Page 28 of Spotlight Hearts

If he touches me right this second, I might combust or pop a fucking boner in my sweats. Then where would we be?

He stops. Nods again. But he doesn’t back off completely. Just lingers, close enough that I can feel the imagined heat off him.

Crystal clears her throat as she returns. “Lip stain next, Kai. Pucker up.”

Luca steps away, and I face Crystal, doing what she tells me to. She dabs the color on—deep red, same shade as he usually wears on stage. Luca watches the whole thing, eyes on my mouth now.

When she finishes, he tilts his head. “Looks good,” he says quietly. “Really good.”

The words land soft and real. His honest appreciation hits me square in the chest and makes my pulse stutter.

He’s throwing me off. Completely. I don’t know how to respond to this version of him—quiet, attentive, almost gentle—so I don’t. I stand abruptly, chair spinning slightly, and brush past him toward the door. My shoulder grazes his chest—warm skin through the open mesh, the faint hitch in his breath as I pass. I feel it. I feel the way his inhale catches, like I surprised him.

I don’t look back. I keep moving out into the hallway toward the stage. Distance. Space. That’s what I need.

But Luca follows.

Of course he does.

His footsteps echo behind me—unhurried, steady, closing the gap without crowding. I can sense him there, a warm presence at my back, the same way I could sense him hovering while Crystal worked. It’s infuriating. Comforting. Dangerous.

I push through the double doors into the arena proper. The house lights are up, stage half-lit, crew swarming. Michael’s already on the riser, testing his mic pack. Min-ho’s checking in-ears with the sound guy. Tasha waves us over.

I head straight for my mark, headset in hand, pretending Luca isn’t right behind me.

He stops a few feet away—close enough to talk, far enough that it looks casual.

“Running from me now?” he asks, voice low, and teasing but soft around the edges. Still no snark. Just that same quiet warmth that’s been throwing me since the green room.

I clip my in-ear pack to my waistband, not looking at him. “Not running. Just getting to work.”

He steps onto the stage riser beside me, close enough that our arms brush when I turn to grab my mic. “You’re still tense.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” He says it gently. “You’ve been tense since last night. Talk to me.”

I finally look at him. His eyes are steady—a greenish-brown swirl searching mine, no challenge in their depths. Just concern. It makes my throat tight.

“You know,” I shoot back, sharper than I mean, “you’re not actually my boyfriend, right? Back off.”

The words hit him like a slap—defensive, reflexive, the only shield I have left. I regret them the second they’re out, but I don’t take them back.

Luca blinks once. The softness in his expression flickers, then vanishes like someone flipped a switch. He straightens—shoulders squaring, posture shifting from open to guarded in the span of a heartbeat. The concern in his eyes cools, replaced by something flatter. More distant.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know. I was trying for friendship, fucker.”

His words aren’t really biting, and the small insult comes out soft.

He holds my gaze for one more second—long enough for me to see the flicker of hurt he doesn’t bother hiding—then looks away. Toward the sound booth. Toward the empty seats. Anywhere but me.

I open my mouth—to say what, I don’t know. Sorry? I didn’t mean it? But nothing comes out. The apology sticks in my throat like glass.

Luca exhales through his nose, almost a laugh but without humor. “Right. Work.” He steps back, putting a full arm’s length between us for the first time today. “Let’s do the work.”

He turns toward his mark, clips his in-ear pack on with quick, efficient movements. And I can feel the walls coming up between us again.

I stand there a beat too long, mic still in my hand, chest tight. The regret is instant and vicious. I didn’t want to push him away. Not really. But I did it anyway—because it’s easier to keep him at arm’s length than to admit how much I don’t want him there.