Asher’s hands found her like gravity.

One at her jaw, thumb brushing her cheekbone like he couldn’t believe she was real; the other at her waist, fingers digging into flannel like he needed something to hold onto before this pulled him under completely.

Because this kiss?

This wasn’t a firestarter.

It was a goddamn detonation.

He felt it—felt her—all sharp angles and bitten-back softness, like she’d spent her whole life learning how to guard the parts of herself that wanted. And now, for whatever reckless reason, she was giving him just enough to feel it burn.

And he burned.

The kind of heat that didn’t stay skin-deep. The kind that settled in your chest and rewrote your definition of ruin.

She kissed like she was furious about wanting him—like surrendering meant swallowing glass—but still, she didn’t stop. And neither did he.

Asher kissed her back with everything he wasn’t supposed to feel. Not here. Not this fast. Not for a girl who walked like a warning label and tasted like risk.

But it didn’t matter.

Because whatever this was—it had already sunk its teeth in.

When they finally pulled apart, breath ragged and mouths swollen from the weight of it, he didn’t step back.

Didn’t say anything clever or easy.

He just leaned his forehead against hers, eyes closed, breath catching between them.

And when he spoke, it was a whisper. Unapologetic.

“…You wreck me.”

He didn’t mean to say it.

Didn’t mean to mean it.

But it was already out there—raw and stupid and too goddamn honest.

His voice dropped lower.

“I’d kiss you every night if it meant getting to see that look on your face again.”

Another breath.

Then, half-wrecked, half-worshipping:

“But I’ll stop if you want me to.”

His grip didn’t tighten. He didn’t push.

He just waited.

Holding space.

Because the only thing scarier than falling for Josie Rhodes?

Was daring to let her know he already had.

Josie didn’t breathe.

Couldn’t.

Because the second their mouths broke apart and the night air hit her lips like a slap, she felt it—everything—hit all at once.

His breath, still warm on her skin. His forehead against hers like a vow he hadn’t said out loud. The way his hands hadn’t let go. Not entirely. Like he didn’t trust the earth to hold him unless she was part of it.

And maybe the scariest part?

She didn’t want him to.

Her chest heaved once, twice—trying to catch up to her heartbeat, which had apparently decided to sprint for the damn border. She could still feel the shape of his mouth against hers. Still taste the honesty on his tongue. Still hear her own name somewhere in the back of her head and wonder when it had started sounding like something someone else could say softly.

She wanted to make a joke. Something cutting. Something stupid. Something safe.

“More attractive when you’re wrecked,” was right there. Loaded. Sarcastic. A good exit strategy.

But then he had to go and say that.

“I’d kiss you every night if it meant getting to see that look on your face again.”

Her stomach flipped.

Hard.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. But her fingers did twitch where they’d been curled against his chest, gripping the edge of his jacket like she hadn’t even noticed. Her forehead stayed against his, but her jaw tensed. Just a little.

Because God, Asher.

That was not what she’d prepared for. That wasn’t the move a boy like him was supposed to make. He was supposed to chase the kiss, maybe tease her about it, maybe ruin it with a grin or a joke or the kind of swagger she could hate.

He wasn’t supposed to mean it.

And yet—she believed him.

Every word.

That scared her more than anything else.

So she did what she could do.

She shoved him.

Light. Playful. Barely a breath of contact.

But the message was there: Careful.

Then, because maybe she was the one who needed the warning, she said it—voice rough, quieter than she meant it to be.

“…Truth.”

She didn’t give him time to ask a question.

Didn’t wait for him to press.

Her eyes stayed locked on his, and this time, there was no armor. Just a girl standing in the woods under too much moonlight with a heart she didn’t want to admit had already started shifting toward him.

She swallowed hard.

Then said it. Bare. Simple. Devastating.

“I like you.”

A beat.

Then, softer:

“More than I want to.”

And for a girl like Josie Rhodes?

That was everything.

Asher froze.

Not like he was scared—like he felt it. Every syllable. Every breath behind it. Like those three words reached down inside his chest and rewired something permanent.

