Then, voices. Mikey and a tech on the landing above us. Dean’s mouth pulls from mine with a frustrated sigh, his forehead pressing to my cheek as he catches his breath. “I swear this tour is my punishment,” he growls. “I can’t get five minutes alone with you.”
“You sound distressed,” I tease.
He bites back a chuckle. “Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.” My body wants to drag him right back in. But we break apart before they spot us. Barely.
By the time we leave Charlotte, I swear the air between us is vibrating. We’ve become experts at the art of pretending: keeping our voices steady, our faces neutral, our hands far from each other unless no one’s around.
Not once do we say what we’re doing. Not once do we talk about a title or a direction. But the way he kisses me in the half-dark, the way he watches me when he thinks I’m not looking, the way he growls “come here” in that low, private tone that’s only for me, yeah, we’re something.
But naming it would make it real. And real is terrifying. Still, the fear is being drowned out by something louder. Want. Need. Hope. We’re not public. We’re not defined. We’re not safe. But yeah, this is real.
I pass him in the bus hallway late that night, and he grabs my wrist, pulling me against him in the dark. “Come here,” he orders.
His mouth finds the underside of my jaw, slow and reverent, and my hands slide under his shirt before I can stop them. His hand is down my shorts, and his fingers sliding through my wet folds a second later.
“You’re soaked,” he proclaims in surprise. ““Why are you already so wet?”
“That’s what being near you does to me,” I confess on a whisper.
“God, I want you so bad right now.”
“Dean,” I hush out in panic. “Someone could see.”
“I don’t fucking care,” he growls, slamming his mouth to mine.
And for a solid thirty seconds, neither do I. He only lets me go when the bus groans to a stop at a gas station and Hayden stumbles out of his bunk. I nearly melt to the floor.
In the morning, NYC rises up outside the window like a promise. Steel and glass and noise. Mikey lifts the blinds and cheers the way only Mikey can.
Hayden shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous.”
I put a hand to my heart. “Okay, boys, this is my city, my hometown, my rules, and HOLY SHIT MY BABY SISTER IS COMING!”
As if she heard me from the bus in front of us, Cherry confirms the arrival with a text. “Ten minutes.”
“Great,” Mikey groans. “A baby sister. There’s two of you? God save us all.”
“Baby?” Dean mutters under his breath beside me. “She a toddler?”
“No.” I chuckle. “She’s incredible.”
His brow lifts. “Define incredible.”
“You’ll see,” I promise. We pull into the garage under the band’s hotel, and the unload chaos starts instantly; cases rolling, crew shouting, Cherry organizing thirty people at once.
The elevator a few feet away from us opens, and I snap my head up just as Quinn steps out. She’s bright and bold and confident as hell, boots clicking on the concrete, and a grin that could light up Times Square. She spots me and launches herself directly into my arms.
“YOU ARE GLOWING!” she squeals.
“I’m sweating.” I laugh, hugging her so hard.
“A sexy glow sweat. Keep it.” She beams. Then she turns, sees the guys, and I think, based on the expression he’s wearing, Mikey’s brain broke.
He actually stutters. “No. Absolutely not. You are not Quinn. Quinn is tiny and adorable and wears headbands and makes crafts.”
She smirks and winks. “Still adorable. Just longer legs.”
“Legs that are going to cause traffic to stop,” Mikey advises, shaking his head.
