Page 72 of Spotlight Hearts

“No.”

Whitney freezes. I stand up, putting the island between us.

“We’re not getting back together, Whit. Not now. Not ever. I meant what I said on the phone. It’s over. For good.”

Her eyes narrow, hurt flashing into anger.

“Because of him?”

“Because of me,” I say quietly. “Because I’m done pretending something is there when it’s not. I care about you. I always will. But I’m not in love with you. And I’m not going to use you to feel better about myself.”

She stares at me for a long moment, then laughs. “Fine. Go ahead and pine for the guy who just used you to keep his fame. See how that works out.”

She grabs her purse and storms out, slamming the door behind her. The silence that follows is heavy. I stand there for a minute, then grab my keys. I need to get out.

I need noise. Alcohol. Distraction.

The club is loud, dark, and exactly what I need.

Bass pounds through my chest. Lights flash. Bodies press together on the dance floor. I’m already two drinks in and working on a third—something strong and sweet that burns going down.

I flirt.

With everyone.

A girl with bright red hair grinds against me on the dance floor. I let her. I laugh when she whispers something filthy in my ear. I flirt back just enough to feel wanted.

A guy with dark eyes and tattoos slides up behind me at the bar. His hand brushes my lower back. I don’t move away. I turn and smile at him, letting my gaze linger. He buys me another drink. I let him.

I laugh louder than I should. I dance like I don’t have a care in the world. I pretend I’m the Luca everyone expects—the charming, carefree one who never gets hurt.

The music is so loud it rattles my ribs. Lights strobe across the packed floor, turning everyone into flashing silhouettes. Someone bumps into me and apologizes. Someone else grabs my arm and pulls me into another shot. I throw it back without asking what it is.

Burning. Sweet. Strong.

Perfect.

The red-haired girl laughs and spins away when her friends drag her toward the DJ booth. The tattooed guy at the bar leans in again, close enough that I can feel his breath near my ear.

“You’re trouble,” he says.

I grin. “You have no idea.”

He laughs and signals for another round. I should probably slow down. Instead, I lift the glass and knock it back.

The alcohol is doing its job now. The tight knot in my chest has dulled to something fuzzy around the edges.

Good.

That’s the goal.

The guy’s hand settles on my lower back again, fingers warm through my shirt. A few days ago, I might’ve let it slide lower. Might’ve leaned in closer. Might’ve followed him out of here just to prove to myself I could.

Instead, my brain betrays me again. Because for half a second, I imagine those hands belong to Kai. My stomach twists.

I step away before the guy can notice the change in my expression.

“Bathroom,” I say, jerking my thumb over my shoulder.