Page 32

His breath skims my ear, quieter, like he’s forgotten about the crowd pressing in around us.

“Why you looking at me like that?”

I shrug, tilting my head just enough that my cheek brushes his jaw.

“I’m thinking.”

His hands flex against my stomach again, fingers curling into the fabric of my skirt as I parrot his words back to him. And I could leave it there. I should .

Instead, I turn my head a little more and bite my lip, then hesitate. Because this is stupid. Reckless. The worst idea I’ve ever had.

“Rule number two.”

“What about it?”

“I have an amendment,” I say. And God, I hate how breathless I sound.

“An amendment,” he repeats. “To your own fucking rule?”

He says it like he’s humoring me, but barely. Like he already knows what I’m about to say.

“It’s fine if I initiate it.”

His grip locks down on my waist, and his breath pushes roughly past his lips.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

I blink up at him. “ What ?”

He exhales through his nose, but it’s not calm, not even close.

“This. This fucking rule bullshit.”

“What about it?”

“You’re just making shit up now, so you don’t have to admit you want me.”

My lips part, but before I can even think up a rebuttal, before I can throw up another shield, he’s speaking again.

“Jesus, Zo, you’ve been toeing this line all fucking night. When you were flirting with that guy just to get my hands on you. When you draped yourself over me like I was actually your fucking boyfriend. And now, this?”

I open my mouth and then close it. Heat licks up my spine, and I hate how much I like the way he’s talking. Frustrated but desperate, annoyed but passionate.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I try, too light and too airy.

“Bullshit.”

His voice is sharp now, full of something heated and dangerous.

“You expect me to believe that if you kiss me right now, it means nothing?”

I shrug to deflect. “I mean, we’re at a festival. People kiss at festivals all the time. It’s, like, the rule.”

“Oh, that’s fucking cute.”

My stomach drops, and I scramble for a retort.

“The rule,” he echoes, voice soaked in disdain. “What the actual fuck kind of rule is that?”

I swallow hard. “I’m just saying—”

His lips skim dangerously close to my ear, voice low and lethal.

“You planning on kissing anyone else here tonight?”

“ What? No—”

“Huh. That’s weird.” His fingers brush against my hips. “Because it sounded a whole lot like you just said people kiss everyone at festivals, and that’s just”—he makes a mock-confused face, tilting his head—“not fucking happening, baby.”

A slow, traitorous shiver rolls through me.

“If anyone is kissing you tonight, it’s me.”

I roll my eyes, shoving down the way my pulse is rioting. “Possessive much?”

“Call it what you want.” His mouth brushes my temple again. “But let’s not pretend this festival-kissing bullshit applies to anyone but me.”

I need to stop this. I need to regain control. I need to—

“Say it.”

My brain short-circuits. “What?”

“Say you want me to kiss you.”

I scoff. “God, you’re insufferable—”

“And you’re deflecting.”

His hands tighten, and he turns me to face him.

“Say it.”

“You are so annoyi—”

“ Zoe .”

His voice changes, dropping low and gentle in a way that makes my stomach hurt. I feel it in my chest, and it feels real. Achy. Fuck.

“Say it.”

I shake my head. “I hate you.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “No, you don’t .”

I squeeze my eyes shut, heart hammering, fingers clutching at his shirt like I can somehow ground myself.

“Tell me you want me to kiss you.”

The words hit somewhere low and terrifying. I can’t breathe around them, can’t dodge them like I’ve done every other time. I want to run, but he’s right there, steady and sure and waiting like he already knows the answer. I inhale shakily, then open my eyes, taking him in as he continues.

“Tell me it’s not for a laugh or because of the festival, or the fucking rules, or whatever excuse you’re using to stop yourself from feeling this.”

I shake my head again, faster, because this is spiraling, because he’s right, because I don’t have control anymore, because—

“Tell me you’re kissing me because you just want to. Because you’ve wanted to for longer than you’ll admit.”

And God, I hate him for this. For knowing me too well, for seeing through every single excuse I try to throw his way.

Because this isn’t just a kiss. It won’t be. It’s going to be the kind of thing that brands itself into memory. Stupid and electric and maybe permanent—and he knows it.

He squeezes my hips once, dipping his head to eye-level. “Tell me, Zo.”

A sharp, shattered exhale leaves me, the words spilling out of my ribcage.

“I want you to kiss me because I just fucking need you to, okay?!”

There’s a momentary pause as his eyes lock on mine, scanning for any trace of hesitation. Checking for any reason to stop, but he finds none.

His hands yank my hips closer, his mouth crashes onto mine, and I collapse into him with no other choice but to free-fall.

He kisses me like this is something he’s been waiting on permission for, and now that he’s got it, he’s not wasting a single second.

It’s not sweet, it’s teeth and tongues and weeks of pent-up tension detonating all at once. A kiss that’s part rage, part relief. One hand grips my jaw and angles my head, the other fists my skirt, dragging me tighter against his body like I’m the only thing keeping him steady.

But I’m not steady.

I’m melting. Drowning. Spiraling into him because gravity doesn’t exist anywhere but in his arms.

I feel the way his body stands rock-solid against mine, legs braced, keeping us upright in the crush of the crowd. The scratch of his stubble against my jaw. The way his breath hitches when I bite his lower lip, pulling him closer because this isn’t enough.

His hand slides to cup the back of my neck, fingers splaying and holding me in place as he groans against my mouth. It’s frantic and real, the kind of sound that rewires your brain and ruins you forever.

I rise onto my toes, arms locked around his shoulders as his tighten around me. His mouth drags lower along my jaw, to the corner of my mouth, then back to my lips like he can’t choose where to worship first.

“Fuck,” he mutters against me, mouth greedy. “You have no idea.”

I can’t answer, I’m too far gone, my body shaking and lungs full of him. My hands are in his hair, my whole damn soul dissolving into this kiss I’ve tried not to want.

But fuck it, I do. It’s hot and messy and magic. It’s in front of my favorite band of all time. It’s with the boy who wants to keep me safe.

An actual core memory, seared into bone.

The crowd moves around us, the music crashing, the bass thrumming through my veins, and I don’t care that people are watching, that this is dangerous and reckless and fucking stupid.

Because right now, there are no rules. We’re not pretending.

I just need his mouth on mine and his hands on my skin.

I just need him.