My pulse is roaring so loud, I can hardly think straight.

She’s pressed tight to my chest, her every curve plastered against me. It’s torture and bliss all rolled into one. I want to savor the moment forever — the feeling of Felicity in my arms, her salty tears dripping against my skin, her slender fingers fisted in the fabric of my t-shirt — because I know it won’t last.

Heaven and hell in the shape of a girl.

Mouth in hair, arms banded tight around her back, I hold her for what feels like hours in that dark, dusty storage closet.

It’s not nearly long enough to sate my need.

When her tears subside, she goes limp in my embrace, all the tension sliding out of her like a wet rag wrung dry. Our chests move in tandem, breathing as one. She makes no move to pull away, content in the circle of my arms.

God, I’ve missed this.

Missed her.

When she finally shatters the silence, her voice shakes.

“Did I cross the friend boundary?”

I shrug lightly, striving for a casual tone. “Friends hug.”

Her hold loosens and she pulls back to look at me. Less than two inches separate our faces. It fucking kills me not to kiss her, but her swollen eyes and lost expression are enough to curb the desire raging inside me.

“Thank you, Ryder.” Her voice cracks on my name. “For listening. For being you… even when we aren’t us.”

I nod, feeling my heart splinter. “Anytime.”

She rises to her feet, and I school my expression so she doesn’t know how much it pains me to let her slip out of my arms, how hard it is to keep my hands off her body now that I’ve had a searing reminder of the way we fit together, corresponding stars in the same constellation.

We don’t touch again as we walk out of the storage closet. The world feels glaringly bright outside our small, silent room. I’d give almost anything to go back; trade every night I’ve ever spent in five-star hotels for a few more stolen moments with her in the dark — breathing dust motes, my hands on her skin.

Stevens and Smith shadow our every step at a careful distance as we make our way back from the arena, leaving the stage lights behind. We don’t speak, each lost in our own thoughts as we traverse the gaudy halls of our hotel, smiling at fans who recognize us as we cross the lobby, picking up our pace before they notice Felicity’s red eyes and start asking questions she’s not ready to answer.

Apparently, not even when I’m the one asking.

I want to push her. To force her to tell me what she went through while we were apart. To reach inside her and pull out the words, one by one, until there are no more secrets left between us.

But I’ve got secrets of my own, things she still doesn’t know: about my arrest at The Viper Room and the note I should’ve left on her bedside table that night, explaining where I’d gone. The weight of those unspoken words presses down on my throat a little harder every time she looks at me with wariness in her eyes, as though she expects me to fly off the rails again at any moment.

I’ve given her all the ammunition she’s ever needed to distrust me. Whether it’s pride or sheer stubbornness keeping me from telling her the truth doesn’t really matter — based on what I overheard at the pool yesterday, hearing it wouldn’t change a thing between us.

Strictly platonic.

The words ring in my ears as I say goodbye at the door to her room, trying not to dwell on the pained look in her eyes when I walk away. Stepping inside my suite, I’m not entirely surprised to find Lincoln stretched diagonally across my king-sized bed, playing video games on the mammoth flatscreen.

“What are you doing in here?” I rumble as I collapse on the sofa by the window. “You have your own room right next door.”

“Yours is bigger.” His tone is completely unapologetic; his eyes never flicker away from the screen. “How is she?”

“Better.” I keep my voice soft, so the words don’t carry through the wall.

“So, she’ll be good to go for the show tomorrow night? No more waterworks?”

“Give her a goddamned break, Linc. She’s been through a lot, lately.”

“Never said otherwise. I just want to make sure she’s ready to go on before we shove a mic in her hands in front of twenty-thousand people.”

“She’ll be fine. She just needed a minute to get her head together.”

“Seems like a lot of that is going around, lately.” He groans as his character gets killed with a shower of animated blood, finally setting down the wireless controller to glance at me. “You, last night, for instance.”

I grunt.

“Where were you, anyway? You missed a great steak, plus watching me and Aiden win big at poker.”

I shoot him a skeptical look, having heard quite a different version of events from the bassist.

Lincoln sighs. “All right, that’s a lie. We got cleaned out. Lost a couple hundred each.”

“Sounds more like it.”

“So, where were you? Exploring the strip? Hitting a club? Hooking up with one of the criminally hot girls wandering around the casino floor?”

“I was helping the crew build our stage.”

His brows go up. “As in… moonlighting as a roadie?”

I nod tightly.

“Why the fuck would you do that?”

I prop my feet up on the coffee table. “I needed the distraction. Seeing as my surfboard is a few thousand miles away, manual labor was the next best option.”

Or, so it seemed at the time. I worked until midnight — hauling equipment, wiring speakers, tightening heavy bolts as we built the catwalk piece by piece. I figured I’d be far too tired to think about Felicity when I finally fell into bed.

A useless effort, it turns out — not only did I spend all night tossing and turning, I spent all day walking around with shredded arm muscles.

“Surprised the crew let you help.” Linc stares at me dubiously. “Do you even know anything about putting together a stage?”

“Remember where I used to work? The great dynastic plans I ditched to pursue music?”

“Your dad’s company.” Comprehension flares. “Ah. Right. Woods Electric. You guys did sound systems for stages and shit. So…”

“Like riding a bike.” Leaning back, I close my eyes. “We should really give the crew a bonus. They’re good guys, and they work harder than just about anyone I’ve ever met.”

He pauses a beat. “Manual labor kicked your ass that hard, huh?”

“Can’t even jack off, my arms are so sore.”

A snort flies from his lips. “And that’s my cue to leave. Rest up, man. Can’t have you dragging during tomorrow’s show.”

I roll my eyes as he walks to the connecting door that leads to his room.

