She’s giggling. He’s polite but distant. And still, something in my chest clenches.
I turn away, suddenly needing air—or a distraction—before I spiral into some pathetic jealousy meltdown.
But I don’t get far.
Because a tall girl in a Storm & Silence tank top steps directly into my path.
“You,” she snaps, eyes narrowing. “Are you seriously with Max?”
I blink. “I—sorry?”
“Max Donovan,” she says, slow like I might be stupid. “Are youdatinghim, or are you just, like… a backstage hookup?”
I flush. Heat creeps up my neck like a rising tide. “That’s… not really your business.”
She scoffs. “So that’s a yes. Wow.” Her eyes scan me, head to toe, full of disdain. “You’re not even his type. You look like someone’s assistant.”
I freeze. Every sharp-edged insecurity I’ve shoved down since stepping into this world bubbles to the surface.
But before I can even open my mouth, a voice cuts in—low, rough, furious.
“She’sexactlymy type.”
Max.
He appears out of nowhere, stepping between us with a controlled, dangerous calm. He doesn’t yell. Doesn’t posture. He just radiates that kind of quiet power that makes people back the hell off.
The girl’s face pales slightly.
“She’s not a hookup,” Max says, voice like steel. “She’s not a groupie. She’smine. So if you’ve got something to say, you can say it to me.”
The silence crackles.
The fan blinks. Mumbles something under her breath. And then vanishes into the crowd like smoke.
I exhale slowly, pulse thudding in my throat.
He takes my hand—right there in front of the crew, the hangers-on, the lingering fans—and laces our fingers together.
“I hate this part,” he says quietly. “The ones who think I’m some fantasy they’re owed. Fuck the noise. Fuck the groupies. Fuck anyone who doesn’t see how lucky I am to have you here.”
***
We’re back on the bus.
The noise of the venue is a memory now—just the low hum of the engine, the muted snoring of someone in the pods, the occasional creak as the bus shifts lanes on the highway. Max and I are curled up in the rear lounge, a blanket slung over our legs and Melody snoozing like a queen in a pile of pillows.
I shift just enough to reach my phone from the armrest and tap out a quick text to Emily.
Nora:
Still alive. Still slightly obsessed with him. Tired, happy, kissed senseless twice today. But beautiful women are everywhere, and they all want his attention. It’s maddening.
A second later, the typing dots appear. Then:
Em:
Okay, first of all: you are hot librarian gorgeous and no one can compete with that. Second: He’s obsessed with you. Remember who he kissed senseless. Twice. So don’t let it mess withyour head. Love you!
