The Crow Club was nearly empty, the lamps dimmed, the smell of spilled liquor clinging to the walls. Kaz sat alone at his private table, sorting through stacks of ledgers and betting slips. His coat was draped over the chair beside him, sleeves rolled up just enough to show the line of his forearms,something he never did in public unless everyone else was gone.
He was tired. Focused. Vulnerable in the smallest, most dangerous ways. Perfect. You slid into the seat across from him without being invited. Kaz didn’t look up, but his jaw ticked, a tiny sign he had noticed.
“You’re in my way,” he said.
“Good,” you replied with a grin. “Then you can’t escape.”
His eyes lifted slowly, cold and sharp, but they faltered just slightly when they met yours. “You’re being annoying.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“You’re being reckless.”
“And you’re being cute.”
Kaz inhaled harshly, like you’d hit him. His pen stopped mid-stroke.
You leaned forward on your elbows, chin resting on your hands, staring at him unabashedly. “You know,” you said lightly, “for someone who terrifies the entire Barrel, you get flustered very easily.”
“I am not flustered.” He was. You saw it in the stiff line of his shoulders.
You stood and walked around the table. He tracked your movement like a cornered predator, calculating, controlled, but undeniably tense. You stopped beside him. He didn’t move.
“You’re in my personal space,” he said quietly.
“I know,” you whispered back. “Crazy, right?”
Kaz’s hand tightened around his cane, knuckles pale beneath the gloves. “I don’t like being crowded.”
You stepped closer anyway, your knee brushing his. “Yes you do,” you said softly. “With me.”
His breath left him in a slow, almost pained exhale. “You assume too much.”
“Then prove me wrong,” you challenged, leaning in until your face was inches from his, your breath warm on his cheek.
Kaz froze. Absolutely still. You could practically hear his heartbeat hammering against his ribs, the war between instinct and desire tearing him apart. His gaze locked on yours, dark and stormy and impossibly intense.
The silence stretched until it felt electric. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Kaz’s eyes dropped to your mouth. He caught himself midway and snapped them back up, as if furious with himself for slipping. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he whispered.
“And you’re enjoying it,” you murmured.
His jaw clenched, breath shaking as he tried to maintain control. You could see the battle, how badly he wanted to lean in, how every instinct screamed at him to push you away.
You tipped your head slightly, lips brushing the air between you. Not touching. Just close enough to feel the heat of him. “Kaz?” you whispered.
His eyes softened for a fraction of a second, so brief you almost missed it. Then his voice came, rough and low: “If I touch you,” he said, “I won’t stop.”
Your pulse stuttered. “So don’t stop.”
Kaz shut his eyes like the words physically hurt him. His gloved hand lifted, shaking, as if he meant to cup your cheek… but halted a hair’s breadth away, hovering in the space between longing and terror. “I can’t,” he whispered.
You swallowed. “Because of the touch thing?” He shook his head once, opening his eyes. “Because I want you too much.”
The honesty punched the air from your lungs. Kaz leaned in, barely, just enough that his forehead almost touched yours. His breath trembled against your lips. “You should walk away,” he said, voice breaking in a way he’d never allow anyone else to hear. “Before I make a mistake.”
You smiled softly, dangerously. “Maybe I want the mistake.”
Kaz’s breath hitched. For one suspended moment, he almost closed the distance. You felt him move, just a fraction, drawn by gravity, by desire, by something he couldn’t control.
Then-
His chair scraped back as he abruptly stood, turning away so sharply it looked like pain. His hand, the one that almost touched you, curled into a trembling fist at his side. “Go,” he said hoarsely.
“Kaz-”
“Please.”
The word was quiet. Broken. Real. You stepped back, not defeated, but victorious.