Nate had fucked up so many things in his life. Made so many mistakes and bad decisions. But when she asked for him, he didn’t even blink.
“You’re the reason I’m still here, Holly.”
Still standing. Still fighting. Only now I’m fighting for something worth it.
Holly’s gaze dipped down to his mouth, and Nate felt his breath catch. Her lips parted. She licked them once, quick and nervous.Jesusfuck,she didn’t even know what shedidto him. How intensely she affected him without even trying when she looked up at him through her lashes with a soft, coy smile curled up on her mouth.
“I’d better be.”
“You two better hurry the hell up, before TMZ lose their ever-loving minds,” a stagehand barked at them from the end of the hallway. And just like that, the spell they’d been weaving together was shattered, together with Nate’s boxers.
He could still feel the ghost of her on him as they stepped into the press area. Ring lights blared, logos were stacked floor to ceiling, and handlers fluttered around them like caffeinated bees in headsets. The whole damn space pulsed with backstage adrenaline, the faint scent of hairspray, and that sharp tang of sweat and nerves.
Cameras clicked like a firing squad. Holly walked just ahead of him, spine tall, steps loose, but there was tension in her shoulders. Post-performance buzz, maybe, or something else. Something to do with the way she’d just looked at him, like he could be something she’d let herself want. Her hand brushed low across his back like she didn’t mean to. Just a graze, light, harmless.
Only it sent a jolt of electricity straight to his cock that was anythingbutfucking harmless. Not when it lit up his spine like a fuse and made him want to drag her into the nearest storage closet and undo her dress with his teeth. She didn’t evenknow.That’s what killed him. Her hips moved like she was teasing the camera crew on purpose, still lethal. Like she could slit histhroat and choreograph the aftermath. Nate clenched his jaw, reminded himself to breathe, and sat next to her on the chairs set out for cast members at the first press booth.
The reporter, a woman in her mid-50s in a tailored pantsuit, shook her head in awe at them. “Well! You twolit upthat stage. Like,explodedit. Are you like that in rehearsals, too?”
Holly didn’t miss a beat. She had her signature on-camera smile already in place. Bright, confident, untouchable. “Oh, absolutely not,” she said sweetly. “He’s a menace. Can’t count time to save his life.”
Nate felt a chuckle break out of his chest, and in that moment it was his only saving grace. Because if he didn’t laugh, he was going to fucking groan. Or do something so deeply inappropriate it’d earn him a primetime fine and a seat in the reality TV equivalent of a penalty box.
“She only says that because she’s terrified someone else might steal me,” he teased.
Holly gave a very unladylike snort and arched a brow, but her mouth twitched. A smile almost broke through.Almost.
Over at the next booth a few minutes later, the guy from Ballroom Daily was grinning at them. “People are already calling your Quickstep the best dance of the night. What’s the secret?”
Nate didn’t even have to think. “Easy,” he said, with a nonchalant shrug that masked the turmoil swirling inside him like the inside of an emotionally repressed washing machine. “It’s Holly. She’s the secret. She’s the coach, the choreographer, the miracle worker.”
Anddamnif the look she shot him didn’t feel like a bullet.Sharp.Pierced with something hot and complicated. Her headwhipped around like she hadn’t expected him to go there. Not on record. Not likethat. There was a flicker behind her eyes. Surprise? Irritation?
He didn’t dare let him hope it was founded on anything else.
“Alright, calm down,” she said dryly, mouth flattening into a line that couldn’t hide the color rising in her cheeks. “Youstilldropped your shoulder on the lock step.”
He shrugged, smirking. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”
They laughed. The reporters laughed. It all played perfectly. But underneath the noise? That simmering thing between them was rising like heat off asphalt. And they both knew it.
The final question came casually, almost lazily tossed in, except Nate knew better. It was the question they’dbothbeen waiting for.
“Okay,” the reporter said, leaning in. “Last one, promise. Everyone’s wondering: is there something going on between you two?”
Just like that, everything slowed. He looked at her. She looked at him. And something passed between them under the surface, like the molecules of his body sending the molecules of hers a warning in fucking Morse Code. The moment lingered long enough tonot be nothing,in a way that was too damn real for reality TV.
And then they smirked at each other before they looked in unison back at the reporter.
“There’sabsolutelysomething going on,” Holly purred.
Nate leaned in with that familiar hungry-defenseman look in his eyes, close enough to make it count.
“It’s calledwinning.”
And then the press lineexploded. Shutters. Lights. Reporters called their names, begging for another shot. They posed together for a few more photos, bantering under their breath as they curated the fake fantasy that production was so determined to wring out of them like the dregs of their dignity.
His hand slid naturally to her waist at one point. Holly’s gaze cut toward him, a spark of curiosity in her eyes as he waited for her to extract herself or push him away… but she didn’t. The touch felt earned.Dangerous. Because deep down, they both knew this wasn’t just a performance. They weren’t just selling a dance, they were sellingthemselves.
