Sheila’s POV
He’s closer now. Closer than anyone should be allowed to be without permission, and yet here he is, leaning against the edge of the sidewalk like he owns it like he owns me. My stomach twists. My thighs ache. My pulse is hammering in a way that makes my chest feel too tight. I can feel it in every breath, every small tremor running through my body.
“You can stop pretending,” he murmurs, voice low, smooth, dangerous. “I can feel everything you’re holding back.”
I press my bag tighter to my chest, trying to create space, but it’s useless. Every inch between us is charged, electric. I want to step away, but my feet feel glued. My body won’t move without him giving permission, and God, I don’t want to wait for that. My hands fidget at the straps of my bag, my fingers digging in
