The tension between you and Price had been palpable for years, an unspoken bond forged in battle and strengthened through countless late nights and shared drinks. Everyone saw it, those lingering glances, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you, the way your body seemed to gravitate toward his, but no one dared to address it. Not even you or him. Crossing that invisible line was something neither of you had the courage to do. Until tonight.

The amber glow of the whiskey in your glasses matched the warm light of the fire crackling in the corner of his office. You sat across from him, watching as he brought his cigar to his lips, the smoke curling around his rugged features. The room smelled of tobacco, aged leather, and the faintest hint of his cologne, a mix that had long since become intoxicating to you.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” he said, his voice deep and gruff, laced with curiosity.

You shrugged, swirling your glass. “Just thinking.”

He raised a brow, taking a slow drag from the cigar. “Care to share with the class?”

You hesitated, unsure if the alcohol was emboldening you or if you were finally growing tired of the dance you’d been doing for so long. Before you could respond, though, Price leaned forward, his gaze intense, studying you like you were the most complicated mission he’d ever undertaken.

And then, he closed the distance.

The taste of whiskey lingered on his lips as they met yours, firm and unapologetic. The kiss was hungry, almost desperate, as though he’d been holding himself back for far too long. Smoke spilled from his mouth into yours, the flavor mingling with the heat of his lips as his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, and the faintest smirk played on his lips. “Should’ve done that years ago,” he muttered, his voice a husky whisper.