Page 54 of Gatsby's Starlet
I watched her for a long second, weighing it, turning it over, because part of me wanted to push harder, wanted to break through whatever she was holding back, but another part, the part that didn’t want to scare her off, knew better than to corner her when she was already halfway there.
“Overwhelmed by me?” I asked, quieter now, not accusing, just needing to know where I stood.
That got her attention.
Her eyes snapped back to mine, honesty shining there this time. “No,” she said, more certain. “Not by you.”
Something in my chest eased at that, even if the rest of it didn’t.
“Then don’t shut me out,” I said, dragging a hand over the back of my neck as I looked away for a second before coming back to her. “I don’t like feeling like I’m missing something when it comes to you.”
She swallowed, and I saw the way her throat moved, the way she almost said something—
Then didn’t.
Instead, she stepped closer, just a little, close enough that I could feel the shift in her, the decision she was making in real time.
“I’m not shutting you out,” she said quietly. “I just… don’t even know how to explain it yet... but it’s not you.”
That wasn’t an answer.
But it wasn’t a lie either.
I studied her for another second, then let out a slow breath and nodded once, not because I was convinced, but because pushing her any harder right now wasn’t going to get me what I wanted.
“Alright,” I said. “But if something’s wrong… you tell me.”
“I will,” she said.
I didn’t believe that either.
But I let it go—for now.
I moved in, slow but deliberate, my hand settling at her waist as I drew her closer, closing the space between us without forcing it, keeping my grip loose enough that she could step back if she wanted to, but not expecting her to.
She didn’t take it.
Instead, she leaned into me, her hand coming up to rest lightly against my chest, and for a second everything else, the tension, the questions, the feeling that something wasn’t lining up, faded just enough to let something simpler take its place.
I dipped my head, brushing my mouth against hers first, slow, testing, giving her time to pull back. If anything, she leaned in more.
The kiss deepened, not rushed, not desperate, just real, the kind that settled into something that felt like it could last if you let it, and I felt her fingers curl slightly against my cut like she was holding onto it the same way she had the table earlier.
That stuck with me. Even as I pulled back slightly, resting my forehead against hers, my hand still at her waist, I didn’t miss it.
“You still sure you’re okay?” I murmured.
She smiled, softer this time, and it almost reached her eyes. “Yeah,” she said.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE RIDE BACKwas quiet,but not in a bad way, not heavy like earlier at the clubhouse, just full, like everything that had passed between us was still sitting there between us, settling into something I didn’t quite know what to do with yet, and I didn’t try to fill the silence or explain it away, just let it exist while the road stretched out in front of us and the night wrapped around everything else.
When Gatsby pulled up in front of my place and the engine cut, the quiet shifted again, thicker now, and for a second neither of us moved, my hand still resting loosely in my lap, my thoughts tangled somewhere between everything I hadn’t said and everything I couldn’t.
“Walk you up?” he asked.
“I’d like that.”
