Page 30 of Flag On The Play
“Bet it’s that quarterback again,” Candy singsongs from the mirror, applying her signature glittery lipstick with all the finesse of someone who knows she’s a goddess.
My stomach flips. I don’t know if it’s excitement, nerves, or the fact that I haven’t eaten since 2 p.m.
“Probably,” I murmur, touching up my own lipstick, pretending like my hands aren’t slightly shaking.
Candy grins. “You realize he only pays attention to the stage when you’re on it, right?”
“What? No.” I pause. “That’s not true.”
“Oh, honey, it’s painfully true. I’ve been watching him watch you for weeks now. That fine-ass man is yours for the taking.”
“Too bad he’s such a raging asshole.”
She chuckles as she stands to adjust her outfit. “Sweetie, assholes make the best lovers. They’ve got something to prove. Keep the feelings out of it and I guarantee you’ll discover the kind of sex that rewires your brain.”
Then she struts onto the stage like she didn’t just drop a truth bomb on me, leaving me sitting there, jaw slack, mind in the gutter, imagining Finlay yelling touchdown at climax.
I groan and shake my head violently to clear the image.
“Lux, your VIP is waiting,” Max calls again, more impatient this time.
I sigh, take a deep breath, and push away the barrage of emotions swirling in my chest. I’ve got a job to do. Fantasy to sell.
But the second I open the door, my body goes cold.
It’s not Finlay.
It’s some random, eager-eyed guy who looks at me like I’m dessert. “Lux,” he says, breathless. “Wow, you’re even more beautiful up close.”
I smile, tight-lipped. “No touching.”
I drop the robe and go through the motions. Straddle, grind, tease. But every move feels mechanical. Like muscle memory, not desire. His hands grip the couch like he’s fighting for control, while I’m fighting not to yawn.
It’s the first time in my entire time here that I feel nothing during a dance. And that, somehow, feels worse than feeling everything.
As soon as it’s over, I throw on my clothes, wave at Roxy behind the bar, and book it out the door. The second the cool night air hits my skin, I finally breathe.
“Nova.”
Shit.
I turn, arms crossed, scowl ready. “What, Finlay?”
I hate how fast my heart leaps just seeing him. And I really hate that I’m annoyed. Not because he’s here, but because he wasn’t in the Backstage.
He steps out from the shadows, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, hair tousled from his stupidly perfect head. “Are we seriously just going to keep watching each other from across the room and pretending that’s not a thing?”
I shrug. “Works for me. Or maybe we just stop altogether.”
He huffs out a laugh, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Is it possible for you to talk to me without a full-blown attitude?”
“Is it possible for you to stop breathing down my neck like some brooding quarterback stalker?”
“What do you want, Nova?”
“I was gonna ask you that.”
He smirks. “Fine. Jace is throwing a party next weekend. He’s inviting Roxy. Theo’s planning to ask Delaney.”
