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She beams up at me, her eyes bright, her long lashes dusting her cheeks as she blinks. My chest fills with warmth.
Her attention snags on the band members preparing their instruments. “Oh my God, that’s Ian Summers’s band. Noah would love to have them perform at his party. They’re impossible to get.”
“So I’ve heard.”
The tuning sounds of Ian’s band wrap around us. The scent of something sweet filters in.
Ian strums a note on his guitar, and the crowd energizes. I’m pushed closer to Hope as she loses her balance. I reach out and catch her, steady her. She sucks in a gasp. My fingers linger on the curve of her hip.
The crowd pulses around us. The energy shifts. What had been light and friendly arcs toward something dense and electric. A current vibrates beneath my skin.
“Maybe we should leave the dance floor to the coeds,” I say.
“Yeah.” She sounds as breathless as I feel.
I lead her off the dance floor, my hand firmly around her waist. She shuffles forward, staying close, as if she feels the invisible magnet between us too.
Once we’re far enough away from the dance floor, I look down at Hope. Baby hairs curl around her forehead. The flush in her cheeks brings out the flecks of gold in her eyes. Her mouth falls slightly open on a breath. My heart loses track of its rhythm.
“Probably time for the old folks to get out of here?”
“I don’t know. More than a few of these girls will be disappointed when you leave with me.” She bites her lip.
My gaze dips to her mouth. A current surges between us, thumping to the energy of the crowd, the beat of the music. My heart finds a new rhythm, and it’s a timeless one—one I’ve known and forgotten.
“I haven’t noticed.” I take a step closer, and with that step, the crowd melts away. It’s just us.
“Will,” she says, and her hand finds the constant, steady beat of my heart against my chest.
A moment passes, and then a lifetime. She doesn’t pull away. I don’t release her.
She tilts her face toward mine. Between us, there’s a whisper of space. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be.
I feel like Hope is where I’m supposed to be.
I inhale. And then that space is gone.
Her lips are warm and soft and gentle. My hand slides around her waist, and the warmth of her exposed skin feels like a branding.
A small sound escapes from the back of her throat, and God help me—maybe it’s the tequila—but my mouth presses more firmly on hers. She takes a step in, pressing flush against me. I spread my hand flat along her lower back, wanting to feel more of her.
She deepens the kiss, and there is nothing except this moment—Hope’s lips and Hope’s hand and this kiss—and Hope.
I pull back and rest my forehead on hers. We both need to catch our breath. More than that, we need to talk.
“Oh my God, Hope Gold out and about in a bar.”
She nearly jumps out of her skin putting space between us. With the little room around us, that’s next to impossible.
Black spots cloud my vision, and I see only the outline of a man’s shoulders.
My vision clears, and my stomach inverts. Logan. Brandon’s brother. He looks between us, looks down at the nonexistent space between us. His brows draw together, carving out a distressed groove in his forehead. For too long, he just takes us both in. Hope’s shoulders round forward, as if she’s trying to make herself smaller.
I take a microstep forward.
“Will, right? I’m Tanya.” The woman with Logan extends a hand toward me, her gaze only briefly sliding past Hope’s before returning to Logan’s.
“I remember. You had a beautiful wedding,” I say, trying to sound gracious. With the music and the crowd, it’s hard to tell if I succeed.
