Viola laughed breathlessly.
"I think you've ruined me for all other shooting instructors."
"Good," he said, sliding his hand into hers as they walked away. "I like being your only distraction."
The drive back was quiet. Not awkward—just charged.
Mack had one hand on the wheel, the other draped casually over the gearshift. Viola sat beside him, her fingers tapping idly on her thigh, her body still humming with the tension from the range… and from him.
The city lights flickered as they turned down a quieter road. She glanced over at him. His jaw was tight, eyes on the road, but she could feel him—every inch of him—holding himself back.
When he finally pulled into the underground parking lot of his building, the tension had curled into something heavier. Tighter.
"Are you hungry?" he asked as they stepped into the elevator.
"For food?" she teased.
He looked down at her slowly. "No."
The elevator ride was silent after that.
When the doors slid open to his floor, he let her step out first. Viola wandered in, her heels echoing on the polished concrete floor of his loft, feeling the low thrum of nerves and anticipation settle in her chest.
He followed, slowly, with that look again. Like he was trying not to touch her—but also trying not to not touch her.
She turned to him, arms crossing over her chest like a weak attempt at protection.
"We should slow down."
"Vi," he said, voice low, "I haven't touched you since the range."
She gave him a look. "You didn't have to."
Mack smirked, stepping forward.
"That's what I like about you."
"What?"
"You feel everything. And you don't fake a damn thing."
The confession knocked the wind out of her more than it should have.
He reached for her hand—gently this time—drawing her toward the couch.
"Sit with me."
She did. Not because she had to. But because she wanted to.
Mack didn't pull her close or make any sudden moves. He just sat beside her, arms draped along the back of the couch, his knee brushing hers.
"Tell me something true," he said.
She blinked. "What?"
"You said this wasn't smart. I want to know what's going on in that head."
She hesitated… then said softly,
"I don't know how to want someone and not lose myself in the process. I've only ever known how to give too much… and be left with too little."
He didn't flinch. Didn't mock. Just nodded.
"That's not going to happen here. I can't promise that," Mack said, "but I can prove it. And I will."
Silence.
Then her voice, quiet again: "Why me?"
He leaned in, slowly, and whispered against her cheek,
"Because I've never met a woman who made me wait and burn like this... and still made it worth it."
Her breath caught.
His hand moved to her knee with gentle pressure, nothing more, but it sent a wave through her that made her toes curl in her boots.
"And because," he added, "you're the only woman who could break me in half just by walking away."
Viola closed her eyes.
Because she was dangerously close to letting that happen. To let him in all the way.
And she wasn't sure she'd survive it.
But right now, with his breath on her skin and the city glowing behind the glass wall, she didn't care about survival.
She only cared about this.
Mack didn't push for more.
He just held her gaze, studied her like she was made of wildfire and velvet, and then stood.
"I'm taking you home."
It wasn't a request. But it wasn't possessive either. It was protective—quietly so.
Viola nodded, her voice hiding somewhere beneath the storm of feelings he always left her with.
The drive back was slower this time. Comfortable. A warmth in the silence that hadn't been there before. His fingers brushed hers on the center console once, and neither of them pulled away.
When they reached her building, Mack parked and walked her up, stopping just shy of her apartment door.
He didn't try to kiss her. Didn't even lean in.
Instead, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and murmured, "Sleep. You're going to need it."
Her stomach did a little somersault.
"Why?"
"Because tomorrow night is dinner at my place." His voice dropped an octave. "And I don't plan on letting you leave hungry."
Before she could even smirk, or roll her eyes, or fire back something flirty, he turned and strode away down the hallway like the scene didn't just smolder in his wake.
Viola stared after him for a moment, heart thudding.
Then she stepped inside.candle flickered from the kitchen counter, the smell of vanilla and something cinnamon-tinged filling the air.
"About damn time," came a voice from the couch.
Viola smiled instantly.
"Sam," she said, laughing as her best friend peeked over a throw pillow, popcorn bowl in her lap. "Did you break into my apartment?"
"No. You gave me the spare key, remember? You said—'In case Mack turns out to be a serial killer and I disappear.'" Sam mimicked her dramatically.
Viola kicked off her boots and padded toward the couch. "Well, he didn't kill me."
"No, but judging from that look on your face," Sam grinned, "he did something."
Viola flopped down beside her and let out a half-groan, half-sigh.
Sam pushed the popcorn bowl into her lap. "Start talking. I want every detail. But first—wine?"
"God, yes."
Sam got up and headed to the kitchen. Viola sat back, letting the comfort of her apartment, the glow of her candles, and the warmth of her best friend's presence wash over her.
Her lips still tingled from almost-kisses.
Her skin still burned from almost-touches.
And her chest… well, her chest ached from the way Mack had looked at her.
Like he saw straight through every wall she'd built.
Tomorrow would be its own story.
But tonight?
Tonight she had wine, popcorn, her best friend