Page 117 of Rush

Because this is starting to feel like something more than casual—the quiet moments between our playful jabs and orgasms. The more we get to know each other, the harder this is going to be. But I don’t know if either of us can stop this moving train. And God knows I’m not ready to get off.

Not yet. Because when I’m with him—I’m not thinking about Alex.

And that’s good.

He feels good.

Too good for me.

Chapter 13

Young Folks

After our afternoon tryst, Broderick and I make it back just in time for the bridal party to be corralled into the Rose Terrace Garden for the rehearsal.

While I’d cleaned myself up, my legs were still shaking, and I’m doing my best to pretend I hadn’t just been fucked stupid on my bedroom floor.

Broderick looks smug and satisfied in a charcoal suit with his signature black button-down—the picture of sin.

I’m dressed in a black lace number that hugs in all the right places, and by the way Broderick looks at me—hungry and possessive—I know he approves.

“You’re looking pretty hot, Mini Montgomery,” James croons into my ear.

Ew.Mini Montgomery?

Every hair on my body rises in disgust. Did he seriously think that was a cute term of endearment?

Broderick’s face darkens—thunderous.

“Jim, go stand next to Avery—she’syourpartner,” Broderick says, territorial as hell, swatting James off like an annoying fly.

I chuckle into my hand.

“Alright, everyone,” Yasmin calls out, clapping her hands with the kind of no-nonsense energy that could whip a hurricane into formation. “Let’s run this from the top. Walk to the beat of the song, please.”

I’mtryingto take it seriously—really, I am.

But Broderick leans in, voice low and smooth against my ear. “We should shimmy down the aisle.”

I snort-laugh before I can stop myself, earning a full turn-and-glare from Avery. Philippa rolls her eyes. Andrew looks delighted.

“Sorry,” I mumble, biting my lip, trying to keep a straight face.

Broderick, of course, looks entirely too pleased with himself.

As we line up to run it again, he bumps his shoulder into mine.

“Race you to the altar,” he whispers, grinning.

“Brody,” I shoot back, warning in my tone—butI’m smiling too.

When Yasmin calls us forward, Broderick takes an exaggerated step, offering his arm like we’re about to make our debut at a royal coronation.

“Your royal highness.”

I roll my eyes but slip my hand into the crook of his elbow anyway, the familiar spark crackling where our skin meets.

“Behave,” I hiss as we start walking.