Page 48 of Wicked Temptations
“Come on,” I said eventually. “Parker’s going to have our asses if we’re late.”
“Can’t have that.” Ash pushed off the wall, running a hand through his hair. The undercut was already halfway fucked, the longer strands on top sticking up at odd angles from the humidity. Whatever gel he’d used earlier had given up the fight.
Without thinking, I reached up and smoothed it down. My fingers caught on the damp texture, remembering how it had felt gripped in my fist; how many times I’d wrecked it this past week and watched him try to fix it afterward, that little furrow between his eyebrows as he checked his reflection.
His eyes widened slightly.
I dropped my hand and walked away before either of us could make it into something it wasn’t.
Chapter 12
Ash
Myscalpstilltingledwhere his fingers had touched.
Don’t make it into something it’s not.
Too late. Way too fucking late. I’d been making it into something since the first night we’d fought on stage, and it had only gotten worse since he’d pinned me and I’d moaned loud enough for him to hear. Every touch, every rough encounter, every moment where his guard slipped just enough for me to see the person underneath the performance; it was all adding up to something I couldn’t ignore anymore.
I followed him back toward the staff entrance, keeping a few steps behind. The drizzle had picked up slightly, and I watched water darken the shoulders of his tactical vest. He moved with the same fluid confidence he had on stage, like he owned every space he walked through, but I’d seen the cracks now. The wayhe’d bolted from that conversation. The tightness in his jaw when he talked about his family.
He’s just as fucked up as I am.
Maybe more, considering he hid it better.
The broken home, the sister who’d abandoned him, the mother who’d given up on stability in favor of chasing money through relationships. No wonder he kept everyone at arm’s length. No wonder he treated what we had like it was disposable, as if acknowledging it would somehow make it real and therefore dangerous.
I got it now. Really got it.
And Christ, I was still falling for him, anyway.
Before we could reach the door, Parker emerged from the side office, his clipboard in hand and that particular expression that meant he needed something from us. Great timing, as always.
“Hold up, you two.”
Jude stopped, and I nearly walked into his back. He shot me a look over his shoulder, something between annoyance and resignation, before turning to face Parker with a neutral expression that probably took effort to maintain.
“What’s up?”
“Got a few minutes?” Parker gestured toward his office. “Want to show you something.”
“We’re supposed to be back out in five,” Jude said.
“I’ll radio Kelvin to cover your entrance. This won’t take long.”
We followed him into his cramped office. Parker had photographs pinned to a corkboard behind his desk, candid shots of performers both from his season and the past. I spotted Jude in a few of them, arm in arm with Taylor and looking younger. He was still stunning, but now that I knew where to look, I could see how he’d grown sharper and more reserved. I had no timeframe for context, but I guessed that Dylan was a relatively new heartache.
Parker sat and pulled up something on his computer, turning the monitor so we could see. “Park’s been getting feedback about you two. Alotof it.”
I exchanged a glance with Jude, who’d crossed his arms and adopted that defensive posture he got whenever he felt cornered. “Good feedback or bad feedback?”
“See for yourself.”
Parker clicked play on a video file, and suddenly we were watching ourselves on screen. The footage was from tonight, shot from somewhere in the crowd on someone’s phone. The quality was shaky but clear enough to make out every detail of our fight sequence.
I watched myself deviate from the choreography, saw Jude’s split-second decision to leap from the scaffold. The tackle looked brutal even on video, and the crowd’s reaction was audible—a collective gasp that turned into excited screaming as we rolled through the fog.
Jude shifted beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him despite the tactical gear between us. Neither of us spoke.
