Page 124 of Dream On, Liar

Taking a step closer, I leaned down. “Oh, Trouble. You have no idea what you’re missing out on.”

“Clearly.” She shook her head as a grin took over her lips.

“So, what’s the verdict?”

“I’ll join you. But, only if you show me what a date with you looks like.”

Tilting my head, I let my gaze run over her body. She was wearing a fitted shirt, with a pair of high waist jeans, and a pair of boots. Her hair was in her signature half up-do, and that damn bow she loved wearing so much.

I knew I had dangled the date like a bait when I mentioned it to her. I had hoped that she’d bite me back on it. But the drink in her hand had been easy enough to spot, which meant I had to ask. “How many drinks have you had?”

“This is the only one I bought here, thank you very much.”

“Alright. Did the pregame involve a tequila shot?”

She grinned, then and I could feel the pinch that shot straight through my heart. “If you already know, why are you asking?”

Shaking my head once, the glow in her eyes brighter than it had been in the last few days pulled me towards her. Nearing her ear, I finally whispered. “I’m just making sure that when I kiss you at the end of this date, you’re sober enough to remember it.”

Maeve sucked in a breath, which only stuttered as I wrapped a single arm around her waist and turned her with ease.

“C’mon, Trouble. Let’s feed the curious cat inside you.”

When she moved her hand up, letting it settle on mine as I guided her towards the tent, I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t enough to sway her. That this would be something for her to just enjoy, and feed the curiosity inside her. But I knew with each growing moment, it would feed an entirely different fire inside of me. The one that constantly told me to do whatever it did to keep her, after losing her once already.

The supporting act finally came on, and the energy around us shifted almost immediately.

People pressed closer to the stage, the space between bodies disappearing as the first beat rolled through the venue. Maeve laughed in disbelief as we made our way into the tent, her hands slipped away as I let her go completely.

I felt the absence of her proximity almost immediately.

We stayed in the VIP tent, but even there the music didn’t feel distant. It still pulsed through the floor, through the railings, through the bodies of people who were supposed to be above the crowd but somehow weren’t above the feeling of it. Every time the singer changed tempo, she seemed to forget where she was supposed to stand, swaying closer, singing louder, throwing her head back whenever a song she knew came on.

I found myself watching her more than the stage.

She looked different like this.

Uncontained.

There was no tablet under her arm, no careful expression, no professional distance to maintain as she analysed each move. She sang along to the words she knew, sometimes loudly enough that I could barely hear the artist, and every time I caught her looking at me, she’d grin as though she’d been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

When the lights came back up, she turned to me, skin flushed and eyes hazed. “You did not know a single song by them.”

“They’re the supporting act,” I pointed out the obvious.

“Oh, is that so?” She raised a brow. “Does that mean you know each word of every song when it comes to Corbyn Lynch?”

“Would you like a little wager on that question?”

“What does the winner get?”

“If you win, I’ll take you backstage to meet Corbyn.”

Her eyes widened. “You know him?”

“Not, know him, but I’ve met him a few times before. I’ve been a fan of his since his first EP came out, and I’ve attended almost every tour of his.”

“Oh,” Her shoulders dropped. “Then no wager.”