Mila Wilson is quiet, anxious and a little bit of a mess. Panic attacks have ruled her life for as long as she can remember - but starting college is her chance to take control. Love? Not something she believes she's built for.
Then she meets Jace E...
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With every step we take, my legs feel a little less like mine—shaky, uncertain, full of nerves I can't name. I don't know what Jace is planning, and that uncertainty feels like a thread pulling taut. Is this him trying to hook up? Is that what all this has been leading to? I wish I could just read his mind and know.
My mind wanders—inevitably—to Jessica. How many times did he take her up these stairs? Did she feel this same tingling in her spine? I want to ask, but I don't. I just keep walking, step after step, letting the anticipation hum through me like static.
At the top of the stairs, Jace moves with quiet confidence, leading me down a dim hallway to the right. He stops at a random door, checks that it's empty, then gently pulls me inside. The click of the door behind us sounds final.
He turns to face me, and in a movement that almost blows me away, he presses me lightly against the door. Not forceful—just close. Dangerously close. His forehead rests against mine, just like when we danced earlier. Every nerve in my body is on high alert. The world narrows to this room. Our breath. The ghost of music from downstairs. His eyes trap me, make me shy. I fight the urge to look away, but instead I meet his gaze—those deep brown eyes that see too much.
We just stay like that, suspended. Then slowly, his fingers graze my neck, featherlight, like he's testing the current between us. He leans in, inch by inch, and I can feel the moment swaying on the edge of something I don't think I'm ready for. I want him to kiss me, I do. But I feel like he wants way more than I can give him tonight.
"Jace," I whisper. It's not loud, but it's enough. He freezes, his hand still resting on my arm. His eyes search mine. "This isn't me," I say quietly, almost like I'm apologizing. "I'm not Jessica. This... isn't going to happen."
I drop my gaze to the floor, cheeks flushed with a heat that has nothing to do with the wine. Bree's voice whispers warnings in my mind, all the rumors she swore were true. Am I just a box to check?
But Jace pulls back, and to my surprise, he doesn't look annoyed. He's smirking. Not smug—just amused, like I've surprised him.
"Relax," he says with a dry laugh. "I didn't bring you up here to fuck you."
The word hits me like a slap. I flinch slightly, even though that's what I wanted to hear. The way he says it makes it sound like he never would. Like he wouldn't even want to.
"Oh..." I mumble, blinking down at the floor. I don't know how to feel. Jace notices. Of course he does.
"I didn't mean it like that," he says, softening. "But I'm not going to touch you when you're drunk."
He steps closer again, the air between us practically buzzing. His voice drops low, the heat undeniable. "When I touch you," he says, brushing his knuckles down my cheek, "you'll be completely sober."
Then he steps away. The sudden loss of his warmth is almost jarring. He tosses himself onto the bed casually, like he didn't just unravel something in me with one sentence.
