“Yeah.” She finally looks up at me again, eyes steady, warm, a little sharp. “I wanted to see you where you’re comfortable. Where you’re not trying so hard.”
“That’s funny,” I murmur. “Because you’re the one who came in wearing a costume.”
Her lips twitch. “I wanted to observe without… influencing the experiment.”
I lean in just enough that my forehead brushes hers. “You influence every room you walk into.”
She inhales, slow, like she feels that truth settle somewhere low. “Maybe,” she says. “But this wasn’t about control.”
“No?” I ask.
Her thumb drags lightly over my sternum, just once. Deliberate. “This was about knowing,” she says. “About you. About whether the man who looks at me the way you do exists everywhere or only when it’s quiet.”
Something tightens behind my ribs. I don’t answer right away. I don’t joke. I just slide my hand to the small of her back and pull her closer until there’s no question left about where I stand.
“Now you know,” I say.
She nods, slow. “Yeah,” she whispers. “I do.”
She glances over my shoulder toward the hallway, then back at me like she’s weighing something.
“I need the bathroom,” she says, almost apologetic.
I smirk. “Tragic.”
She laughs and leans in before I can say anything else, presses a soft kiss to my cheek. Not rushed. Not tentative. Just hers. “Don’t move,” she murmurs. “I’ll be right back.”
My hand slides to her hip on instinct. “I’ll try to survive.”
She pulls away, still smiling, and disappears into the crowd, that familiar sway in her step that makes it impossible not to track her. I watch her until she’s gone, until the space she leaves behind feels louder than the music.
A couple guys brush past me, someone claps me on the shoulder, Diesel shouts something I ignore. None of it really lands. My focus stays locked on the hallway like she might reappear any second.
She said she’d be back.
I believe her.
Still, I keep my body angled that way, beer untouched in my hand, eyes sharp, waiting.
NINE
SAVANNAH
I walkpast them without looking at anyone and duck into the first open stall. Lock the door. Sit down even though I don’t really have to go. My hands are shaking too badly to do anything else.
The door barely closes before they start laughing.
“Oh my god,” one of them says. “Did you see her face?”
Another snorts. “She totally heard us.”
“Good,” someone replies. “Maybe it’ll save her some dignity.”
I press my lips together, stare at the scuffed stall door in front of me. There’s a phone number carved into it. A heart with initials scratched through. I focus on that instead of the sound of heels clicking closer.
“You know Lucky will fuck literally anyone,” the counter girl says. “He’s not picky. That’s kind of his charm.”
“Please,” another says. “I watched him take a bartender home last week and she spilled tequila on him all night.”