“I like you.”

More than I want to.

He could still taste her on his lips. Still feel the phantom of her fingertips where she’d gripped his jacket like it meant something. And now—now she was looking at him like she’d just cracked her ribs open and hoped he wouldn’t flinch at what was inside.

And he didn’t.

God, he didn’t.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t joke. Didn’t ruin it with some cocky one-liner like he might’ve done with anyone else.

Because this wasn’t anyone else.

This was Josie.

And she’d just handed him the truth like it weighed a thousand pounds and still trusted him not to drop it.

So he stepped in.

No space. No pause.

His hand came up—slow, steady—and cupped her jaw like she was something fragile and fierce all at once. Like if he held her wrong, she’d shatter—or worse, vanish.

Then, his thumb brushing her cheekbone, voice barely louder than her breath:

“You think I don’t feel the same?”

A half-breath, shaky. Real.

“You think I wouldn’t walk through fire for another five seconds of this?”

He leaned in—forehead to hers again, eyes locked.

“I’ve liked you since the garage. Since you rolled your eyes and didn’t look twice. Since you looked at me like I wasn’t worth the trouble and then gave a shit anyway.”

A beat.

Then, quiet. Absolute.

“I see you, Josie. All of you.”

His other hand found her hip, grounding. Not possessive—present.

“And I know I’m not what you planned for. I know I make this messier. Scarier.”

His smile flickered—gentle, not smug.

“But I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you make me.”

Another pause.

Then—

“And even then, I might still wait around. Just in case you change your mind.”

Because if she was brave enough to say she liked him?

He could damn sure be brave enough to stay.

Josie’s breath caught—not because of what he said, but because of how he said it.

So steady.

So sure.

Like he meant every single word, even the reckless ones. Even the ones that made her heart lurch and her chest twist and her future feel like it had just snapped a new shape under her feet.

Her eyelashes fluttered closed when his thumb brushed her cheek. Just for a moment. Just long enough to feel it.

Because it was so easy to forget the noise when his hand was on her face like that. When he looked at her like she was something more than the flannel and the grit and the flippant comebacks. Like maybe she was something soft, too—underneath all the sharp edges she’d sharpened out of necessity.

And God, she wanted to let herself fall into that look.

To believe it could be that easy.

But it wasn’t.

She wasn’t going to be the reason he threw Harvard away.

She couldn’t imagine herself in some sweatshirt with his name on it, trailing beside him like an afterthought in a world that didn’t know what to make of girls like her.

None of it made sense past summer.

Not really.

And yet…

Here she was.

Letting herself want it anyway.

Because right now?

Right now, the only thing worse than breaking her own heart later was not letting this happen at all.

So she opened her eyes—barely.

Tilted her chin the smallest degree. Smirk ghosting back to her lips, the way it always did when she didn’t want him to know how much she was feeling.

And she whispered, teasing but low and certain:

“Jesus, Cole. Do you ever shut up?”

Then, softer. Closer.

“Stop talking so much…”

Her fingers hooked in the collar of his jacket again, tugging gently.

“…and kiss me again before I change my mind.”

Because future-Josie could deal with the fallout.

Tonight-Josie?

She was done pretending she didn’t want this.

Asher didn’t move at first.

Not because he was unsure. Not because he was waiting for permission.

But because that—that look in her eyes, that breath of vulnerability wrapped in flannel and sarcasm and a barely-there smirk—wrecked him in a way he hadn’t prepared for.

“Do you ever shut up?”

God, she was beautiful when she said it.

Sharp and soft. Tired and brave. The kind of girl who kept one hand on the ignition and the other curled around something she didn’t want to admit she was holding.

And now?

Now she was asking him to kiss her again.

Begging without begging.

Letting herself want without surrendering an inch of power.

And that?

That was everything.

So he leaned in.

No hesitation. No second thoughts.

Just yes.

His mouth met hers with the kind of intensity that didn’t need to rush—didn’t need to prove anything. It was deep and steady and real—the kind of kiss that didn’t ask for anything except exactly what it was.

