Chapter 67
Nolan
It is, in fact, a horrible idea.
The worst.
I may have underestimated… everything. The heat of his mouth, the weight of his hand on my jaw, the way my body betrayed me by kissing him back before my brain could catch up.
I don't tell him that, of course. I force my voice steady, paint on something cool, dismissive.
"See? Physical," I say flatly.
A lie.
One so thin I can barely stand under it. And the worst part? I know he knows. Jack Crowe sees through me too easily, those damn eyes always stripping me down.
For a heartbeat I think he'll push, corner me again, force me to admit what's already written all over my face. My chest thunders as he studies me, silence stretching, the kitchen thick with the smell of soap and lemon cleaner, the faint drip of water from the faucet loud in the stillness.
Then his hand slips away from my face. He steps back, his expression smoothing into something unreadable.
"Goodnight, doggy," he says, soft and final.