“And enjoy your blue balls!” he yells at top volume — loud enough for Carly and Felicity to hear him next door, if the flurry of giggles that erupts through their wall is any indication.

I hurl a pillow at him, but he’s already disappeared.

Prick.

Somehow, the Vegas show tops our LA debut. Everything goes off without a hitch. Our transitions are totally cohesive, our choreography more natural now that we’ve clocked some performance hours on a real stage. The crowd is just as enthusiastic as they were the first time around, swaying in their seats and singing along as Felicity and I make our way through the set list. The emotional stakes have never felt higher as we share a mic, eyes locked, the spotlight shining down on us like a halo in the dark arena.

By the time we reach the final notes of Faded, our platform sinking down to the depths of the stage, we’re both riding high. I can feel the energy jumping from her skin to mine as we walk through the catacombs of the arena in the dark, bare arms brushing with every step. Backstage, Aiden and Linc have already popped a bottle of champagne. They chug it down, straight from the bottle. Felicity and I have a toast of our own with cold bottles of seltzer.

“To you,” I murmur, holding her stare.

She looks away too quickly, pulse pounding visibly in the veins of her neck.

To us, I add silently inside my head.

Try as she might to pretend she’s not feeling this strange new current between us, our eyes tangle throughout the VIP meet-and-greets. She might not want to admit it, but something has thawed, since that moment in the storage closet yesterday. There’s a new catch in her voice every time she says my name, a new glint in her eyes every time she looks at me.

Maybe it’s stupid, maybe I’m setting myself up for disappointment… but I can’t suppress the hope that stirs in my chest as I catch her staring at me again from the other side of the room.

Just friends, I remind myself. Play it cool. Don’t push.

I toss a wink in her direction over the heads of three squealing fans, and watch a deep blush flood into her cheeks.

Screw being friends, my throbbing cock demands. Grab her by the hand, unzip that sparkly little dress, and reclaim what’s yours.

My jaw clenches in a smile as I pose for yet another selfie, forcing my eyes away from her as the fans crowd in from all sides. For their sake, I try to summon the charming, flirtatious lead singer they came here to see.

“Say Wildwood on three!” Carly calls in a mockingly sincere tone, snapping a picture with glee.

This. Is. Hell.

The last wave of VIPs features a highly inebriated bachelorette party. Thanks to the super-platinum tickets they purchased, Carly lets them hold me hostage for far longer than any of the previous groups. I spend a half hour fending off the sloppy advances of the bride-to-be, attempting to extract myself with as much chivalry as possible. Still, by the time Carly hustles them out, the rest of the band is long gone. I glance around the empty room with an unhappy glower.

“You should get some sleep.” Carly waves a hand in front of her nose. “And maybe a shower. You smell like the perfume store at the mall.”

“That’s what happens when someone sics an entire bridal party on you.” I narrow my eyes at her.

“Sorry.” She laughs unapologetically. “Go. Be at peace. I relinquish you of your duties.”

“How magnanimous.”

“Yeah, uh, those magnanimous qualities will fade if you’re late tomorrow morning — we’re out of here bright and early, so get your ass to the bus on time. “

“Where to?”

“Tucson.” She grimaces. “I fear it won’t be quite as glamorous as our time here on the strip.”

I shrug. “This isn’t really my scene anyway.”

“Used to be.”

I don’t respond.

“When I met you in Nashville four years ago, you guys had just started playing with Lacey, landing steady gigs at spots around town. If I recall correctly, the only thing you wanted — besides a constant stream of fresh groupies at your disposal and a steady supply of Jack Daniels — was that spotlight.” Her head tilts. “You would’ve given anything to be a part of this exact scene, about which you now sound so dismissive.”

“Things change.”

“Isn’t that the truth.” She laughs, but her eyes are serious. “If you’d told me six months ago I’d be working on a tour with Wildwood — hell, if you’d told me six months ago Wildwood would be touring in the first place…” She shakes her head. “Seems impossible.”

I don’t disagree.

“You walking back?” I ask, jerking my thumb toward the exit, where Stevens is standing in the shadows.

“Nah, I have a lot to do still.” She grabs her tablet off a nearby table and starts to scroll through it. “You know… you might check in on Felicity for me.”

My brows lift.

“Just to let her know I’ll be late.” Her eyes are wide, her tone a bit too innocent. “I wouldn’t want her to worry, all alone in our room.”

My lips twist. “No, we can’t have that.”

She grins.

I wink as I turn and walk away, but she calls after me before I make it to the exit doors.

“Hey, also…” Her mouth purses in a pained expression. “Make sure Aiden and Linc don’t go too wild with those girls I saw them drag upstairs. We’re leaving at eight sharp, with or without them.”

I nod and walk out, wondering again about the strange dynamic between our tour manager and bassist. Those thoughts are quickly surpassed by thoughts of the girl upstairs, alone in her hotel room. A room which, conveniently, connects to mine with the turn of a knob.

A smirk overtakes my mouth, my pace increasing.

It’s one in the morning. I should probably let her sleep. I should probably let her pack.

Fuck that.

Fuck platonic.

Fuck every lie she’s spent the past few weeks telling herself, and me.

My determination builds as I step into the elevator and ride up to the penthouse floor. It solidifies into a plan as I pull off my shirt and climb into the shower, ridding myself of a night’s worth of performance perspiration and cheap perfume.

I’ll knock on her door and tell her everything, starting with the night I got arrested two years ago. It’s time she knows the truth. Past time.

When I walk out of my bathroom with a towel slung around my hips, my feet go still at the sight of the dark-haired girl sitting on my bed, waiting for me…

Wearing nothing but a smile.