Page 23 of Because I Liked A Boy
I take a slow sip of my Golden Hour, the burn spreading warm through my chest. “Feels like it’s been a while.”
“Too long.” Ruby’s gaze softens. “I know you don’t like the spotlight, Belle. But sometimes… sometimes it’s not about being seen by everyone. It’s about you seeing yourself.”
Something twists inside me. Because she’s right. For months, I’ve hidden in the quiet, folded myself smaller, convinced it was safer. But sitting here with Ruby—dressed up, laughing, sipping cocktails—it feels like slipping into a life I thought I’d lost.
I laugh, shaky but real. “When did you get so wise?”
Ruby smirks. “Always have been. You just don’t listen enough.”
We clink glasses again, the sound sharp over the hum of music. For the first time in a long time, I let myself lean into the moment.
Just two girls, two drinks, and the buzz of a night waiting to unfold.
Ruby leans across the table, her nails tapping a beat against her glass. “You feel it yet?” she asks. I frown. “Feel what?”
She smirks. “The shift. The part where you stop hiding and remember you’re allowed to take up space.”
I open my mouth to argue, but the truth is, I do feel it—like something loosening inside me, something I thought I’d buried in London.
Ruby drains the last of her Scarlet Sin, eyes sparkling. “Alright, enoughsitting. We’re dancing.”
I start to protest, but she’s already tugging me up by the wrist, her grin daring me to argue. The bass thrums through the floor, pulling at my pulse, and before I know it we’re swallowed by the crowd.
The bar is already alive, bass rattling the floorboards, lights flashing pink and gold across a crowd that’s buzzing harder than the cocktails. Ruby tugs me toward the middle of the dance floor just as Espresso explodes through the speakers, her scream-singing the chorus while I laugh so hard my ribs ache. We spin, hair sticking to our necks, arms in the air, letting the beat drag us loose. For once, I don’t think. I just move.
Ruby spins me under her arm like we’re at prom, laughing so hard she nearly loses her footing in her heels. My hair sticks to the back of my neck, my thighs ache from the bass rattling the floor, but I don’t stop. I can’t. Not when Ruby’s grinning at me like this—like she’s seeing a version of me she’s been waiting months to drag out.
The crowd pulses around us, neon pinks and golds flashing across sweat-slick faces, perfume clashing with beer and citrus. It should feel suffocating. It should feel like London again, too loud, too fast. But Ruby’s voice cuts through it all, scream-singing the chorus, her arm hooking around my shoulders to drag me back into the moment.
For once, I let go. No ghosts. No whispers. Just me. Just her. Just the music thrumming so hard through my chest it drowns out every thought but one—I feel alive.
Ruby leans close, shouting over the music, “This is the Belle I’ve been waiting to see!” Her lipstick is smudged from her drink, her laugh wicked and loud, and I can’t help it—I throw my head back and laugh with her. The Golden Hour still buzzes hot in my blood, loosening everything I usually keep lockedtight. For the first time in months, I don’t feel like I’m hiding inside my own skin. I’m wearing it. Bold. Bare. Mine.
My pulse is still climbing when the door swings open, neon spilling a hard glow into the room.
And that’s exactly when the air shifts. It’s subtle at first—like static before a storm. Bodies falter, laughter dips, the room holding its breath. Ruby’s still screaming lyrics into my ear, but even she notices when heads begin to turn toward the door.
Theo comes first—blue shirt stretched across broad shoulders, grin cocky, soaking up the room like he owns it. Heads turn, voices rise.
And then Hunter steps in. Green shirt stretched across his shoulders, sleeves rolled to his forearms, denim low on his hips like sin carved in fabric. He doesn’t just walk into Ember—he bends it. The crowd tilts unconsciously, space opening where there wasn’t any. Even the bass seems to falter for a beat, like the speakers forgot their cue.
His hair is damp, his jaw shadowed, and he moves with the kind of ease that makes people follow without thinking. Eyes track him, bodies shift to catch his attention, but he doesn’t notice. He isn’t looking at them.
He’s already looking at me.
The Game Begins
My pulse stumbles. Ruby’s still scream-singing the chorus, hair flying as Theo catches her hand and spins her without hesitation, but all I can see is Hunter cutting through the crowd.
“Wow,” he says as he reaches me, voice pitched low enough that it thrums beneath the bass. His eyes sweep from my curls to the hem of the dress clinging tight around my thighs before dragging back up. “Hell of a welcome, Princess.”
Heat spikes low in my stomach, sharp and unwelcome. I tell myself it’s just the tequila, just the bass vibrating through my skin, but the way he says it makes me feel like every eye in Ember has turned sharper, like they’re waiting for me to crack.
Ruby catches my wide-eyed stare and cackles, dragging Theo deeper into the floor. People part instinctively, whispers already climbing, all eyes swinging to our booth-less little circle.
Hunter leans closer, mouth grazing the shell of my ear like he’s telling me a secret. “You’re out here dancing while I’m still at the door? Thought wewere friends.”
The word jolts through me. Friends. The way he says it doesn’t sound casual—it sounds deliberate, like a reminder and a warning both.
