The word jolts me. It doesn’t fit coming out of his mouth. He’s always so calm and cool and put together.

“I didn’t mean to do that.” His eyes are too dark in the shadows to read, but his voice is hoarse. And he sounds shocked, like he surprised even himself. “I’m sorry. Fuck.” He turns and takes a couple of steps away from me. Twisting back around, he runs a hand through his curls, so they stand on end like wild vines. He takes a step toward me and halts.

“It’s fine,” I say. “Nothing even happened.”

“I was supposed to give you an out, not draw you in more.” He strides all the way back to me, and for a second I think he’s going to finish what he started, and I don’t really know how I feel about that, but I stay right where I am and wait for him. But he doesn’t try to kiss me. He slams his fist and forearm into the chain-link above my head and stands there, inches from me, his body leaning down toward mine. His breathing is heavy.

Part of me wants to lift my fingers and touch his heaving chest, but I’m not sure what it would mean. Roman was supposed to be just another path to get what I wanted, but what if magic and revenge aren’t everything I’m longing for? And am I tempted by him just because Xander’s taking forever to make a move? I don’t know.

I like holding Xander’s hand and just smiling and laughing at his jokes and cheesy flirtations.

This. Right now. Doesn’t feel the same. This scares me. For the first time, I’m scared of Roman.

Because this feels too real.

Xander’s a fairy tale.

Fairy tales weren’t made for me.

But I can handle real and messy, and I want this.

I put my hand against his chest, pushing him back and around so that he’s the one against the fence, so that it’s clear I’m not pinned in, I’m right here, waiting.

He stares down at my hand, then back up at me. I let my fingers wind into the open collar of his shirt. His breath catches. “Ava, wait.”

I stop. “You don’t want this?” I don’t mean for my voice to come out so hurt.

He moves in answer. His lips stop barely an inch from mine, and for once, I don’t hesitate. I don’t think about what’s right or best. I do what I want. I kiss him, and desperation blooms there, tangling us together. I push harder, searching for the roots of each bloom. Mine are easy to follow at first, but they become convoluted the deeper I go. His, I can’t begin to fathom.

I pull back.