You pushed his pants down as far as the space allowed, both of you shifting and fumbling until they were low on his hips, then lower. It should have been awkward. It was. It was also so hot you could barely breathe.

Jack’s hand came back to your jaw, tilting your face up.

“You still with me?” he asked.

Your chest rose fast beneath him. “Yes.”

His eyes searched yours. “You sure?”

“Yes,” you said. “Jack, yes.”

Something in his face shifted. Then he kissed you. Deep. Hard. Messy enough that you felt it everywhere.

You climbed onto him because waiting another second felt impossible. Your knees pressed into the leather on either side of his thighs, your hands braced on his shoulders as you settled over him.

Jack’s hands went to your hips immediately. He held you there. Still. Too still.

Your breath shook. “Jack?”

His eyes shut for half a second. Then he opened them.

“Fuck,” Jack said again, quieter this time.

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

His jaw moved once. “No condom.”

The words hit the heated air between you.

For one second, neither of you moved. Jack’s hands stayed on your hips, but he did not pull you down. Did not move you closer. Did not let the need make the decision for either of you.

Your heart hammered. “Oh.”

His eyes stayed on yours. “I don’t have one.”

You swallowed. The pause should have cooled things down. It did not. If anything, the restraint in him made it worse. Made you want him more.

“I’m on birth control,” you said.

Jack went very still.

“And I’m clean,” you added, your voice softer now.

His grip flexed once at your hips. You could feel how badly he wanted to move. He still did not.

“I’m clean too,” Jack said.

Jack’s eyes held yours.

“But that doesn’t mean you have to say yes,” Jack said.

Your fingers tightened on his shoulders. “I know,” you said.

His jaw shifted once.

“You can still change your mind,” Jack said.

You nodded once. “I know.”

Jack looked at you. “If we do this—”

“Jack,” you said.

He stopped. You touched his face, your thumb brushing the rough line of his jaw.

“I want this,” you said. “I want you.”

His breath left him slowly. You leaned closer, your mouth brushing his.

“And I do not want to stop,” you whispered.

Jack’s eyes darkened. For one second, he looked like the words had ruined him. Then his hand slid from your hip to the back of your neck, pulling you down into another kiss.

This one was different. Still hungry. Still desperate. But deeper now. More honest.

Like the pause had stripped away the last easy excuse either of you had. You shifted above him, and Jack’s hands caught your hips again.

“Slow,” Jack said against your mouth.

Your breath caught. “I thought we were done pretending.”

His laugh came out rough and almost pained.

“We are,” Jack said. “That’s why I need you to go slow.”

You did not. Not really. You tried. For half a second, you tried.

Then the head of him pressed against you, hot and bare, and both of you went still. Jack’s hands tightened on your hips. Your breath caught. His did too.

“Fuck,” Jack said, the word barely more than air.

You sank down onto him. Not slowly enough. Not carefully enough. Not with any of the patience he had just asked for. Jack’s head tipped back against the seat, his jaw tight, his hands gripping your hips like he was holding onto the last piece of himself that still knew how to behave.

Your hands braced on his shoulders.

The stretch of him stole the sound out of your throat, then gave it back broken.

Jack’s eyes snapped to yours. “There,” he said roughly.

You could not answer. You could barely breathe. You took more of him, your thighs trembling around his, the cramped back seat making every movement awkward and too close and unbearably hot.

Jack looked wrecked already.

That should not have pleased you as much as it did. It did. You shifted your hips once, testing the angle, and Jack’s breath punched out of him. His hand shot to your waist.

“Easy,” Jack said.

Your nails dug into his shoulders. “I thought you wanted me to stop pretending.”

His eyes darkened.

Then his mouth was on yours again. Hard. Hungry. Gone.

The kiss broke almost immediately because neither of you could keep breathing right. Your forehead pressed to his, your mouth open against his as you started to move.

Small at first. Then faster. Needy. Uncontrolled.

The leather creaked beneath you. Your knee knocked the door. Jack swore against your mouth and pulled you closer anyway, his hands guiding your hips with a force that made your stomach flip. Rough enough to tell you he was done pretending, too.

You rode him in short, desperate movements, your jeans and underwear abandoned on the floor of the truck, his pants shoved down just enough, neither of you put together enough to care. Jack’s hand slid up your back under your shirt, hot against your skin. His other hand stayed at your hip, gripping hard enough to anchor you.

“You feel so fucking good,” Jack said.

The words came out low and ruined. Your body clenched around him. Jack groaned. His forehead dropped against your shoulder.

“Jesus,” he breathed. “Do that again.”

You did.

