~ 53 ~

~ 53 ~
LUCAS

I waved at the last of my team as they clambered into the bus, still laughing, still high on the night’s joy. Jordan tossed me a sloppy salute through the window, and Mia blew a kiss in my direction that made me laugh.

The night had been fulfilling—unexpectedly so. Somewhere between the second bottle of wine and Catherine’s terrible impression of our regional manager, I’d let go a little. Let myself breathe. Laugh. Exist outside the pressure.

Now, standing on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, the buzz was beginning to wear off, replaced by the quiet hush of the late Vegas night.

I watched Lucas talk to Theo by the curb, their heads bent close in conversation. I couldn't hear a word, and I wasn’t trying to. The streetlights cast long shadows over them, catching the sharp lines of Lucas’s jaw, the slow dip of his head as he listened, the easy stance of Theo as he leaned against his car. Like they’d done this a thousand times.

And then Lucas turned toward me.

Each step he took felt measured. Heavy. My breath caught somewhere halfway up my throat.

He stopped beside me, hands tucked casually in his pockets.

“You ready to go home?” he asked, voice low. “Or do you have anywhere else in mind?”

I shook my head gently. “No. I just want to rest my head.”

A small nod. “Then let me drive you.”

I glanced away. “It’s fine, I can—”

“We’re headed in the same direction, Lila.” He said it so evenly, so simply, and yet every syllable was laced with something unspoken.

I understood. Of course I did. The apartment I was still staying in was technically mine for now—but it was also his. I sighed. “Okay. Fine.”

Before either of us could move, Theo called out, “Hey, Crawford! You’re on your own. I just got a text—my attention’s needed elsewhere.”

Lucas exhaled sharply. “Be safe. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Theo grinned, already sliding into his car. “No promises.”

And then he was gone.

Just the two of us now.

Lucas turned back to me, eyes lingering longer than they had all night. “Ready to go home?”

That word home danced around in my chest like a cruel little echo. His voice was steady, but something had shifted. I felt it in the air between us. The kind of quiet that hums loud.

I held his gaze for a moment, the streetlight catching the gold flecks in his eyes, and I knew he saw straight through me.

Still, I didn’t flinch.

“Yeah,” I murmured. “Let’s go.”

He opened the passenger door for me. I slipped in without a word.

As he rounded the car and got behind the wheel, I felt it—the slow, inevitable pull back to the space we’d left behind hours ago.

But this time, something about it felt different.

And I wasn’t sure if I was ready.

\----

The door hadn’t even fully clicked shut before his mouth crashed against mine.

No hesitation. No breath. No warning.

Just him.

All of him—urgent, devouring, like he’d been starving and I was the only thing that could fill the void. My back slammed into the wall with a thud, and for a moment, I couldn't tell whether the sound came from outside or from the shattering inside my chest. His hand buried itself in my hair, fingers threading through it like he owned it—like he had the right to. And maybe he did. Maybe he always had.

I didn’t kiss him back immediately. I couldn’t. My body was frozen in shock—not because I didn’t want it, but because I did. God, I did. And wanting him this much felt like drowning in my own skin.

He didn’t give me the time to think.

His free hand roamed, greedy and reverent, ghosting over my sides, my waist, the bare skin he found like it was sacred. Everywhere he touched, he ignited, and the part of me that had been carefully held together all night began to unravel.

The drive back had been quiet. Not awkward, just thick with something unspeakable. The kind of silence that pulsed. A soft love ballad played in the background, and I couldn’t even remember the lyrics—only the soft echo of his pinky brushing against mine on the console. The accidental grazes. The stolen glances. The weight of his eyes when no one else was looking. I had kept stroking my arm like I could rub away the heat he left behind. And under the table—God—when he had slid his hand over mine and refused to let go until Theo distracted him with a refill… I knew. I knew I was already too far gone.

But now—this?

This wasn’t subtle.

This was everything he hadn’t said—everything I hadn’t allowed myself to feel—spilling out in the form of a kiss so desperate it threatened to rewrite everything.

My hands found his shirt, clutching it like it could anchor me. I tried to keep up, but he kissed like a man lost in war—fighting something unseen but real. His mouth left mine only to find my jaw, my cheek, my throat. My name fell from his lips like a confession.

“Lila…” It was low. Wrecked.

I broke then.

Whatever wall I had tried to rebuild crumbled into ash beneath his touch. My fingers curled into his back as I kissed him again, slower, deeper, tasting the ache he’d carried all night. He groaned—a sound from deep within his chest—and then slowed down. Painfully. Deliberately.

His forehead fell to mine. His breath was uneven, lips hovering. He didn’t move away.

And I didn’t want him to.

His mouth brushed mine again, then slid lower, kissing the space between my brows, then my nose, and finally, my bottom lip—biting it gently before releasing it like he couldn’t bear to let go.

Time stopped. Nothing else existed in that moment but the taste of him, the weight of his body pressed into mine, and the feeling of being chosen.

And then… his phone rang.

The sound sliced through the moment like a blade.

I felt him stiffen.

He didn’t move. Just stood there, forehead still resting against mine, jaw clenched like he was trying to will the call away.

“Take it,” I whispered. My voice was barely mine—low, raw, the syllables pulled from someplace beneath my ribs.

He hesitated… then reached into his pocket, never letting go of my hand.

I watched him answer. Watched his eyes widen slightly as whoever was on the other end spoke. His grip on me tightened—protective, anchoring—but not painful.

“I’m on my way,” he said, voice clipped and calm in that way that meant it wasn’t.

He didn’t say anything right away after ending the call. He just stared at me. Like he needed permission. Like walking away from me, right now, would tear something out of him.

So I nodded.

I didn’t trust my voice anymore.

He pulled me into him one last time, held my face like it was breakable and kissed the corner of my mouth—not rushed, not desperate. Tender. Like he was leaving something there.

A promise, maybe.

Then he was gone.

The door closed quietly behind him.

And I stood there, chest rising and falling, still tasting him on my lips, my heart still racing in a body he had just set on fire.

And even as the silence returned, I knew something had changed.

This wasn’t in my head anymore.

It never was.