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The wind outside was screaming like a downed elk, but inside, the only sound was the heavy, rhythmic thud of Julian’s heart against my ear.
The air in the club didn’t just vibrate with the bass; it felt like a weighted blanket pressing against my solar plexus.
!["I'm Not Sure Which Part of You Is the Ocean"](https://miscd.fra1.digitaloceanspaces.com/medium/"i'm-not-sure-which-part-of-you-is-the-ocean"-679-cover-1778515265468.jpg)
My psoas muscle, usually a tight knot of professional composure, simply dissolved the moment his saltwater-slicked hand found the small of my back.
He tasted like expensive bourbon and the kind of trouble that leaves you with a permanent kink in your lower back.
The cooling wards in this place are a joke when you’re looking at me like I’m a cold beer after a July ruck.