But I only see one.
One pair of glossy lips.
One set of clear-blue eyes.
One impossibly graceful, devastatingly beautiful performer.
Noah.
My pretty dancer.
“Wait here,”Elijah says, pulling his jacket over his head before darting out into the rain to get the car. But before he can step off the curb, I grab him and pull him into a quick embrace.
“Thank you,” I murmur against the damp fabric of his jacket. “I had the best time.”
He turns, grinning—all perfect white teeth and mischief. “Still want to swing by a strip club?”
“We could,” I say. I lean in, lower my voice. “Or I could make the drive home worth it.” I give his firm, rounded butt cheek a playful pinch.
“Hold that thought,” Elijah says with a laugh, breaking into a sprint as he disappears into the pounding rain.
I can’t wipe the smile from my face. Humming softly, I watch him until he vanishes, swallowed by the night and the steady curtain of rain.
God, I love him so damn much. And, okay, I’ll admit it—tonight’s performance was wildly entertaining. I never expected it to be?—
“Alex?”
I freeze.
The voice is soft. Familiar. Sweet.
I feel the heat of him before he even reaches me—closer, closer—until the air between us feels stolen, leaving me breathing nothing but fresh skin and the faint scent of fruity lips.
“Are you okay?” Noah asks gently, stepping up beside me.
Nope. Not even close.
I am very muchnotokay.
Like a robot, I turn to face him. “Hi.” That’s all I can manage.
His pretty blue eyes search mine, and I see it clearly—hope. Flickering behind his lashes, fragile and bright.
“Are you here alone?” he asks, voice quiet, unsure… hopeful.
I glance back at the street, letting the rain blur everything. “I thought you danced ballet?”
“I do,” he says softly, brushing his fingers against my elbow, then letting them fall. “And I also dance on poles.”
Kill me now.
Dragging a hand down my face, I once again turn to face him. He’s looking at me, eyes so wide and wholesome, they almost buckle my knees. “Well… you’re really good at it,” I manage. Because what else is there to say? It’s the truth.
Noah’s face lights up, those beautiful eyes flashing. “Thank you. I really enjoy it.” He fidgets beside me, restless energy sparking off him—the same energy buzzing through my own fried nerves. My eyes drift to his hands, his fidgeting fingers. God, how I want to take them, kiss each knuckle until his nerves settle.
But I’m shaking inside. The last time I saw him was at Gravity—the night he approached me with quiet confidence and slipped the key to his apartment under a napkin like some kind of secret invitation.
I never went, of course. I told myself it was a bad idea, that nothing good could ever come of it. Not when I was in love with Elijah.
