“You know what that means.” The words scrape out, fractured. “My head is wired wrong tonight and everything feels too loud and too sharp and too close. You’re the only thing that?—”
I don’t let him finish. I step into him and press my mouth to his.
He shudders. His hands fly to my waist, gripping tight enough to make my breath catch. He kisses me back like he’s trying to shove the chaos out of his body and into mine, kissing me deep, messy, hungry.
My back hits the hallway wall and his forehead presses to mine. Our breaths and our tongues tangle in the heat between us.
“More,” he whispers against my lips. “Please.”
I kiss him again. Longer. Slower. Anchoring.
His heartbeat begins to even out and his grip steadies.
His breath has just aligned with mine and he’s muttering, “Can I fuck you, baby? Please?” when the hallway door slams open.
“Zane.” Freddie’s voice cracks like a whip. “What the hell was that stunt in there—oh.” His eyes land on us. “Jesus. Again?”
Bishop appears behind him, hands raised in surrender. “We’re not judging, but you can’t strangle studio kids in public, man.”
King chimes in. “We have three sponsorship meetings tomorrow, man. Three.”
Jude adds, “Also, that guy might sue. And by ‘might,’ I mean ‘definitely will.’”
I groan.
Zane doesn’t turn around.
He keeps his body braced over mine, shielding me from view, breathing against my cheek like he’s still threading himself back into control.
Freddie rubs a hand down his face. “Zane, you can’t keep doing this. You can’t blow up every time someone breathes in Ruby’s direction.”
Zane finally turns his head, but only enough to look at Freddie over his shoulder. His voice is calm again.Too calm.“He offered her drugs.”
Freddie’s expression softens by a millimeter. “I get it. But you still can’t?—”
“He offered her drugs,” Zane repeats, several octaves louder. “Maybe you should do your job and make sure fucking assholes like that don’t enter my presence. Or hers.”
And the hallway door shuts gently on Freddie’s incoming lecture, because Bishop drags him back by the elbow.
For a second, the world goes quiet again.
Just him.
Just me.
Just the thrum of danger still simmering under his skin.
“We need to go home,” I whisper.
He sighs. “I know. And we will,” he murmurs, resting his forehead to mine again. “Soon. But as much as I hate to say it, Freddie will have my balls on a string if I bail on the shoot and the tour.”
But there’s something in his voice that makes my pulse jump, something determined, heavy, resolute.
Something that whispers…he isn’t letting tonight go.
He isn’t lettingmego.
And something is about to break.
