He takes my hand, pulling me close, his fingers slipping around my waist. We sway to the music, barely moving, just existing in each other’s arms.
He kisses me softly—my cheek, my temple, the tip of my nose—like he’s memorizing me. Like he’s terrified he’ll forget what I feel like.
“Can I tell you a secret?” I whisper.
He nods, eyes locked on mine.
“If every song in the universe disappeared, I wouldn’t care. Because you’re music to me. You’re my favorite song. You’re music, Vincent Cooper.”
His lips brush mine once—a soft, trembling touch—and then he breaks.
Something snaps in him. His hand slides deeper into my hair, fingers tightening just enough to tilt my head back, guiding my mouth to his with a certainty that steals the air from my lungs. The second kiss is nothing like the first.
It lands hard.
Hot.
Hungry.
His mouth claims mine with a slow, deliberate pressure that grows deeper by the second. His lips move against mine in a rhythm that’s almost maddening—firm, searching, lingering. Every shift of his mouth sends a pulse of heat through me.
His other hand grips my waist and pulls me flush against him.
No space. No hesitation. Just heat—his body burning against mine.
His breath mixes with mine, warm and uneven, as he kisses me again, deeper, his lips parting just enough to taste me. His lower lip drags against mine, slow and deliberate, and a shiver rips down my spine.
I clutch his shirt, pulling him even closer. He groans against my mouth and kisses me harder.
His fingers tighten at the nape of my neck, holding me steady as he guides the kiss, as if he can’t stand the idea of breaking contact for even a second. His mouth moves with a desperate precision—press, pull, breathe, repeat—until I feel like I’m melting into him.
My lips part beneath his, and he answers instantly, deepening the kiss with a heat that steals the strength from my knees. His tongue brushes mine—lightly, teasing, then firmer—until my whole body sparks. Every kiss after that is deeper. Hotter. More intense. He kisses the corner of my mouth, then returns to claim my lips again, harder.
His hand slides from my waist to my lower back, pulling me tighter still. His thumb traces the skin just above my hip, and I gasp into his mouth.
Our lips crash and part and meet again, over and over, faster, deeper, until the only sound in the world is our uneven breathing and the soft, desperate hums escaping both our mouths. When he finally pulls back—just barely—our lips are still brushing, breaths mixing, both of us shaking. His mouth finds mine again before either of us can speak—one more kiss, harder than the last, like he’s sealing something between us.
He’s stealing my heart.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
Vincent Cooper
PRESENT (2023)
“Oh well, whatever, nevermind.”
Kurt Cobain
Nova clings to me while Sam sniffles and Maggie returns with an armful of magazines.
“I didn’t know which one you’d like, so I grabbed all the ones that looked full of gossip and celebrity drama. They help me when I’m on a plane,” she murmurs, moving to stand beside my parents.
“Thank you.” I give her a small smile. She nods and slips an arm around Sam’s shoulders.
“Stop sniffling, will you? Your boyfriend will be back soon,” she mutters, running her fingers through his hair.
It’s strange to see how much their relationship has changed compared to how it was before, but it makes me happy. It feels like they’re building a special kind of friendship.
