Page 37 of Wanna Bet?

He wasn’t leaving.

He was just here.

And somehow that steadiness–that easy, unforced desire to stay–felt far more dangerous than rejection ever had.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The mall smelled like pretzels and perfume and recycled air, warm and artificial and almost sweet enough to make her dizzy. It wasn’t packed, but it wasn’t empty either. There were clusters of teenagers orbiting the escalators, couples walking too close together, parents negotiating with small children in the middle of the walkway. The noise created a kind of anonymity she’d always liked. In a mall, no one paid attention for long.

You could be anyone here. You could do almost anything if you moved with enough confidence.

The mall didn't close for another two hours so she and Jace wandered without a plan. That had been the unspoken rule–no destination, no objective, just drifting. She liked that he didn’t try to steer them. Didn’t try to lead. He matched her pace automatically, hands in his pockets, shoulder occasionally brushing hers like it was accidental.

The sunglasses kiosk was her idea. The lighting was aggressive and unflattering, mirrors on every side reflecting them from angles she wasn’t prepared to analyze. She grabbed the most absurd pair she could find, neon lightning bolts, and held them up with a grin.

“Absolutely not,” Jace muttered, though he was already reaching for them.

“Try them,” she insisted.

He slid them on, squinting dramatically. They were atrocious. Bright yellow against his pale skin, crooked on his nose. But somehow he still looked ungodly attractive.

She laughed so hard she had to brace herself against the display rack, and when she did, he reached out to catch her. His fingers brushed her arm in the process and she could feel her stomach tighten.

“You look like you DJ exclusively at middle school dances,” she managed through a giggle.

“I take requests,” he said dryly. “But only for Imagine Dragons.”

She rolled her eyes, swatting at him, and he retaliated with oversized pink frames that swallowed half her face. When he placed them on her, his hands lingered just slightly too long at her temples, thumbs brushing near her ears before sliding away.

The laughter softened first. Then the space between them.

They were still standing too close in the narrow aisle, fluorescent lights humming overhead. She could feel the warmth of him through her shirt, could see the exact moment his eyes shifted from playful to something heavier. Not serious.

He didn’t step back. He waited.

That was the thing about Jace. He hovered at the edge of contact like he was waiting for permission that didn’t need to be spoken. He never crowded her. Never assumed. And that carefulness made her pulse jump in ways she didn’t want to unpack. Aaaaah! Was she still high?

They moved on, drifting into a clothing store next. He held up an offensively ugly wolf graphic tee against her chest with exaggerated seriousness. She shoved herself into an oversized denim jacket in retaliation, sleeves swallowing her hands.

“You look like you steal catalytic converters,” Jace grinned, biting back a laugh.

“Thank you,” she replied, turning toward the mirror.

He stepped up behind her then, not touching, but close enough that she could see both of them reflected. The image startled her a little. They looked… easy. Like something established. Like this wasn’t fragile.

Her stomach flipped.

They wandered the store slowly, shoulders bumping, fingers occasionally brushing along the same rack at the same time. The touches were light but charged. Each one lingered a fraction longer than the last.

The spark in her chest flared again, brighter this time. Attraction she could manage. Attraction was simple. It lived in her body. This was different. This was noticing how gentle he was with space and silence. How he didn’t interrupt moments that weren’t his. How he didn’t need to dominate the room to feel present.

It scared her.

They left the store and stepped onto the escalator. Halfway down, their hands brushed and neither of them pulled away. Instead, their fingers shifted, testing the line between accidental and intentional.

He looked at her and offered a soft smile. “You good?” he asked softly.

Always that question. Always the exit offered first.