Page 18

OLIVIA

I shouldn’t have had that last shot.

Or maybe the one before it.

The bar tilts on a slight delay when I slide off the stool, the floor doing a slow, lazy sway beneath me. I plant a hand on the edge of the table, steady myself with a breath that does absolutely nothing to fix the spin, and nudge Harper’s arm.

“Bathroom,” I murmur.

She gives me a knowing grin, cheeks flushed from laughter and tequila. “Try not to fall in.”

I offer a weak salute and start threading my way toward the back hallway.

The lights are dimmer here, pulsing faintly to the beat of some bass-heavy track I can’t name. The floor creaks beneath my shoes—worn wood, just uneven enough to trip over when you’re two drinks past good judgment. My toe catches on a lip in the floorboard, and I stumble sideways.

Strong hands catch me before gravity wins.

One lands at my elbow, the other a little too familiar at my waist.

“Easy there, Counselor,” a voice teases, lazy and amused. “Didn’t peg you for a lightweight.”

Tyler Slade.

His grin is pure trouble—cocky and boyish, the kind that probably gets him into more fights than it does dates. He’s steadying me, sure, but he’s also lingering a beat longer than necessary.

“I’m fine,” I mumble, swaying a little as I try to straighten up. “You can—” I take a small step back, or try to. He doesn’t move. “—let go."

Tyler’s brows lift, and for a second he looks like he might make a joke out of it. But his hands just linger. Not gripping. Just...staying.

" Now. Tyler."

“Whoa,” he says, voice dipping an octave—still teasing, but softer now. “Relax. Just trying to keep you from eating the floor. Hate to see that pretty nose out of alignment.”

I’m about to respond—some mix of gratitude and a warning—when the air behind me shifts.

Thickens.

Then.

“Get your fucking hands off her.”

The voice slices clean through the music. Low. Rough. Controlled in a way that makes it feel more dangerous, not less.

Sebastian.

I feel him before I see him—heat at my back, presence towering and all-consuming.

Tyler lets go instantly. Palms up in surrender, grin faltering but not gone. “Easy, man,” he says. “She tripped. I caught her. That’s it.”

I turn towards Sebastian, trying my best not to sway. He doesn't meet my gaze.

His eyes are locked on Tyler like he’s assessing a threat, not a teammate. Like he’s already decided how fast he could end it if he had to.

“Next time,” he says, voice quiet but edged in steel, “let her fall.”

That earns him a look from me. Sharp. Disbelieving.

“Sebastian,” I snap, pushing past the heat in my cheeks—part buzz, part fury. “Seriously?”

He glances at me, and something in his expression shifts. Just a little. Enough to make my stomach twist in a different way.

Less rage. More regret.

"Whatever, man." Tyler, just lifts his hands again and backs off with a half-shrug and a cocky wink.

He disappears back into the crowd, and I’m left in the hallway, still slightly swaying, face burning, Sebastian standing a breath too close.

"Let her fall?" I repeat his words, my voice low and incredulous.

“I didn’t mean—” He runs a palm over his jaw. “He had his hands on you.”

“I tripped. He helped me.” I shoot back. "It's not like he kissed me."

The words land like a slap. Too fast. Too pointed.

And for a second, neither of us breathes.

Because that kiss still sits between us.

His gaze flicks to mine. There’s still fire in it, but under that—something else.

Something unsettled.

“He had his hands on you,” he repeats, quieter this time. “And you didn’t look okay.”

I open my mouth. Close it again.

Because maybe I didn’t.

Because maybe the way Tyler’s fingers lingered didn’t feel as harmless as I wanted it to.

Still.

“He’s your teammate.”

“I know,” Sebastian says, low and steady. “That’s the only reason he’s still standing.”

I shift slightly, putting a few inches between us, chasing the illusion of control I no longer have.

The tequila’s still warm in my veins, blurring the edges of everything. The floor feels uneven.

I blink, and the hallway wobbles—just slightly, like the ground’s exhaling beneath me. The wall looks close. Feels close.

I reach for it anyway.

My hand swipes through empty space.

Too far.

The shift in momentum pulls me forward a half step—knees soft, breath catching, the tequila suddenly louder in my head than the music.

And then?—

Warmth.

Sebastian's hand at my waist, large fingers at my elbow, anchoring me before I can fall.

It’s instinct. Automatic. Protective.

But the worst part—the part that makes my breath catch and my knees threaten to go again—is that I want it.

Crave it.

His hand. His closeness. The way his body angles just slightly toward mine.

It should make me step back.

I don't. If anything I lean into it.

My palms press to his chest, solid and warm beneath the fabric of his hoodie. His heart’s beating hard. Fast. Or maybe it’s mine. I can’t tell the difference anymore.

I look up at him—at that mouth I’ve tried too hard to forget.

My tongue darts out, wetting my lips without thinking.

God, I want him.

Right here in this hallway, with the music pulsing and the world still tilting. With every reason to walk away screaming in my head and my body screaming something else entirely.

All it would take is one step. One kiss. One mistake.

And I don’t know if I care enough to stop it.

A dark, raspy growl vibrates in his throat, those stormy eyes locked on mine. "You're drunk."

