Page 17 of Speed Crush

"Fine." I roll my eyes, but the truth is—I don’t mind. Singing with Scott will take my mind offhim.It’s dumb fun. It’s what we do.

We climb onto the small stage, the crowd already whooping as the first notes of Rihanna's "Stay" roll through the speakers.

Scott leans in, his breath warm near my ear. "Nervous?"

I snort. "Please. I’ve survived seventh-grade talent shows and oil leaks on white jeans. This? Child’s play."

We always do this—mock duet, zero shame, fake romantic tension for the town's amusement. It’s a game.

"All along it was a fever..."

My voice comes easy, smooth. I love to sing, and when I do, I fall into it.

Scott takes Mikky Ekko’s part. He’s not half bad tonight—gravelly, raw, and surprisingly in tune.

We meet in the middle of the second verse, our voices sliding into each other like they’ve done this a hundred times.

And then it hits. The harmony.

The crowd hushes. A few people murmur “dang” under their breath. Someone lets out a low whistle. It’s electric.

And that’s when I see him.

Noah Verelli, standing near the bar.

Hands in his jacket pockets. Eyes locked on me.

And that look—thatlook—is fire and hunger and something I can’t name.

My breath catches mid-line.

Because he’s not watching the performance. He’s watching me.

And I can feel the heat in his stare like it’s crawling up under my skin.

Then I hear it.

From the back row, someone stage-whispers, “They’re gonna be the next Lily and Levi, just you wait.”

Laughter follows. Casual. Teasing. Because the town’s been watching us grow up like it’s their favorite long-running sitcom.

I cast a quick glance at Scott but he doesn’t react. He’s too in the song.

But me?

I nearly forget the next lyric when I glance at Noah again.

And that’s when I wonder—is he thinking Scott and I are singing this to each other?

Does he think those words—“I want you to stay”—are meant for Scott?

His jaw is tight. His expression unreadable.

On stage, Scott grabs my hand and gives me a twirl, planting me right into his embrace.

Then, I see it. The shift. A change blooms in his eyes like wildfire. Noah’s face darkens. Eyes sharp. Jaw flexed.

Worse? He’s looking at Scott like he wants to scrap him for parts.

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