But we both flinch a little. Reality is outside that door. The buses. The tour. Luc. Mikey. Hayden. Cherry. Cameras. Fans. Stress. Noise. The fact that nothing about this is simple. And right here, in this tiny window of morning, we both know it.
She lifts her hand and presses it to my chest, right over the heartbeat she has no idea she owns. “What happens now?” she whispers.
I cover her hand with mine. Anchor it there. Anchor myself there. “Now we go back and we figure it out. Together.”
She swallows. “Together,” she echoes.
And that’s when I know without any doubt, that what happened last night wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t heat or timing or convenience. It wasn’t a mistake or a distraction.
It was the start of something I’m not letting go of.
Not now.
Not ever.
Chapter Thirty
Sadie
Welcome To New York
Taylor Swift
By the time we pull into the venue, my body still feels warm and loose from the night with Dean, but my mind is an absolute mess. Because the worst part of waking up wrapped in him wasn’t the vulnerability, it was how right it felt. How natural. How frighteningly easy it was to fall asleep on his chest and wake up with his arm heavy across my waist like it had always belonged there.
We slip back to the venue separately, careful and quiet, letting the Airbnb become its own little bubble that the real world can’t touch. But the second I’m inside the stadium, the reality of keeping this, whatever this is, a secret, hits me like a speaker blowout. Not because I’m ashamed of him. But because I don’t want to lose this before I even get the chance to understand it.
Dean moves through the loading bay twenty feet away, talking to Cherry, squinting against the early light, his hair still a little damp from the shower we most definitely shared. His eyes flick toward me for the quickest second, just a glance, but it hits me dead center.
I force myself to look away first. We have to be careful. For now. But he sees through it. I can tell. And even from across the floor, the air shifts, something invisible and magnetic sparking between us, drawing my attention whether I want it to or not.
We know none of the guys will care. They’ve been teasing us and making it clear they know something was brewing between us. But, it’s my job on the line. It’s important I maintain a level of professionalism that doesn’t include sleeping with someone in the band you’re supposed to be covering. It’s Dean, and the execs wanting the guys to maintain their sex appeal, which apparently doesn’t include having a girlfriend.
I bury myself in work getting shots of the stadium, the crew, the build. But no matter where I turn, he’s somehow there. Close enough to feel, but far enough away that I can’t touch.
He brushes behind me as I’m swapping lenses, so close that his breath grazes the back of my neck. “Hey baby,” he murmurs, voice like warm sandpaper.
I freeze for half a heartbeat. “You can’t talk to me like that at work.”
“Then stop looking so kissable at work,” he whispers back, and I swear my knees almost buckle. He passes by without another word, just a sly brush of his pinky against mine. Invisible. Electric. Mine.
Later, I’m crouched near the drum riser shooting Mikey when a hand curls around my hip and a mouth presses quick and hot behind my ear. “Twelve seconds,” Dean grumbles. “That’s all I get in this corner before someone walks by.”
“Twelve seconds for what?” I whisper, breath catching.
His lips ghost down my neck, slow and sinful. “To make a new memory.”
Heat floods me so fast I forget where I am. “Dean…” Footsteps approach. He’s gone in an instant. My pulse is not.
During soundcheck, he catches me staring and smirks, tapping the guitar pick to his mouth in a slow, deliberate tease. The kind that reminds me exactly what his fingers and mouth were doing to me just hours ago. The bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. And I hate how much I love it.
By early evening, I’ve lost track of how many glances we’ve stolen. I go to grab my camera bag from the upstairs storage nook and find myself yanked softly into the narrow stairwell. Dean pins me gently to the wall with his hips, his hands bracing on either side of my head.
“Missed you,” he breathes, forehead touching mine.
“You saw me ten minutes ago,” I chide, trying not to smirk.
“Exactly.” His mouth finds mine and it’s needy and deep, tasting of heat and promise. His hand slides up my thigh just enough to make my breath stutter. I grab his shirt instinctively, pulling him closer, swallowing the low groan he lets slip.
