A Criminal Kiss [Max Verstappen]

chapter twenty one

The moonlight spills further into the narrow alley, casting its silvery glow over Max, softening the sharp angles of his face. He's quiet now, leaning against the brick wall with one hand shoved into his pocket and the other raking through his hair—dirty blonde, though the strands catch the light in a way that makes them almost golden.

I don't realise I'm staring until it's too late to stop.

His eyes, that impossible shade of blue, stand out even more in the dim light, like a glacier kissed by sunlight. They seem softer now, though, as if the earlier tension has melted away, leaving something more vulnerable, more real.

I let my gaze wander over his features, memorizing the way his jawline shifts as he swallows, the faint stubble shadowing his face that adds to his ruggedness. His nose has the slightest crook to it, like it might have been broken once, and his lips...

My cheeks heat as I think about the thought of finally having my first kiss.

There's a scar just above his eyebrow, faint but noticeable if you're looking closely. I wonder how he got it—maybe a fight, or an accident as a boy. Max doesn't seem the type to shy away from trouble, and that thought makes me smile faintly.

He shifts under my gaze, rubbing the back of his neck like he can feel the weight of my attention. "What?" he asks, his voice quiet but laced with curiosity.

I startle, my breath catching as I snap my eyes back to his. "Nothing."

His lips quirk, a small, lopsided grin that makes my heart skip. "Doesn't look like nothing. You're staring."

"No, I'm not," I say quickly, though my voice betrays me with its slight tremor.

He arches an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but doesn't push me. Instead, he leans his head back against the wall, looking up at the night sky. The movement exposes the curve of his neck, the lines of his collarbone peeking out from the open neckline of his shirt.

It's infuriating how effortlessly he manages to look both disheveled and composed at the same time. Like he doesn't even realize how... captivating he is.

"You're doing it again," he says without looking at me, his tone teasing but gentle.

I huff, crossing my arms. "Maybe I'm just thinking."

"About what?"

I hesitate, unsure if I should say it, but the words tumble out anyway. "About how unfair it is that someone like you exists."

That gets his attention. He turns to face me, his brows furrowing slightly as if he doesn't quite believe what he's hearing. "Someone like me?"

I nod, fidgeting with the edge of my cloak. "You're... different," I say, my voice softer now. "Rough around the edges, yes, but... honest. Real. You don't pretend to be something you're not."

He doesn't respond right away, his gaze searching mine as if trying to figure out if I mean it. Finally, he shakes his head, a small, disbelieving chuckle escaping his lips. "I think that's the fanciest way anyone's ever told me I'm a mess."

I roll my eyes, though I can't help the small smile tugging at my lips. "I'm serious, Max."

He sobers, the teasing fading from his expression as he looks at me. "And you're... something else entirely," he says quietly.

My breath catches, and for a moment, we're just standing there.

Just us.

It's terrifying and exhilarating all at once, and I don't think I've ever felt more alive.