Page 13 of Glitches and Kisses (The Havenwood #2)

She let out a low, delighted chuckle, her lips curving into something downright wicked. “Oh, sugar,” she purred, voice dripping with amusement, “you are so fucked.”

I needed air.

I scanned the room, the crush of bodies pressing in on all sides, the heat clinging to my skin, the pulsing bass pounding in my chest like it was trying to crack me open.

The air felt heavy, thick, like it couldn’t quite make it to my lungs.

My gaze darted around, searching for a way out, and landed on the faint glow of the exit sign above a door near the bar.

That was all it took. I pushed forward, weaving between people, barely aware of the hands brushing my shoulders, the shouts of laughter, the spill of someone’s drink against my arm.

I just needed out. My palms hit the push bar, and I was through.

I slipped out the back exit of the Rainbow Taproom, stepping into the cool night.

The door clicked shut behind me, cutting off the thumping bass and the hum of voices, leaving only silence in its wake.

I breathed deeply, filling my lungs with the crisp late April air, pressing my back against the rough brick wall of the alley .

I pressed my palm to the back of my neck, trying to calm myself as the heat rose in my face.

“What the hell is wrong with me?”

I knew the answer.

I wanted Evan. Not just in passing, not just as a harmless attraction. I wanted him. His attention, his teasing, his touch. I wanted to be the one he looked at like that. And worse? I hated that I wanted it. Because wanting meant losing control. And losing control meant getting hurt.

And yet, here I was, already losing.

The sound of the door clicking open jarred me. The footsteps that followed were soft against the pavement, but I knew who it was before I even turned.

Evan was there. Breathless. Flushed. Curls a mess.

He stepped into the streetlamp’s glow, skin damp from the heat of the Taproom, the collar of his black shirt slightly soaked. The warm light hit his face, catching the lines of his cheekbones, the curve of his smirk, and that familiar amused spark lit up those hazel eyes.

He didn’t speak right away. Just leaned against the wall beside me, arms crossed, his body angled in a way that made it impossible to ignore him.

I stared straight ahead. I refused to give him the satisfaction of looking.

“You okay, Patel?” His voice was smooth, calm, too calm.

I scoffed, the sound coming out rougher than I intended. “I’m fine.”

I glanced up without meaning to, and there he was. He caught my eye, brow arched, head tilted, wearing that look that said he didn’t believe me for a damn second. “You sure?” He shifted, tilting his head slightly. “Because you looked like you wanted to murder me in there.”

My jaw tightened. “I wasn’t looking at you.”

Evan’s lips curved. Slow and knowing. “Liar.”

I turned to glare at him, but he just took a step closer, voice dropping lower, curling in the space between us.

“Tell me something.”

My stomach twisted. I swallowed. “What?”

Something unreadable shadowed his look, something that sent heat prickling up the back of my neck again. “Were you jealous?”

My pulse stuttered. The question hit deeper than I wanted it to, knocking something loose in my chest, something I’d been trying too damn hard to ignore .

Evan was watching me too closely now, studying every shift in my expression, every little betrayal of my body language. He was enjoying this, knowing he had me cornered, knowing I had no simple way out.

I kept my voice flat and detached as I looked back to the pavement. “No.”

Evan hummed, like he was considering that answer, like he was filing it away somewhere he could pull it back out later.

And then he moved. He brushed against my wrist. Barely a touch.

But my body reacted instantly. A hitch in my breath. The unmistakable buzz of awareness that licked up my spine, and pooled low in my groin.

Evan noticed. His lips twitched, his amusement deepening. “Sure you weren’t.”

He started to turn, to go back inside, but then paused. “Hey,” he said softly, voice low and just for me. “Look at me.”

I hesitated, heart pounding, but finally lifted my eyes.

He held my gaze, no teasing in it this time, just something real. Steady. Honest.

“I’m yours,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “If you want me.”

And just like that, he stepped back. Then he turned and disappeared through the door, the music swallowing him whole.

I stood there, rooted to the spot, heat thrumming through me, the echo of his words louder than anything the speakers could ever play. Fists clenched at my sides, my pulse pounding, my skin still burning from the ghost of his touch.

And I hated it. Because Evan was right. And that was the worst part of all. Because I did want him.

And now? Now he just confirmed I could have him. No games. No guessing. Just his.

So what the fuck is my problem?

The door clicked shut behind Evan, leaving me alone in the alleyway, my heart still knocking against my ribs. The cool air bit at my overheated skin, but it did nothing to quiet the buzz beneath it, the lingering charge from Evan’s touch, his words, the way he looked at me.

I needed a distraction. A reset.

With one last deep breath, I pushed off the brick wall and stepped back inside.

The Rainbow Taproom was still beating with electric energy. But this time, it didn’t feel suffocating. Maybe it was the whiskey. Maybe it was something else .

