Page 86 of Wicked Temptations
Honestly, half the crew had worked it out by now. I’d told Jude about the speculation a few days back when I’d heard Jonas telling someone to ‘check with Jude’s keeper’ while pointing at me. Jude had shrugged it off with that distant look he got sometimes, like none of it mattered.
I’d tried to feel relieved that he hadn’t freaked out entirely, but instead it just broke my heart to see how far he’d withdrawnfrom the team that loved him. For all our quiet couple-time—and mind-breakingly good sex—Jude still viewed his ankle like it was a death sentence.
It was one of the many reasons that tonighthadto work.
I pulled on my tactical pants and the straps and holsters that made us Hunters look dangerous. My fingers moved automatically now. In one week with Simon and I’d learned to get dressed faster than I ever had with Jude watching.
That wasn’t a fair comparison, though. With Simon, I was always the one running late, and Simonneverlooked at me the way Jude did. I’d challenge anyone to achieve anything with Jude staring daggers into their backs.
I sat down in front of the mirror and opened the face paint. White first, then black, and the skull took shape in smooth strokes and contoured curls. I’d done this enough times that muscle memory carried me through while my brain spun out of control.
“You know Amanda wants to do a double-date thing, right?” Simon said behind me.
I paused, brush halfway to my cheekbone. “What?”
“Amanda. My girlfriend.” He said it the way he always did, like the word itself was magic. “She’s dying to meet Jude. Wants to know if he’s keen on pottery and wine.”
Jude? Doing pottery and sip? Sure, weirder things had happened, but hell also hadn’t frozen over, so the outlook was doubtful.
I shot him a look in the mirror that said a million words. He just laughed.
The thing about Simon was that he made it look effortless. Being in love. Being happy. He and Amanda had a rhythm, a groove, where they just fit. No games. No fighting for control. Just them, together, easy as breathing, and they wanted the whole world to know.
I wanted that so badly it ached.
I wanted to be allowed to look at Jude the way Simon looked at Amanda and not worry that he’d hate it. I wanted Jude to look back and not flinch away from what he saw.
It was early days, I reminded myself. We’d barely started, and unlike in the movies, people didn’t tend to fall madly in love in just a week. They got to know each other and built foundations first, and while I was too chickenshit to say it to Jude, I was positive our foundations were already strong enough to support the world.
Jonas stuck his head in. “Riley just texted. Five minutes.”
My stomach dropped. “Shit.”
Simon clapped me on the shoulder. “Go. I’ll clean up your mess.”
I bolted.
The staffroom was already full when I got there, with other performers drifting in. It was a chaotic, noisy mess.
But then Riley appeared at the door with Jude leaning on her, crutches under his arms, and everything stopped.
The room erupted.
People crowded in, calling his name, touching his shoulder, his arm. Welcome back, and we missed you, and holy shit, man, that ankle. Jude’s face went through about six different emotions in three seconds, landing somewhere between overwhelmed and genuinely moved.
I hung back. Watched him soak it in, the way his jaw worked, the way his eyes went bright. He’d been trapped in that apartment for days, cut off from the thing he loved most. From these people and this place.
Jude might not ever admit it, but he needed this. He needed to remember he belonged here, even if it was only for a few insane weeks a year, and no silly little ankle injury could rob him of that.
Eventually, Riley caught my eye over the crowd and raised an eyebrow. I nodded and started pushing my way through until I got my hand on Jude’s lower back. He turned, startled.
“Come on.” I guided him forward, letting him lean on me as the crowd parted around us.
“Ash, I really don’t understand what—”
“Chair. Mirror. Face paint. Now.” I guided him toward the makeup station, ignoring his confusion. “You’re putting your scary face on.”
“But, my ankle—”