His hand slid from her jaw into her hair, slow and reverent, fingers curling gently at the base of her neck like he was grounding himself there. Like that one touch was keeping him upright.

He didn’t say a word.

Didn’t need to.

Because the kiss was the answer.

To every fear.

Every fight.

Every time she thought no one would ever stay long enough to mean it.

He kissed her like staying was the easiest choice in the world.

And when he finally pulled back—barely, just enough to breathe—his voice came quiet. Warm.

“I’ll shut up now.”

A beat.

Then, grinning just enough to make her want to roll her eyes:

“Unless you ask me not to.”

Because for once, Asher Cole wasn’t chasing the moment.

He was already in it.

And he wasn’t going anywhere.

Josie snorted—quiet, breathless, more shaken than she wanted him to know.

“God,” she muttered, dragging her eyes from his lips to his face like it physically pained her, “you’re so much worse when you’re charming.”

Her hand slid up the front of his jacket again, slow and steady, curling in the collar like she wasn’t about to yank him in—but then she did. Sharp. Certain.

And kissed him again.

This one was rougher around the edges. Less poetic. More Josie. All mouth and heat and something like a dare folded into the way her fingers tightened at the back of his neck. She kissed him like she wanted to bite the truth right off his tongue. Like she was still trying to convince herself it didn’t mean anything—while knowing damn well it did.

When she finally pulled away—lips swollen, breath uneven, eyes darker than the space between stars—she didn’t let go.

Not right away.

Her forehead bumped his. Her mouth hovered near his like she wasn’t done. Like they’d keep circling back to this every time they got too close to stopping.

But she exhaled.

A slow breath. A real one.

And said, quieter now:

“…We should get the ATV back before someone notices.”

A pause. Her smirk returned, small but devastating.

“Would really suck if we got caught and had to explain to a bunch of drunk idiots why we disappeared for twenty minutes and came back looking like this.”

She didn’t step back yet.

Didn’t give him distance.

She just lingered there—still close enough to kiss, still close enough to make it clear that yeah, maybe this was reckless, and messy, and doomed in all the obvious ways.

But she wasn’t done with it yet.

Not even close.

“C’mon, Harvard,” she said finally, tilting her chin toward the trail like it hadn’t just become their secret. “Try not to wreck it on the way down. I’m the only dangerous thing you’re allowed to ride tonight.”

And yeah.

She grinned.

But she also meant it.

Asher grinned—wrecked and reverent all at once.

He didn’t move for a second. Didn’t blink. Just stood there with her words still echoing in his chest like the aftershock of something holy and profane at the same time.

“I’m the only dangerous thing you’re allowed to ride tonight.”

Jesus.

He was going to think about that line every night until August. And probably a thousand after that.

But he didn’t say anything. Not right away.

Because Josie still hadn’t stepped back. Still hadn’t let go. And her breath—warm, wild, real—was still brushing his mouth like a promise that hadn’t finished landing yet.

His hands skimmed her waist once more—slow, certain, like they knew the shape of this moment now. Like they’d carved it from moonlight and mud and that dangerous thing they were both pretending wasn’t real.

Then, low—right at her ear, voice rough and cocky and too close:

“Babe, I could wreck it with my eyes closed.”

He pulled back just enough to see the flicker in her expression, the way her eyes narrowed like she was debating whether to shove him or kiss him again.

He didn’t give her time.

Just turned, hopped on the ATV like he owned the goddamn woods, and revved the engine once—loud enough to make a few birds take off from the trees.

When she slid on behind him—hands on his hips, warm and sure like they’d always been there—he leaned back just slightly.

Didn’t look over his shoulder.

Just smirked.

“I’ll get us down safe,” he said, voice cocky but low. “But if we come back looking like this, I’m blaming it on you.”

A beat. Then—

“And Josie?”

He twisted the throttle slow, just enough to make her lean in closer before he took off.

“You kiss like a goddamn riot.”

And then they were moving—fast, free, and headed back toward the noise.

Back toward the part of the night where none of this was supposed to happen.

But it had.

And there was no going back.