I rub my palms against the front of my designer slacks, trying to calm the sudden heat rising in my chest. My eyes slowly adjust to the dim lighting, taking in the crowd. Everyone’s dressed to the nines—not surprising, given the star-studded events all week—but even by Gravity’s standards, tonight feels extra ritzy.
And then it hits me: the sudden urge to get the hell out. What the hell was I thinking? Or expecting? Clearly, this was a bad idea. Goddamn it—I thought I’d kicked this obsession with Noah.
But the second I saw the text saying he was here, it was like muscle memory took over. Like some pathetic reflex I can’t unlearn. And now here I am, scanning the room for a face I should’ve forgotten months ago.
Skipping the bar, I push through the crowd, shoulders brushing past bodies, making a beeline for the back door, careful not to draw Fernando’s attention. My phone glows in my hand—I’m at Gravity—and I delete it as soon as I step into the alley. The chilly night air bites into my skin, sending a shiver through my body.
I pull up Elijah’s text, swallowing the lump in my throat—I love you, baby.
God, I love him too. So much.
Pocketing my phone, I move toward the gate, fumbling with the rusted latch.
“Alex…”
Fuuuuck no. I was leaving. Iamleaving. Going home to Elijah.
This damn latch.
I glance over my shoulder, hands dropping to my sides.
“Don’t leave,” he pleads—soft, sweet—closing the distance until his hand rests on my shoulder.
I exhale. Just a fraction. “I shouldn’t have come here, Noah.”
I hold my breath, afraid even one exhale could land on his lips and ruin me.
“But you did. You came for me.” Long lashes flutter over those impossibly pretty eyes.
I crush the plastic casing of my phone in my fist, fighting the pull of everything I’m trying to resist.
“I’m going home. I’m goinghome,” I repeat like a mantra, hoping the words will eventually reach my thick skull. Hoping they’ll jumpstart my stalled brain.
“Take me with you,” he murmurs, voice haunting—so much like a lost little boy.
It rips at me. Makes me want to scoop him into my arms and promise him everything will be okay.
He has this aura. Innocent yet magnetic. Like a boy trapped in a man’s body, carrying a secret he doesn’t know how—or if he should—share. And he’s always watching. Not always near, but always there. Haunting. Beautiful. Uninvited.
Christ. I’m not making any sense. That sweet voice short-circuits my brain every single time. This isn’t healthy.
His hand slides down my arm, breath shivering across my neck—warm, soft.
I breathe him in, lost in the tantalizing tang of his skin—sweet, fruity, like his lips. If rainbows had a scent, it would be this. Exactly this.
The collar of his white shirt hangs open, unburdened by buttons.
So, of course, I slip my fingers beneath the waffled fabric, needing—no,wanting—to feel the smoothness of his chest. It doesn’t disappoint.
His skin is softer than I imagined, warmer than memory allowed.
My fingers trace the line of his sternum, moving over the planes of his chest with deliberate slowness, pausing at the edge of his waist.
He draws in a sharp breath, a small surrender, giving me just enough space to linger, and I jerk him closer, heart hammering against my ribs.
“This ends now, Noah.” My eyes study his face—each curve of his mouth, the slight dip between his brows, the way his lashes brush his flushed cheeks. He looks like danger wrapped in fragility.
“I don’t know what you’re after,” I continue, my voice taut, “but it has to stop. Because if it doesn’t… I don’t know what I’ll do.”
