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“Yes. You lead. I follow.” His gaze drops to my mouth.

I’m falling, falling, falling. The ground is gone, and I have nothing to hold on to. All the barriers I carefully constructed around me, around my heart, crumble.

You lead, I follow.Those simple words did me in. He’s offering me control. Putting me in charge of this … whatever this is between us. The therapist’s advice comes back to me.

Take a chance.

Let it be.

My heart sprints. Each beat is a command. Take a chance. Take a chance. Take a chance.

I take a chance.

I lean in and kiss him. Our lips touch, soft and warm. We linger, not moving—not just yet. He waits for me to lead, and I do. I take charge, my mouth on his. I lick and nibble, shift in my seat and get closer, grabbing his jacket and pulling him to me. His hands go into my hair, and he anchors me to him. Our tongues play a chasing game, retreating and advancing in a dance as old as time.

Shivers dance on my skin, igniting fires everywhere. I want to climb on his lap, press myself against him, soothe the growing ache. The confined space fights us, keeps us from getting closer. It’s a curse and a blessing because going slow is the last thing I want to do. But I need to. Maybe if we go slow, we can make this last.

I pull away, just enough to part our mouths, our chests heaving in the same air. He presses his forehead to mine and kisses my cheek. His lips warm and damp on my skin. We stay like this until our breaths regulate, go back to normal, and the cold outside sneaks into the car again.

His eyes crinkle in the corners, his smile easy, happy. I want to kiss that smile and make it mine. But I sit back instead, still not sure of what’s happening. Heave in another deep breath. “I thought you said you didn’t get involved with students.”

His smile falters, and I want to smack myself. “I said I would never get involved with one ofmystudents. And I never have. Or any student.” He tugs at my hair gently. “But you’re not my student. And I have restrained myself for far too long.”

I shake my head, still in disbelief. “I had no clue.”

“This kiss is worth two years of watching you from afar.”

My cheeks burn. I press my hands on my face to stop the blushing. “I can’t believe you’ve been watching me for two years.”

“And now I sound like a total stalking creep.” He laughs, breaks the tension.

I want to stay here with him, but I have to go.

He’s watching me. “You have to go, right? Let’s get your car started.”

He grabs cables from the back seat, and we step outside. He has my car running in minutes, and I can’t help thinking if he’s also jump-starting my heart.

“I think you need a new battery. Your car may not start once you stop, and you’ll get stuck again. Do you have time to get a new battery before you have to go? I know a place, it should take no more than thirty minutes.”

I check the time on my phone. It will cut it close, but I can do it. “Yes, if it’s just half an hour.”

I follow him in my car to a place five minutes away. Dylan handles the conversation, haggles on the price and gets the battery installed and running. It’s surreal. I’ve never had anyone do anything like this for me. Ever. I have to hold back and stuff my hands in my pockets to keep from touching him.

“I know you have to go, but maybe we can talk? Tonight?” He tilts his head, his eyes amber-gold in the sunlight.

“Tonight’s okay.” Wind whips my hair into his direction, as if it craves his touch as much as the rest of me. He lifts a hand, drops it. Looks around. His gaze lowers to my mouth. I can still feel his lips on mine, still taste him.

I understand. There are rules. Rules we’re breaking. We’re in a public place with lots of people coming and going and not hidden from view in a deserted parking lot behind Gus’ bar like before.

“Tonight,” he confirms before walking away.

I watch him, questioning everything that happened. With each step he takes away from me, my doubts and worry grow. He can’t find out the truth about me.

So many complications.

He’s a good person. Responsible. Caring.

I’m a mess. Chaotic. Tainted. Broken.