Jack’s mouth found your neck, messy and open and hot, his teeth grazing your skin as you moved over him. Every sound you made seemed to pull another one out of him. Every shift of your hips made his grip tighten.

It was too much. The crowded space. The fogged windows. The heat of him inside you. The way his mouth kept finding your skin like he could not stand not tasting you.

Your movements started to lose rhythm.

Jack noticed immediately. His hand left your hip and reached between you.

Your breath broke. “Jack.”

“I know,” he said against your throat.

His fingers found you, and your whole body jolted.

Jack held you tighter.

“I know,” he said again, rougher this time.

You buried your face against his neck, your hands fisting in his shirt as he touched you exactly where you needed him. Fast. Certain. Not teasing now. Not patient. He wanted you there. He wanted you gone. You rocked against his hand and the hard length of him at the same time, overwhelmed so quickly it almost embarrassed you. Jack’s breath turned ragged.

“That’s it,” he said. “Just like that.”

Your thighs started to shake. The pressure built fast, too fast, sharpened by everything that had happened before this. The booth. The bar. His jealousy. His mouth at your neck. His voice in the parking lot telling you not to pretend. Your body tightened around him. Jack groaned, low and desperate, his fingers working harder between you.

“Jack,” you gasped.

His mouth brushed your ear.

“Tell me you’re mine,” Jack said.

The words hit you like a match. Your eyes squeezed shut. Your body clenched around him hard enough that his breath broke.

“Tell me,” Jack said again, voice wrecked now. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you said.

The orgasm tore through you before the words had fully left your mouth. Your whole body locked around him, your face pressed into his neck, your hands gripping him like he was the only solid thing left in the world. Jack cursed, his hand still moving between you, dragging it out until your breath turned into broken little sounds against his skin.

“Again,” Jack said.

You could barely hear him through the rush in your ears. His hand gripped your hip.

“Again,” Jack said, rougher. “Say it again.”

Your mouth brushed his neck. “I’m yours, Jack.”

He broke.

Completely.

His hips drove up into yours once, hard and helpless, and then he came with a sound that sounded like it had been dragged out of him. His arms locked around you, pulling you down against him as he buried his face against your shoulder. Wrecked. Shaking. Yours.

For several seconds, neither of you moved.

You could feel him breathing. Feel his heart hammering against yours. Feel the heat of him inside you and the tremor in his hands where they held you.

The truck was silent except for both of you trying to breathe.

Then Jack’s hand slid slowly up your back. Not demanding now. Not possessive. Just there. Holding. His mouth pressed to your shoulder, softer than anything that had come before.

You closed your eyes. Your body still pulsed around him. Your chest ached.

Jack lifted his head just enough to speak against your skin.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

A laugh slipped out of you, shaky and breathless. Jack’s arms tightened around you, keeping you close.

You turned your face toward his. He met you halfway. The kiss was softer this time. Still hot. Still shaking at the edges.

But slower. Almost careful.

Like both of you knew something had happened that neither of you could tuck neatly back into the dark.

When you finally pulled back, Jack stayed close.

His forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed, his breathing still rough around the edges.

Neither of you said anything. There were probably things to say. Important things. Clarifying things. Terrifying things. You said none of them. Jack’s thumb moved once against your hip.

“You okay?” he asked.

His voice was quiet now. Lower than before. Almost careful. Your throat tightened. You nodded, then remembered who you were dealing with.

“Yes,” you said softly. “I’m okay.”

His eyes opened. He looked at you for a second too long, like he was checking for something beneath the answer. Then his hand came up to your face, his knuckles brushing your cheek.

“Good,” Jack said.

The word should not have made your chest hurt. It did. You shifted slightly, and both of you drew in a sharp breath. Jack’s jaw flexed.

“Careful,” he said.

Your mouth curved before you could stop it. “Still bossy.”

His eyes flicked to yours. Tired. Dark. Still heated.

“Still here,” Jack said.

Your smile softened. “Yeah,” you said. “I am.”

Something moved across his face. Not quite a smile. Not quite relief. Close enough to make your heart trip.

Then the reality of the back seat started to settle in. The cramped space. The fogged windows. Your jeans somewhere on the floor. His pants still shoved down just enough. The fact that neither of you had planned this and both of you had absolutely, catastrophically committed anyway. You glanced down. Then back at him. Jack followed your gaze. For one second, neither of you spoke.

Then his mouth twitched.

“Don’t you dare,” you said immediately.

Jack looked at you. “I didn’t say anything.”

You glared at him. “You were about to.”

“I was not,” Jack replied.

You shook your head. “You absolutely were.”

