He stayed where he was, hand still braced on the bar, breathing like he’d just run a qualifying lap. The music pounded on. Bodies moved around him.
Lucas dragged a hand over his face. His heart hadn’t slowed. His body hadn’t calmed. If anything, the ache was worse now—sharper, more specific.
He exhaled hard.
He wasn’t drunk enough to pretend he didn’t want to follow her.
* * *
Mia
Mia’s ears still throbbed with the loud bass from the club even as she made her way back down the quiet hotel corridor. She entered her room, hearing the door softly click behind her, sealing out the last faint traces of the night. She leaned against it for a second, eyes closed, breathing shallow. The images wouldn’t leave—Lucas on the dance floor, shirt clinging to his chest, hips rolling slow and deliberate against the blonde in silver, then the brunette sliding in behind him, hands dragging down his back while he pushed back into her, unhurried, shameless. The way their bodies locked and slid, sweat-slick, laughing like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just looked straight at her across the room and let her see it all.
Her skin felt too tight. Heat pooled low in her belly, insistent, unwelcome. She hated how her thighs clenched at the memory, how her nipples tightened under the thin fabric of hertop just thinking about the flex of his hips, the casual strength in his hands on those women’s waists. It wasn’t jealousy—not exactly. It was worse. It was want, raw and physical, the kind that made her thighs press together when she shouldn’t.
She stripped off her clothes in the bathroom, stepped under the shower, turned the water cold. It didn’t help. The spray hit her skin like needles but couldn’t wash away the ache. She braced one hand on the tile, head bowed, let the water pound her back while she tried to breathe through it. Her free hand hovered over her stomach, then lower—then stopped. No. Not tonight. Not because of him.
She wrapped herself in the robe, sat on the edge of the bed, legs crossed tight. The city lights glittered outside the window, indifferent. She stared at them until her breathing evened out, until the throb between her legs dulled to a low hum instead of a roar.
The knock came—soft, almost reluctant.
Lucas stood there, shirt untucked and damp at the collar, hair mussed, eyes dark and glassy from the drinks. He still smelled like sweat, tequila, and perfume. It should have turned her stomach. It didn’t.
“Hey,” he said, voice rough.
“You’re drunk.”
“A bit.” He rubbed the back of his neck, the motion pulling his shirt tighter across his chest. “Can I come in?”
She stepped aside. He walked past her—close enough that his arm brushed hers, sending a fresh jolt straight to her core. He stopped in the middle of the room, hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t trust them.
“You left,” he said.
He took a step closer. Then another. Close enough she could see the flush on his throat, the way his chest rose and fell a little too fast.
“I kept feeling your eyes on me,” he said, low. “Every time I moved, every time someone touched me—I was thinking about you. Whether you were still there. Whether it pissed you off. Whether it turned you on.”
The words landed like a hand between her legs. She swallowed, felt the heat climb her neck.
“I find you fucking hot, Mia. Watching you watch me tonight? Made it worse.”
Her breath hitched. She could smell him—salt, alcohol, arousal—and it made her dizzy. Her body responded before her brain could catch up: thighs squeezing, pulse throbbing low and insistent.
He lifted a hand, hesitated, then let his fingers graze her jaw—rough, calloused from the wheel. She didn’t pull away. His thumb brushed the edge of her lower lip, slow, deliberate.
She tilted her head just enough. Their mouths were inches apart. She could smell the tequila on his breath, feel the tremor in his hand.
Then he stopped.
“Fuck,” he muttered, pulling back half a step. “I’m pissed. This isn’t….”
She exhaled shakily, the ache between her legs sharpening at the sudden loss of contact. “No. It isn’t.”
He dragged a hand through his hair, a muscle ticked in his cheek.. “I should go.”
“Yeah.” Her voice was steadier now, but only just. “You should.”
He lingered at the door, hand on the frame, back to her. “Mia?”