"So?"

His jaw tightens. His hand doesn’t move from my waist, but I feel the restraint in every muscle—like he’s holding himself back by sheer force of will.

“You’ll regret this,” he says roughly.

“I haven’t done anything,” I whisper, but it comes out thin. Unsteady.

His gaze flick to my mouth. Then back to my eyes. And it guts me.

That hunger. That ache. That desperate need buried under restraint.

“You’re telling me,” he murmurs, voice low and raw, “that if I leaned down right now and kissed you…you wouldn’t fall apart in my arms?”

A sound slips from me before I can stop it. A needy little moan caught at the back of my throat.

His eyes go molten. “Fuck.”

It’s not a curse. It’s a confession.

I can barely breathe. My fingers curl against his chest. Everything inside me is pulling toward him like gravity’s rewired itself.

His gaze darkens, his grip tightening just slightly. “You're fucking killing me, Olivia.”

"Why?"The word barely makes it past my lips. Soft. Fractured. Dangerous.

I know the line we’re toeing snapped somewhere behind us and neither of us stopped walking.

“If I kiss you, Olivia…” His voice is rough, wrecked. “I’m not stopping there.”

His hand skims up my side, fingers splayed like he’s already trying to memorize me. “I’ll want all of you.”

His breath brushes mine—hot, hungry, reverent.

“And I swear to God, I won’t be the reason you lose everything. Not because I can't keep my hands off you.”

His restraint is a live wire between us. Frayed. Sparking. One wrong move and we both go up in flames.

“It didn’t stop you before,” I say, too quietly.

“I didn’t think about it until Kane mentioned it?—”

I pull slightly. “You told Kane?”

His silence is a weight. A confirmation.

I feel the panic rise like bile in my throat. “Jesus, Sebastian. I’m in so much fucking trouble if this gets out.”

“He won’t say anything,” he says quickly, urgently. “I swear, he’s not like that. He’s not going to tell anyone. And even if he did, it's on me, I'm the one who kissed you.”

I take another step back, pressing my spine to the wall like I can hold myself together with pressure alone.

And still—I want him.

Still—he’s the only thing that feels steady in the middle of this spin.

Footsteps approach, quick and light, heels tapping against the scuffed floorboards.

“There you are,” Harper says, cheeks pink from tequila. Her smile’s easy, but her dark eyes skim between us, narrowing just enough to make my stomach dip.

I clear my throat. Force myself to stand straighter, even though the hallway’s still doing that slow, sideways lean. “Yeah. Just needed a sec.”

Harper nods, but her eyes linger on me for a beat too long.

Then she looks to Sebastian. “Wilde.”

He nods, jaw tight.

“I’m heading out,” she says, tugging her coat tighter around her. “You good?”

I nod quickly. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow then?”

“Yep.”

She smiles, a little too knowingly. “Two ibuprofen, buttered toast, and a full bottle of water before you even think about falling asleep,” she says, backing away with a grin. “Doctor’s orders.”

I manage a laugh. Barely.

“Night, Liv. Night, Wilde.”

And just like that, she’s gone—leaving a quiet that’s somehow louder than the music still thudding faintly through the walls.

We’re alone again.

His eyes are on me.

I exhale slowly, willing the tequila out of my bloodstream and the heat out of my cheeks. The hallway’s still wobbly, but my pulse is steadier now. Calmer. Calmer-ish.

“I need to go home,” I murmur.

He doesn’t argue. Just nods once, then steps aside to let me pass.

The air between us stretches and hums as we walk back into the bar—quieter now, the late-night crowd thinning. Most of the team’s either gone or busy flirting with a group of college girls gathered around the corner booth. The music’s still pulsing, but the sharp edges have dulled.

I grab my jacket off the back of a chair, tug it on with shaking fingers. Sebastian stands close but doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t say anything.

Still, I feel him.

Every inch.

He walks me out into the chill of the night without a word.

The air bites at my skin, cold and sharp and exactly what I need. It sobers me faster than anything else could. Clears the spin from my head. Not the ache in my chest, though. That stays.

He steps out to the curb and lifts a hand. A cab rolls up like it was waiting for the signal.He opens the back door for me, and I slide in.

“Where to?” the driver asks.

"7701 North Oak Road."

Sebastian stands with a hand on the door.

Our eyes meet—One long, heavy second.

And I feel it. That temptation. That stupid, reckless ache to say, Come with me.

His gaze drops to my mouth—lingers there—then drags back up to meet mine.

“Goodnight, Olivia."

Then he shuts the door.

The cab pulls away.

And I let it.

But the absence of him is its own kind of weight.

My fingers fist in my coat, knuckles white, like maybe I can hold the unraveling at bay if I just grip hard enough.

Something has to give. Something has to change.

This pull between us—it’s not sustainable. Not professional. Not safe.

And still, every part of me aches for him.

For the feel of his hands. His mouth. The sound of my name on his tongue like a fucking vow.

I tell myself I’ll shut it down. Bury it. Find the line again and stay on the right side of it this time.

But even as I think it, I know.

I’m lying.

Because whatever this is?—

It’s already under my skin.

And I don’t know how to cut it out without bleeding.