Sunday night found me sprawled across my bed, half-heartedly scrolling through my phone while the soft hum of the ceiling fan filled the room. The outing with Liz earlier had been exactly what I needed—a distraction. We'd walked through the city, grabbed coffee, and talked about everything but what had been weighing on my mind since Saturday night.
The almost kiss.
I hadn't told Liz. She'd read too much into it, teased me mercilessly, and demanded updates. Besides, there was nothing to tell. It had been... a moment. A fleeting, charged second fueled by proximity and lingering tension. Nothing more.
I groaned and flopped onto my side, staring at the moonlit ceiling. Mark Rowley was... complicated. Difficult, stubborn, exasperating—and undeniably attractive. But acknowledging that it felt like walking into dangerous territory.
