Page 35 of Rush

A lazy, knowing smile curves his mouth, like he’s enjoying a private joke.

“You want to try some?” I spear a few pieces onto a fork. I hold my hand beneath it as I lift it toward him. Broderick leans down, mouth parting—good boy.

He groans low in his throat. “Zesty.”

A streak of dressing slides down his chin. Without thinking, I reach out, my thumb catching it—just grazing the edge of his lip, tugging lightly at his bottom one.

The memory of kissing him flashes hot and quick. I bite my lip, pulse hammering, warmth coiling low in my stomach.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe. Just watches me, eyes flicking from my mouth back to my eyes. From this close I can see every shade—deep green, flecks of amber and blue—like sunlight cutting through the ocean’s horizon.

The air thickens. For a second, everything slows.

Then Riley coughs dramatically from the doorway.

“Elena, you’re looking a little thirsty. Can I get you a drink, or are you being taken care of right now?”

I jerk my hand back like I’ve touched fire, guilt slicing through the haze of warmth between us. My chest tightens; it’s too soon, too confusing. I’m still trying to stitch up what Alex broke, and here I am—feeling…what…horny?

Riley must notice the way the air shifts, the way Broderick takes a half step back, rubbing his jaw.

“Come on,Bradley,” she teases, grabbing a couple of drinks from the fridge. “Dinner almost ready?”

“Yeah,” I cough clearing my throat.

“You okay El?” he asks

I nod. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Broderick follows her out silently.

When I’m alone, I take a few steadying breaths, but my pulse refuses to slow.

What wasthat?

By the time I carry out the adobo, I’ve almost convinced myself it was nothing—just proximity, hormones, the excitement from today’s events.

We settle around the table, dishing out the meal I’d prepared. Philippa takes her first bite and lets out a theatrical moan, and laughter ripples through the table. For a fleeting second, I almost feel normal again.

“Oh my God, Elena. This isjustlike Mom’s.”

My throat tightens, but I smile anyway. “I tried.”

“You nailed it,” she says firmly.

Andrew lifts his glass. “To Elena—the next pop princess.”

“To Elena!” they all echo, clinking glasses.

Dinner is loud, messy, and good—the way family dinners are supposed to be. And since my mom died, I haven’t had that. But tonight, I do.

After the plates are cleared, Riley sets up the karaoke machine, and Andrew starts pouring shots.

“So, now that you’ve ditched Swedish Ken doll,” Andrew asks, “you gonna keep yourself busy on the road with some hot backup dancer? Maybe a roadie or two? Do chicks have groupies?”

I nearly choke on my drink, glaring at him.

DitchedAlex, if only that were the case.