The Modern Witch's Guide to Faking It With a Werewolf

Max's POV –

Dallas sat stiff beside me, her fingers resting against the cushion between us like she wasn't sure what to do with them. Like she wasn't sure what to do with me.

I should've let it go. Should've let her sit in the quiet, let her have whatever space she needed.

But I couldn't.

Not after tonight.

Not after the way her eyes had blown wide with relief when she saw me.

So instead, I turned, shifting just enough that my arm on the back of the couch nearly brushed her shoulder.

She went still.

Not moving away. Not moving closer. Just... waiting.

I let my gaze roam over her, taking in every little sign that she was barely keeping it together.

Her hair—still wild from whatever the hell happened tonight.

Her pulse—a little too fast, even now.

I tipped my head back against the couch, my eyes still locked on her. Waiting. Letting her feel the weight of it.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.

"What?" she muttered, not looking at me.

I dragged my knuckles along the seam of the couch, right beside where her fingers were curled into the cushion. Close enough to feel her body react to the near-touch.

"Just thinking."

She finally looked at me, eyes narrowed, defensive as hell. "That's dangerous."

I smirked. "Only if you have something to hide."

She scoffed, turning away again, picking up her drink just so she'd have something to do with her hands.

And there it was—the distance she was trying to put between us.

It pissed me off more than it should have.

"You always do that," I said, leaning in a little. Not touching. But almost.

She glanced at me warily over the rim of her glass. "Do what?"

"Act like I'm the problem," I murmured. "Like I'm the one pushing when you're the one who came to me tonight."

Her fingers tensed around the glass.

"You asked to stay here," I reminded her. "So don't sit there and act like I'm the one making this complicated."

She let out a slow breath, setting the glass back down. "You always think you have me figured out, don't you?"

I held her gaze. "I don't think. I know."

She blinked, something dangerous and unreadable flashing through her eyes. "Then tell me, Max. What am I thinking right now?"

I smirked. Shifted closer. Let my thigh barely press against hers.

"That you should probably move," I said, voice dropping lower, more controlled. More dangerous.

Dallas stilled completely.

I could feel the tension rolling off her, the way her muscles had locked up at the contact.

But she didn't move.

Didn't pull away.

And that?

That was enough to shatter my patience.

I turned my head, watching her out of the corner of my eye. "That's what you're thinking, right?"

Her breath hitched.

But then, just as quick—she found her footing.

Her lips curved, slow and deliberate, like she was daring me to take this further. "You're an ass."

I grinned. "You say that a lot."

"Because it's true," she shot back, but there was no heat behind it now.

Just... something else.

Something sharper.

Something that coiled between us, thick and undeniable.

She shook her head, exhaling sharply, shifting just enough that our legs weren't touching anymore.

I let her have that space.

For now.

She ran a hand through her hair, sighing. "I just need to get my head straight."

My jaw tightened.

I wanted to ask what the hell that meant. What had gotten into her head in the first place.

But if she was staying here tonight, I needed to pick my battles.

I let out a breath, dragging my fingers along my jaw. "Fine."

She blinked at me, like she hadn't expected me to let it go.

Like she was surprised I wasn't pushing her for more.

I stood, grabbed my empty glass, and shot her a look. "You know where the extra blankets are."

She swallowed. "You're not staying out here?"

I raised a brow. "You want me to?"

Her lips parted slightly, but she didn't answer.

Didn't move.

Didn't deny it.

I smirked. Didn't press.

Just turned and walked into my bedroom, knowing damn well she was watching me go.

And knowing damn well this wasn't over.