Romancing the Beat – "Deepening Desire")
You ever have that moment where someone stands just a little too close, and your brain short-circuits like a squirrel chewing live wire?
Yeah. That's me. Right now.
We're crouched in the back of the van again—because apparently, romance smells like damp socks and motor oil—and Renna is explaining our next move using a stolen holographic map and a lot of very intimidating hand gestures.
And I—I am not listening.
I'm watching her mouth. Which is moving. A lot. And it's very distracting.
"—so if we infiltrate from the eastern subcorridor during the shift change, we can bypass at least two of the security checkpoints and access—"
"Your cheek has grease on it," I blurt.
She stops. Blinks. "What?"
"You've got a thing. Right… there." I gesture vaguely at her face, like that helps.
Renna raises an eyebrow. Then wipes her cheek with her sleeve.
"Well, that was weird," she mutters.
"You're weird," I say, because I'm twelve, apparently.
She shoots me a look. The kind that could burn holes through steel.
But here's the thing. She doesn't look away.
Neither do I.
There's a long, long beat where the air between us hums like we just stuck a fork into destiny's electrical socket.
Then she says, voice low, "You keep staring at me like that, and I'll think you're catching feelings."
I laugh. Too loud. "Feelings? Me? Hilarious."
Renna tilts her head. "Because I don't do feelings."
"Oh, same," I say. "I'm allergic to feelings. I broke out in regret once just from watching a rom-com."
She smirks. "Good. Then we're on the same page."
Spoiler: we are not on the same page. Not even in the same genre anymore.
---
Later, that night.
We're hiding in an abandoned data center.
It's colder than betrayal in here. Dusty. Dark. The kind of place where you'd expect a villain monologue or a surprise betrayal from your own shadow.
Renna is fiddling with the override codes we got. I'm supposed to be keeping watch.
Instead, I'm staring at her again.
This is becoming a problem.
She's biting her lip. Focused. And wow, somehow that makes her about 37% more infuriating.
"What?" she asks without looking up.
"Nothing," I say.
She stops typing. Looks at me. "Okay. Spit it out."
I shrug. "I just… you're good at this."
She blinks. "At what? Lying? Stealing? Undermining a totalitarian regime on my lunch break?"
"No," I say. "Well, yeah. But also… being you."
Renna stares at me.
And I see it. That flicker of something behind her usual battle-hardened snark.
Something soft.
Something scared.
Something she buries so deep, it probably has its own zip code.
She stands. Walks over. And for some reason, I don't move.
"You don't know me," she says, softly.
I swallow. "Maybe. But I want to."
Boom.
That's it. I've said the thing.
The thing you do not say when you're in a fake partnership with a girl who probably sleeps with a knife under her pillow and once tased a guy for offering her a breath mint.
Renna steps closer. Inches now.
"Don't," she whispers.
"Don't what?"
"Don't make this complicated."
"It already is."
We stare at each other.
And then—because I'm an idiot, and because maybe I've always been this kind of idiot—I lean in.
And for half a heartbeat… she does too.
Our mouths are so close, I can feel her breath.
My heart is trying to leap out of my chest like a contestant on a bad dating game show.
Then—bam.
She steps back. Cold again.
Walls. Up. Reinforced with sarcasm and titanium regret.
"That didn't happen," she says flatly.
"Right," I say, throat dry. "Hallucination. Must've been the stress. Or the fumes. Definitely wasn't feelings."
She grabs her pack. "We move in five."
And just like that—poof. Moment gone.
---
Outside, 10 minutes later.
We sneak across a rooftop. Thunder cracks in the distance like the universe heard our sexual tension and decided to get dramatic about it.
Renna's silent. Focused.
Me? Not so much.
I'm reliving every second of that almost-kiss and wondering if I imagined the way her breath hitched. The way her fingers trembled for half a second.
Then we reach the target.
An old transmitter tower.
Our next step in blowing the lid off the regime's mind-control network. No biggie.
Renna scans the panel.
"Alarm's off," she mutters. "We've got twenty minutes before the next patrol."
I hold the ladder steady as she climbs.
And for one dumb second, I look up.
Right at her butt.
Because I'm a human disaster.
"Enjoying the view?" she calls down.
I want to die. "Shut up and hack the system."
---
Twenty minutes later. Mission success. Transmitter jammed. We're ghosts.
Back in the van, again.
The silence is very loud.
Finally, I say, "So. That happened."
"No," she replies, "It didn't."
"Oh cool. Love mutual denial. Very healthy."
She sighs. Leans back. "Why are you doing this?"
"What? Risking my life for a girl who can kill me with a spoon?"
"No," she says, voice lower. "Letting yourself care. About me. About this."
I think for a second.
Then I say, "Because I never cared before. About anything. And now… I do. And it sucks."
Renna doesn't say anything.
But she doesn't look away, either.
And that? That's almost something.