Ellenor leans close to my ear, following my gaze as she slurps her drink. “A bit of eyeliner and he’d look like what’s-his-name on that Green Day poster you had in your room.”
I swallow hard. “Yep.”
“You know…I bet you could convince him to get a tattoo of—”
“No,” I say firmly.
“Sean has one on his—”
“No.”
I don’t take my eyes off Brandon, and she backs off with a knowing smile. The music swells, and something reckless unfurls in me. For a wild moment, I imagine crossing the room and kissing him senseless onstage.
In this dress, with the lights catching on every shimmer, I almost believe I could do it.
He looks up mid-performance, eyes sweeping the room until they find mine. The connection snaps tight—electric, inevitable—and the whole pub falls away.
No band. No crowd.
Just him and me.
I forget how to breathe.
When the performance ends and the applause fades, I push my way through the crowd to find him, my pulse still racing, nerves fizzing under my skin.
He’s in the narrow hallway outside the kitchen, crouched down and packing his guitar away with calm, methodical movements, as if he didn’t just set me on fire in public.
I tuck an errant strand of hair behind my ear, suddenly nervous.
I’m aware of how many people are around. Some clearly know Brandon, and they stare curiously as I approach him.
He glances up from his guitar case and smiles—a small, private one just for me.
My nerves scatter.
“Hey,” I say, suddenly breathless.
He rises slowly, unfolding to his full height. The hallway feels narrower with him standing there. The other musicians keep packing up, but it all blurs into background noise the moment he steps towards me.
I close the distance, heart in my throat. My hands find his shirt, sliding up the line of buttons as I rise onto my tiptoes to press my lips to his.
He kisses me, slow and deep.
Want and need collide, finally.
Our foreheads brush as he pulls back a fraction.
“Back to the cottage?” he says, voice low.
I nod, and he takes my hand. We intend to walk, but on our way out, Sean tosses something to him.
“Take the motorbike,” Sean says as Brandon catches the keys. “You’re welcome.”
My eyebrows shoot up as we step outside. “Don’t you need a licence for that?”
Brandon’s mouth tilts in a half-smile. “I’ve got one.”
Oh.
