He would never let me walk away.
And if I want him to take me home, all I have to do is ask.
God, I want to ask. I want it so,somuch.
As the song reaches its end and the crowd cheers us off stage, it’s all I can think about. And apparently, I’m doing a pretty shitty job of hiding it.
“Go, girl,” Makena says as we reach the bottom step. “Go get you some in the family bathroom. You deserve it.”
I shake my head, laughing as I press the backs of my hands to my flushed cheeks. “Stop.”
“Ain’t no shame in being frisky in public,” she says, bumping my hip with hers. “Especially after singing like that. You should have been a pro, Char. For real. You’re incredible.”
“No way.” I shake my head. “I couldn’t handle the pressure. Or that much attention. You know I’m a private person.”
“Which is why you should go and be private,” she says, cutting a meaningful look to her right as we near our booth. “Preferably with the guy who’s clearly dying to show you how much he appreciates your talent.”
I glance back to the bar where Nix is collecting two fresh Trash Pandas.
But even as he pays, he barely looks at the bartender. His eyes are locked on me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle and my heartbeat kick into overdrive.
As he crosses the crowded room, his gaze drops to my mouth.
Lingers.
Then drags slowly back up to meet my eyes.
And for once, the hunger in his expression isn’t restrained or even particularly respectful. He looks like he wants to shove me against the nearest wall and fuck me until I forget my own name.
My nipples tighten in my bra as things low in my body twist and clench.
Maybe it’s the booze. I’m two Trash Pandas deep, and that second one went down way smoother than the first. Maybe it’s the performance high, the adrenaline still pulsing in my veins, assuring me you only live once, and I’ve already played it safe for far too long.
Or maybe it’s just…him.
This man, who is slowly but surely convincing me I deserve more than the “little sympathy” Stevie Nicks asked for in that song. That I deserve a partner with the compassion and intelligence to see what I’ve been through and the integrity to ensure I’m never betrayed again.
Nix and I might not make it as a couple, but deep down, I know it wouldn’t be because of lies or games. It wouldn’t be because either of us was too cowardly to face our demons or do the work.
Nix is clearly ready to do the work.
All the work.
And suddenly I can’t think of a single reason not to let him.
The moment he sets the drinks on our table, I’m on him, wrapping my arms around his neck as I drag his lips to mine. Without a beat of hesitation, he threads his fingers into my hair, making a light fist as his tongue sweeps past my lips.
The kiss is hot, possessive, both of us staking a claim right there beside the dance floor, with our friends and his coworkers just a few feet away. But I can’t bring myself to care.
I forget that I’m a private person.
I forget that we’re fake.
I forget everything except the heat of his mouth and the solid strength of his chest against mine as his free hand slides down my spine, molding me even closer.
“Get a room, dude!” a deep voice calls, followed quickly by a female voice hissing, “Oh, stop! Leave them alone. You’re just jealous.”
Nix and I pull apart to see Torrance scowling down at Sierra at the back of our booth. “Yeah, I am,” he agrees. “Less filming and more kissing, woman.”
