“Everything,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “I couldn’t hold it in, okay? Seeing her, being near her again—it’s like it’s all right there, like no time has passed. And I hate it.” I pause, my fists clenching at my sides. “I hate that I still want her. That I can’t stop.”
Xayden nods slowly, his smirk fading into something more serious. “Yeah, I know. We all know.”
“Do you?” I challenge, turning to face him fully. “Because it feels like you and Jake have no problem moving on with your lives while I’m stuck here?—”
“Don’t,” Xayden cuts me off, his voice biting now. “Don’t act like this is easy for any of us. Just because I can smile and flirt doesn’t mean I’m not carrying it too. But you? You’ve been carrying it differently. You’re not just holding on, West—you’re drowning in it.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I look away, my hands flexing and releasing as I try to process.
“Look, man,” Xayden continues, his tone softening again, “if you still want her, then stop fighting it. But don’t think you’re the only one who’s hurting here. We all are.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Xayden claps me on the shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze before stepping back.
“Get your head straight, West,” he says, his smirk returning faintly. “We’re all in this mess together, whether we like it or not.”
And with that, he turns and walks off, leaving me standing there in the empty space, alone with my thoughts and the echoes of a past I can’t seem to let go.
CHAPTER 15
Ashlyn
A swarmof angry bees seems to buzz in my stomach as I watch the guys with this season’s models. The girls are all over them, their hands trailing over arms and shoulders, their bodies pressed close in time with the music. The choreography matches the sultry beat of the song, every move more provocative than the last.
And the lyrics? They’re a knife twisting in my chest.
They pull me back to before—to lazy afternoons under the summer sun, when the days stretched endlessly, golden and warm. I can still feel the heat of stolen kisses in the back of a pickup truck, the rough scrape of sand under my thighs at the beach. It was everything and nothing all at once. A fleeting eternity that shattered so easily, it left me reeling.
I force myself to breathe through the ache, but it’s no use. My pheromones slip through the cracks of my composure, breaking past the descenter I applied earlier. The scent of strawberries and cream—tart and slightly sour—swirls around me, impossible to ignore.
I shift in my seat, uncomfortable with the punishing grip of jealousy pulling at my chest. I shouldn’t feel this way. I have noclaim to them anymore, no right to want what I gave up. But the sight of their easy smiles and the way the girls touch them so casually? It makes my stomach churn.
And that damn song doesn’t help. The lyrics are like ghosts, pulling me back to moments I’ve spent years trying to forget. Memories of laughter, of whispered promises under the stars, of love so fierce it burned. I feel it all, like an ache that never truly left.
The music fades, but Todd’s voice lingers, soft and low, brushing against my skin like a ghost of a caress. His eyes find mine, and for a moment, I’m pinned in place by his gaze.
I push to my feet, brushing invisible dust from my pants even though I’m spotless. A nervous habit, maybe, or just an excuse to break the tension coursing through me.
“Choreography looks good,” I call out, my voice steady, even if I’m not. “We’ll wrap for the night and meet again tomorrow around noon for another round.”
I pause, letting my eyes sweep over the models gathered on the stage. “And don’t forget your descenter pills tomorrow, ladies.” The words come out firm, almost clipped. Practical, professional—definitely not driven by jealousy. No, this is for the good of the show.
It’s Shelley’s rule, after all, and I’m just enforcing it. That’s all this is. Or so I tell myself.
Jake’s lips quirk up as he sets down his bass, but it’s not just a smile. It’s that look. The one that says he knows exactly what’s going on in my head, and worse—he’s going to say something about it.
The models scatter, calling their goodbyes to the band as they trail off stage to gather their things. Their laughter and chatter fade into the background, but Jake doesn’t move to follow. Instead, he strolls casually to the edge of the stage, his eyes locked on me like he’s a predator and I’m already caught.
He inhales deeply. “Looks like someone forgot their descenter,” he says, his tone light but the smirk in his voice unmistakable.
I cross my arms, narrowing my eyes at him. There’s no way he smells me up there. There isn’t even a breeze to carry my perfume to him. And out of all of them, he’s the least likely to actually smell my perfume. “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?” He hops down from the stage, closing the distance between us with lazy confidence. “Because I’m pretty sure I caught a whiff of strawberries and cream up here, and it wasn’t from the models.”
I clench my jaw, my fingers digging into my arms. “Jake?—”
“Relax,” he interrupts, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to something quieter, more teasing. “Your secret’s safe with me. For now.”
“There’s no secret,” I snap, stepping back as if putting space between us will help. But it doesn’t. His scent—a mix of sage and green tea—clings to the air, wrapping around me like it always has. My resolve wavers, but I force myself to hold my ground. “I’m just enforcing Shelley’s rules. That’s it.”
