Page 2 of Ruined By King

And the woman I've been trying not to think about for three rallies now.

I first saw her at the Mesa run last spring. She was standing off to the side while her father talked business, arms crossed, looking at the crowd like she was counting the minutes until she could leave. Something about the expression on her face snagged my attention. Not boredom — something sharper. Restlessness. Like a bird trapped in a cage too small for its wings.

I told myself I was imagining it. Projecting. Seeing something that wasn't there.

Then I saw her again at the Tucson rally two months later. Same posture, same distance, same look in her eyes. And this time she caught me watching. Our gazes locked across the crowded lot, and I felt something shift in my chest. A crack forming in a foundation I thought was solid.

She looked away first. It took me longer than it should have to do the same.

But I haven't stopped thinking about her since.

"King." Rogue's voice cuts through the noise. When I glance at him, he's watching me with those sharp eyes that see too fucking much. "You good?"

"Fine."

"You sure? Because you've got that look."

"What look?"

"The one that usually means someone's about to have a very bad night."

Lock makes a low sound of agreement. Traitor.

"I'm fine," I repeat, and make myself look away from her. The beer is bitter on my tongue, too warm, but I drink it anyway. Something to do with my hands that isn't something I'd regret.

"Uh huh." Rogue's not buying it, but he lets it slide. Instead, he tips his chin toward a group of women walking past — tight dresses, high heels completely wrong for the dusty ground, and the kind of smiles that say they know exactly what they're looking for tonight. "Now that's more like it. What do you think, Lock? Blonde or brunette?"

Lock doesn't even glance at them. "Neither."

"You're impossible." Rogue sighs dramatically. "What about you, King? When's the last time you⁠—"

"Don't."

"I'm just saying, a little stress relief might⁠—"

"Rogue." I let the warning harden my voice. "Drop it."

He holds up both hands in surrender, but he's grinning. He knows he's pushing buttons. He just doesn't know which ones.

The women pass by. One of them — the blonde — catches my eye and smiles, all invitation. She's beautiful. Objectively, undeniably beautiful.

I feel nothing.

My gaze drifts back across the fire pit without my permission, searching for auburn hair and firelight. She's moved. The space where she was standing is empty, and I feel that absence like a splinter under my skin.

I scan the crowd. There — near the food trucks, walking alone. The women she was with have drifted back toward the Road Kings camp, but Demi's heading in the opposite direction, putting distance between herself and her father's people.

Alone. Away from the crowd, away from her father's people. I shouldn't like that as much as I do.

I shouldn't follow her.

I set my beer down and stand.

"Where are you going?" Rogue asks, too casual.

"Food."

"You hate the food here. You said it tastes like⁠—"