My eyes searched across the room until I spotted my group near the bar.

Callie, Sam, and Liam had taken over a booth, their drinks half-finished, their conversation lively.

Evan was with them, sitting relaxed against the worn leather, holding a beer bottle, watching something Sam was saying with a smile.

I could leave. I could go home, pretend none of this had happened, pretend I hadn’t just spent the last ten minutes outside trying to convince myself that I didn’t want Evan Mitchell.

Instead, I walked toward them.

Callie saw me first, lifting their glass with a smile. “Look who decided to rejoin the land of the living!”

I rolled my eyes but slid into the booth next to Sam.

“Figured someone had to make sure you degenerates didn’t burn the place down.”

Sam elbowed me lightly as he leaned in to say in my ear. “Bold talk for someone who abandoned us to sulk in the alley.”

“Needed air,” I said, but before I could elaborate, Callie slammed a shot glass in front of me.

Sam said, “Look! Some liquid air. Drink up.”

I hesitated for a half-second before grabbing it. “This is going to be a mistake.”

Callie offered an evil grin. “That’s the point.”

And just like that, the night turned.

Shot after shot, round after round, I stopped thinking so much. Stopped analyzing, stopped overcorrecting, stopped fighting the simple act of having a good time. The whiskey burned smooth and warm, and somewhere between the fourth and fifth shot, I caught myself laughing.

Not just the small, exasperated scoffs I usually let out when Callie or Sam said something ridiculous. But real, genuine laughter. The kind that shook through my ribs and made my cheeks ache.

And when I looked across the table, Evan was looking at me.

Not smug. Not cocky.

Just watching.

At some point, the conversation shifted to movies.

I couldn’t remember how it started. Probably some offhand remark I’d made about the song that was playing, something about how it sounded like it belonged on the soundtrack of a bad action flick, all explosions and zero plot.

Whatever it was, I’d opened my mouth and, in true Noah fashion, managed to say, “Honestly, modern cinema has completely abandoned narrative integrity in favor of cheap spectacle.” It came out more pretentious than I’d intended, and I knew it the second I took the next swig of my drink.

And Evan? Naturally, he spent the next fifteen minutes doing everything in his power to passionately defend every terrible action movie he could think of.

“Okay, but hear me out,” he said, gesturing wildly with his beer bottle, “Isn’t the whole point of an action movie that it’s supposed to be ridiculous? Like, if I’m watching something called Explosion City: Revenge Protocol , I’m not expecting an Oscar-winning screenplay.”

I scoffed. “ Explosion City is not a real movie.”

“It should be,” he countered. “And if it was, you know you’d watch it.”

“I would rather die,” I said flatly.

“You say that, but I bet you’d love it. You just don’t know how to relax and enjoy a dumb movie.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but before I could, Callie groaned dramatically and stood, stretching. “Alright, the nerds are going at it. That’s my cue.”

They grabbed Sam by the wrist and waved Liam up as well. “We need another round, and I think these two need a moment.”

Liam teased knowingly as he slid out of the booth. “Play nice, boys.”

I shot him a look, but he just winked before following Callie to the bar.

Which left me and Evan.

Alone.

Evan took a drink of his beer, something elusive in his eyes. “So,” he said, casual but pointed, “if you’re so convinced that all action movies are garbage, maybe you should let me prove you wrong.”

I raised a brow. “Oh yeah? How do you plan on doing that?”

His lips curved just slightly. “We watch one. Together.”

I froze.

Because that was…

That was an invitation.

A thing we could do. Together. Alone.

And instead of shutting it down, instead of making some excuse, some sarcastic remark, I shrugged. “Fine.”

His eyes widened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I said, before I could think too hard about it.

He leaned in slightly, mouth tugging upward in a slow, prudent show of charm. “Let’s get out of here, then. ”

My stomach twisted, anxiety, excitement, something else, but I slowly took him in and nodded. “Let’s go to my place.”

We found Callie, Sam, and Liam at the bar, drinks in hand.

“Heading out,” Evan said, tipping his chin toward them.

Liam raised a brow, glancing between us. “Are you two good to drive?”

Noah and I exchanged a glance.

I shook my head. “Too drunk. We’re walking. It’s a gorgeous night, anyway, fresh air will do some good.”

Liam’s eyes sparkled with amusement, but he didn’t say anything. Just lifted his drink in a silent toast.

“Enjoy yourselves,” Callie called as we slipped toward the door.

“Text me when you get home so I know you got in safe,” Sam called to us as we walked out the door.

Outside, the air was crisp and cool, the streets quieter than before. Streetlamps cast pools of golden light along the cobblestone sidewalk, stretching our shadows long against the pavement.

And as we walked, side by side, the tension from earlier felt different now.

Not sharp. Not suffocating.

Just there. Buzzing. Waiting.

Evan had no idea what he had just started. And neither did I.