“Kane’s going viral!” Tanner yells.
“Show hips, Bear!” Dmitri roars. “Internet loves hips!”
Heat climbs my neck. “I’m not dancing on TikTok.”
She steps in, winter air giving way to peppermint and clean soap. She doesn’t look away. “Yes, you are. Or I’ll put you in the elf costume I was saving for Tanner.”
Tanner curses. The smarter play would be to hold the line. But my body has other ideas. “Fine.”
“Good man.” She’s close enough that I feel the warmth of her breath. “Relax. I’ve seen you move. You’ll be fine.”
My gut tightens. She was watching me. When? How often? Why?
I clear my throat. “What kind of dance?”
“The fun kind.” Her grin goes sly. “Basic ballroom. Foxtrot, quick spin. I’ll do the heavy lifting.” A beat. “You’ll be there for decoration, Kane.”
The room detonates.
“DECORATION!” Tanner yelps.
“Christmas tree Kane!” Dmitri bellows. “Put lights on our boy!”
Decoration.It shouldn’t lodge under my ribs. It does. She thinks I look good. That fact carves its way through the noise and settles where it can do damage.
Joy tilts her head, enjoying the chaos she started. “In ballroom, ninety percent of the audience watches the woman. Your job is simple. Stand there, look good, and don’t screw me up.”
More howls. Tanner wipes tears. “Stand there, Kane. Don’t screw her up.”
“Strong jaw, empty head,” Dmitri intones.
I drag a hand down my face to hide the grin I don’t want them to see. “Looking forward to it.”
She clocks the line, the not-grin, the surrender I didn’t plan on giving. Her expression sparks. For a second everything falls away and it’s just her, steady and sure, setting terms I’m happy to follow.
An hour later,we’re showered, fed, and sprawled across the lounge. Christmas lights blink along the far wall. The camera’s on a tripod. Joy wheels it into place, checks her frame.
She reaches for the hem of her oversized hoodie, and every guy in the room suddenly finds something fascinating about the floor. Except me. I can’t look away. She shrugs out of it, and my brain blanks.
Short skirt. Ballroom heels. Legs polished to a shine. A bra glazed in sparks. Bare abdomen. A tiny silver navel ring catching the overhead light like it’s winking just at me. Her blonde hair is down—long, loose, moving with her breath. The lanyard’s gone, just skin and sequins and confidence.
My mouth goes dry. That little ring is illegal. I’m going to be thinking about it for the rest of my actual life.
Tanner coughs into his fist, covering a sound he doesn’t want on camera. Adam mutters a curse. Dmitri crosses himself. Nate laughs under his breath and lifts his phone—not at her, at me.
“Heads up, Kane,” Finn drawls, lazy and lethal. “Your edges are chewed.”
Translation:pull it together.
Joy doesn’t clock the jab. She’s all angles, exposure, audio—pure pro. Everyone pretends to breathe normal air.
Has this version of her been hiding under those oversized layers this whole time? A hard weight lands low. I half-rise, catchmyself, and sink back into the couch, pretending I didn’t just lurch forward.
This is dangerous. Not just because she’s gorgeous—half the women in New York are gorgeous. It’s the way she moves through the space. Unbothered. Confident. Like she doesn’t need anyone’s permission to exist.
I’ve never wanted anyone more.
Nate keeps his voice mild. “You good, Alaska?”