Jack’s hand slid to your waist, steadying you as you carefully shifted off him. Both of you inhaled through it. Your hands caught his shoulders. His caught your hips.

The separation felt too intimate somehow. Too much like an ending. You did not like that. Apparently Jack did not either, because his hand lingered at your waist even after you had settled beside him.

The truck felt colder immediately.

You reached awkwardly for your clothes, trying to find where the hell your underwear had gone. Jack bent slightly, then paused.

“What?” you asked.

He lifted one hand. Your underwear dangled from his fingers. Heat rushed to your face.

“Oh my God,” you said.

Jack’s mouth barely moved. “Found them.”

You snatched them from him. “Helpful.”

Jack’s mouth curved. “I try.”

“You are enjoying this too much,” you said.

Jack watched you, eyes dark again despite the softness in his face. “I’m enjoying a lot of things.”

You pointed at him with your underwear. “No.”

His brows lifted slightly. “No?”

You shook your head. “You don’t get to do that while I’m trying to put clothes back on.”

Jack’s gaze dropped briefly. Then lifted back to your face.

“Then put them on,” he said.

Your whole body went hot.

“You are impossible,” you muttered.

Jack leaned back against the seat, still watching you. “You’ve said that.”

“Because it keeps being true,” you replied.

You struggled back into your underwear, then your jeans, which was significantly less sexy than getting out of them had been. Your knee hit the back of the passenger seat. Your elbow bumped the door. At one point, you nearly lost your balance, and Jack caught your waist without hesitation.

“Easy,” he said.

You froze. His hand was warm through your shirt. Steady. Familiar already. That should have scared you more than it did. You looked at him. He looked back.

The teasing faded for half a second.

Then you finished buttoning your jeans because if you kept looking at him like that, you were going to do something reckless again.

Jack fixed himself beside you, movements efficient but not unaffected. His breathing was steadier now, but not completely. His hair was a little messed up from your hands. His mouth was swollen from yours.

You felt an unreasonable amount of pride about that. Jack glanced over and caught you looking.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said.

His mouth barely curved. “Liar.”

You looked away, smiling despite yourself. The silence after that was quieter. Not awkward. Not exactly comfortable either.

Something in between.

The kind of silence that came after crossing a line and realizing neither of you wanted to uncross it. Jack reached for your hand. You looked down as his fingers slid through yours. Simple. Careful. Devastating.

He did not say anything right away.

Neither did you.

Outside the truck, the overflow lot sat dark and empty beneath the tired streetlamp. Somewhere beyond the building, the bar door opened and closed, spilling a brief burst of music into the night before it disappeared again.

You squeezed his hand once.

Jack looked at you.

The words came before you could overthink them.

“You could come over,” you said.

Jack went still. Not dramatically. Not enough that anyone else would have noticed. But you did. His fingers tightened around yours.

“To your place?” he asked.

You nodded. Your pulse started beating harder again, but differently this time. Less frantic. More vulnerable.

“If you want,” you said.

Jack’s eyes held yours. “I do,” he said.

Simple. Immediate. No hesitation.

Jack looked toward the front of the truck, then back at you. “You sure?”

“Yes,” you said. “I’m sure.”

His expression softened by half a degree. Then his thumb moved over your knuckles.

“Okay,” Jack said.

That was all. It felt like something settling between you.

You reached for the door handle, and Jack stopped you gently with a hand at your wrist.

“Wait.”

You looked back at him.

For a second, his gaze moved over your face like he was memorizing something.

Then he leaned in and kissed you. Soft. Slow.

Too tender for the back seat of a truck in an overflow lot. Your chest tightened. When he pulled back, his mouth stayed close to yours.

“Now,” Jack said.

You smiled despite yourself. “So bossy.”

His mouth curved faintly. “You like that.”

You opened the door before he could see exactly how right he was.

Cold air rushed in.

The two of you climbed out of the back seat, a little rumpled, a little breathless, a little too quiet for what had just happened.

Jack shut the door behind you.

The sound echoed softly through the mostly empty lot. For half a second, you stood there beside him, not touching. The bar glowed behind you in the distance. Robby and Liv were still inside.

Jack opened the passenger door for you. You looked at him before you got in. His eyes stayed on yours, steady and dark and warmer than they had been all night.

“To my place,” you said.

Jack’s hand rested on the open door. “To your place,” he said.

Jack shut the door, then walked around the front of the truck. A second later, he slid into the driver’s seat beside you. The engine turned over.

The headlights cut through the dark overflow lot.

Neither of you said anything as Jack pulled out of the space.

But his hand found yours over the center console before you reached the road.