Page 50 of The Devil of Downtown

“You realize,” Jennie says, fluffing her chestnut bob until it bounces, “you say that every time we go out. Which, by the way, has beenages.”

“You know how it is,” I shrug. “Once we’re in the middle of a show, weekends stop existing.”

“So that’sexactlywhy we needed the extra shot.” Jennie grins, looping her arm through mine and tugging me toward the door. “And I’m still riding the high of getting cast in the ensemble. Same show, same rehearsal schedule—I’m not letting you disappear on me this time.”

The swell of noise reaches us before we hit the dance floor. It’s crowded, the kind of packed that leaves no space to breathe, but Jennie’s already weaving through the bodies like she owns the dance floor.

“I’m so glad Sloane planned this. This is fun. Have youseenall the hot guys?” she says, eyes glinting, a tipsy smile tugging at her lips.

“Yeah. Fun,” I echo, though the word feels thin on my tongue. She drags me into the crush of people, and I let her. The atmosphere is wild as midnight fades into early morning, and still, I keep telling myself I’m having fun.

It’s been a while since Sloane came out partying. Lara, her best friend from college, stepped in at the last minute to babysit Elsie. But there is a little Dane-shaped hole carved into my chest that’s proving impossible to shake.

The worst part? I still haven’t told Sloane. I meant to, but then Dane came back early from the conference—and when she talked about seeing him, she didn’t seem shaken in the way I expected. Which can only mean one thing. He didn’t say a word.

She said casually that Dane had brought up a “mistake” in London. If he’d told her the truth, there’s no way she would’ve brushed it off like that.

I should be relieved—shouldn’t I? Instead, it stings, like whatever we shared meant nothing.

Jesus, I really need to get a grip.

I laugh as I spin toward Sloane and Jennie and some of our other friends from our college days. Brody couldn’t come tonight—thank God. He tends to take over every room he enters.

The music climbs, a remix bleeding into another track. For a second, I almost feel normal again.

Almost.

Until a sharp tingle crawls up the back of my neck.

Without thinking, I turn, scanning the crowd just as the strobe flares, and my breath snags.

It’s him.

Same chiseled jaw with a dusting of stubble. Same dark hair. Dark green eyes that make all my good intentions melt away.

No, it can’t be.

I shake the thought away. It’s not the first time. Ever since London, my brain’s been playing tricks—faces in passing cars, strangers on the street who look like him until they don’t.

But then the light flashes again—and this time, I know I’m not imagining it.

He’s real.

Dane.

He’s not a trick of the light. Not a shadow I built out of longing. He’s standing at the edge of the crowd, half in darkness, watching me with a furious, contained heat that looks one spark away from erupting.

He looks even more tempting outside of the office in a dark gray t-shirt that clings to his chest and black jeans low on his hips. His hair looks a little longer, falling over his forehead, the office polish stripped away, which only makes him seem rougher.

My feet won’t move. For a second, I can’t even blink.

Then his gaze locks on mine. He cocks his head slightly—barely a gesture—but I understand it instantly.Come here.

My body moves before my mind can catch up, cutting through the crowd until I’m standing in front of him.

He doesn’t say a word. Just reaches for my hand. His fingers slide through mine, rough and sure, and I let him—without thinking, without protesting. He leads me off the dance floor, cutting through the crush of bodies as if the crowd parts for him. I don’t even think of pulling away. Not until we slip into a narrow corridor near the back, the music fading into a distant pulse behind us.

He backs me into a corner, one hand slamming against the wall beside my head, the other raking through his hair as if he’s trying not to explode. His eyes close for a beat. When they open again, the fury in them burns bright.