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She walked toward me, her eyes heated. And fixed on me.
My steps stuttered to a halt and I stood in place. She walked closer and closer, my heart thudding unevenly against my ribcage.
She walked past, turning back to me for just a second.
She stared at me, her lips parted and…
Inviting.
She turned around and disappeared into the bathroom, and I stood there gasping for air.
I could leave…
Ishouldleave.
Everything about the situation gnawed at my better judgment, practically begging me to turn around and just go home. But I followed after her instead.
The crowd parted around me, and the distance between me and the entrance to the bathroom stretched out. One step turned to five, turned to ten. I lost count.
I shoved the heavy door open and walked in, letting it slam shut behind me. The deafening thud of the music died as soon as the door hit the frame. I walked inside, the click of my heels echoing on the tiles.
Frankie was there, her hip leaning against one of the basins. It was mercifully empty apart from us, and for a moment, we simply looked at each other. I let out a long breath, trying to shove the tension coiled in my shoulders.
Up close and in the light, I saw that her corset was a deep berry color, so dark against the porcelain of her skin that I found myself aching to reach out. Her leather pants clung to the curves and dips of her hips, flaring out from her calves.
“We have to stop running into each other like this.”
Her voice, husky from singing for hours, slithered down my spine and left goosebumps prickling at my skin.
“I believe that’s my line,” I answered, only because I didn’t trust myself to say anything else.
She chuckled, folding her arms across her chest.
My eyes dropped to her breasts, the soft skin glittering with sweat.
Fuck.
Get it together, Hayden.
She scoffed quietly, smiling to herself. She pushed off the sink and shoved her thumbs through the loops of her waistband. “You always have an answer for everything.”
“Am I not supposed to answer at all?” I asked, my voice so loud in the silence of the bathroom.
“I think that would be worse,” she said. Her cheeks rosy, she watched me with an expression I’d never seen before.
“Worse if I didn’t speak to you?” I clarified, realizing that we’d never really held much of a civil conversation for this long. I was suddenly afraid of shattering the fragile peace.
“Yeah,” she said. “I can barely get a decent read on you on a good day. Imagine if you never talked to me at all.”
I couldn’t.
And I didn’t say that I’d never be able to stop myself from talking to her.
“You look great,” she continued, running my thoughts head first into a brick wall. “You always do, but tonight… Sorry, I shouldn’t be talking like this, right?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, taking an unconscious step forward. Closer to her.
“We’re supposed to keep things professional, remember?” she reminded me, and the words were a punch to the gut. “But it’s getting hard to keep pretending.”
