His gaze hooks into mine, all defined edges and something I don’t recognize. The cocky mask slips for just a second, and I see it—the raw hunger he doesn’t usually let anyone catch.
“This is dangerous,” I whisper, more to myself than him. I know my brother could come back at any moment, and he definitely wouldn’t approve.
His mouth curves, slow and lethal. “Maybe.” His thumb brushes against my hipbone, small but intentional. “But you like dangerous.”
I scoff, even though my pulse is betraying me. “Don’t flatter yourself. I tolerate you.”
“Mm.” He leans closer, the music swallowing his words so only I hear them. “I think you do a bit more than that.”
God help me, I can’t move away.
The bass drops into something heavier, slower, the kind of beat that drags people closer, whether they want it or not. Bodies press in on all sides, and Elijah doesn’t even hesitate—he grabs my hip and pulls me against him.
I remind myself again and again just how stupid I’m being, but his hand settles low on my back, steady, daring me to complain. My palms flatten against his chest, and I tip my chin up. “You’re pushing it.”
A grin tugs at his mouth, infuriatingly cocky. “And you’re letting me.”
I roll my eyes, but my fingers curl tighter in his shirt. “Only because Enzo’s not watching.”
“Sure,” he says, leaning in, trying to read every thought I’m desperate to bury. His breath is hot against my ear. “Keep telling yourself that.”
The music swallows us whole. My chest brushing his every time I move, his thumb stroking slow circles against my hip.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I mutter, forcing my eyes anywhere but his.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re winning something here.”
He laughs, low and rough, the sound rattling down my spine. “Pretty girl, I don’t even need to try.”
Heat floods my face, my chest, everywhere. I want to smack him. I want to kiss him. Both would probably feel the same right now.
I don’t get the chance to decide.
“Enough.”
Enzo’s voice slices through the music. His hand clamping down on Elijah’s shoulder and yanking him back, forcing space between us.
I step away too quickly, pretending my pulse isn’t racing, pretending Elijah’s smirk isn’t burning a hole straight through me.
He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to. The look he gives me before Enzo shoves him toward the bar says it all—this isn’t over.
I push through the bathroom door, slamming it hard enough to make the girl at the sink jump and quickly leave the room. I lean against the counter, staring at my reflection. My hair’s sticking up in every direction, mascara’s smudged from thesweat and heat of dancing, and my chest is still pounding from Elijah pressed against me.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek. “Get it together, Ace.”
“He doesn’t own me. Enzo doesn’t own me. Nobody does. And if anyone thinks they can get in the way… they can go screw themselves.”
I hear a door creak behind me. Great. She probably thinks I’m talking to myself.
“Bathroom’s full,” I mutter.
I glance over at the door, club lights filtering through the frosted window, and a man is staring back at me. I raise a brow. “Are you lost?”
He chuckles, shifting back. “Relax. You’re just really pretty. I didn’t mean—”
“Relax?” I cut him off, leaning forward, smirking. “You’re in the women’s bathroom. You might want to recalibrate that advance.”
