Page 10 of Wrecked By Rev

“Fine,” I say. “But you’re going to get bored of this eventually.”

“No. I’m not.”

Something about the way he says it makes my stomach flip.

We start walking toward my car. It’s parked in the back lot, same as always, next to the dumpster and the chain-link fence that separates the café from the alley. Rev falls into step beside me, close enough that our arms almost brush.

And that’s when I see it.

The white truck. Parked across the street, engine off, windows down.

Niall is sitting in the driver’s seat. Watching.

I stop walking. Rev notices immediately.

“What?”

“He’s here.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “Across the street.”

Rev doesn’t turn to look. His jaw tightens, almost imperceptibly, but he doesn’t turn.

“Keep walking,” he says.

“Rev—”

“Trust me.”

I don’t know why I do. But I keep walking, hyper-aware of the truck in my peripheral vision, of Niall’s eyes on my back. My skin crawls. Four months of this and it still gets to me.

We reach my car. I fumble for my keys, hands shaking just slightly. Rev steps closer—close enough that I can feel the heat of him, close enough that anyone watching would see exactly how little space is between us.

“He’s still looking,” Rev says, low. “We need to sell it.”

“What do you?—”

He kisses me.

One hand cups the back of my head. The other settles on my hip, pulling me against him, and then his mouth is on mine and I stop thinking entirely.

It’s supposed to be for show. I know that. He’s making a point—showing Niall that I’m taken, that there’s someone in the picture now who isn’t going to be scared off by notes and parking lot surveillance. It’s theater. Performance. Just like everything else we’ve been doing.

Except my body didn’t get that memo.

His lips are warm and firm and he kisses like he does everything else—intense, focused, like I’m the only thing in the world that matters. I grab fistfuls of his shirt just to stay upright, and when his tongue sweeps against the seam of my lips, I open for him without even meaning to.

He groans. Low, rough, barely audible—but I feel it vibrate through his chest into mine. His hand tightens on my hip, fingers digging in, and he angles my head to kiss me deeper. I’m pressed against the side of my car and I don’t care. I’m in a parking lot where anyone could see and I don’t care about that either. All I care about is his mouth and his hands and the heat building between us like a fire that’s been waiting for a spark.

When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard. His eyes are dark, pupils blown, and he’s looking at me like?—

Like it wasn’t an act for him either.

“He’s gone,” Rev says. His voice is rougher than usual. “Drove off about ten seconds ago.”

Ten seconds. We’ve been standing here, kissing, for ten seconds after the audience left.

“Right,” I manage. “Good. That’s—good.”

I should step back. Put some distance between us. Laugh it off, maybe, make a joke about method acting. Something to break the tension that’s crackling in the air like static before a storm.