Page 36 of Wicked Temptations
“Swear to God, his mom just stood there filming while he scaled the thing like Spider-Man.”
Jonas nearly choked on his beer. “What’d you do?”
“Stayed in character. Grabbed his ankle and dragged him back down. Kid screamed louder than anyone we’ve scared all season.”
The table erupted. Riley threw a napkin at Jude. “You did not.”
“Parker had to comp their tickets.” Jude grinned, unapologetic. “Worth it.”
More laughter. Someone mentioned another incident from two seasons back. The conversation spiraled into shared memories I had no part of. Inside jokes I didn’t understand. References of people whose names meant nothing to me.
I sat there nursing my whiskey, nodding when appropriate, while trying not to look as out of place as I felt.
Jude caught the bartender’s attention and ordered another round for the table without asking.
His eyes flicked to me, and I was fucking powerless to look away.
My pulse kicked up a notch, and I hoped the lighting hid how red my cheeks felt.
This was a mistake.Coming here, thinking I could somehow gain ground with him by infiltrating his territory, had been a stupid idea. All I’d done was remind myself that Jude had a life and friends and an entire existence beyond what happened between us in dark corridors and backseats.
I drained the glass as the waiter brought the fresh round.
***
Two hours and countless whiskeys later, the storm outside hadn’t let up, and neither had the noise inside Murphy’s. Thecrew had expanded, pulling in stragglers from other acts, and the table had turned into a celebration of survival.
I’d laughed at Jonas’s story about nearly breaking his neck on a wet platform, contributed to the debate about whether werewolves or vampires made better scare characters, and managed to avoid looking at Jude for almost twenty minutes straight.
Almost.
Every time I thought I had my shit together, my eyes would drift his way. I’d catch him mid-laugh or see him lean back with that casual confidence that came from knowing exactly where he stood in the world. He belonged here, with these people, and they flocked to him. I was just visiting.
The whiskey made it easier to pretend that it didn’t bother me.
“I think it’s my shout,” I announced to no one in particular, pushing back from the table.
Riley held up her empty glass. “You’re a saint.”
I navigated through the crowd to the bar, squeezing into a gap between two groups of college kids arguing about the game on TV. The bartender caught my eye, and I held up fingers to indicate the number of beers I thought we needed followed by a rough count of spirits. He nodded and started flipping glasses up onto the counter.
“You’re one of the performers at Ridgeway, right?”
It wasn’t unusual to be recognized without makeup and costume, but it wasn’t common either. There were always a few candid photos of us all floating around on the internet, those hardcore fans—stalkers, really—snapping us between the stage door and our cars like we were B-grade celebrities.
It’s what made allowing Jude to fuck me in my car so dangerous.
I turned. The guy beside me was maybe my age, with dark blond hair, good bone structure, wearing a gray henley thatshowed off a solid build. He had an easy smile and eyes that lingered a bit too long to be casual.
“Yeah,” I said. “Have you been to the park?”
“Last weekend. You and that other guy put on a hell of a show.” He shifted closer, voice dropping to be heard over the music. “I’m Ryan.”
“Ash.”
“I know.” His smile widened. “Followed you on Instagram after. Hope that’s not creepy.”
It was a little creepy, but I’d seen worse. Social media came with the territory. I gave him a polite nod, nothing encouraging.
