Page 24 of Fame & Rhythm

“What?” I ask, studying him.

He glances away for a second before looking back at me, his gaze steadier now. “Nothing. Just thinking about something that’s been on my mind for a long, long time.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “That sounds ominous. Want to share?”

There’s a pause, and then something changes between us. I feel it before I fully understand it. His eyes lock on mine, and suddenly I’m aware of every inch of space between us… or lack of it.

His hand lifts, brushing a loose strand of hair back behind my ear. It’s such a small gesture, something he’s probably done a hundred times before, but this time it feels different, slower, and more intentional.

His fingers linger.

His thumb grazes my cheek.

My breath catches.

Reality slams back into place, sharp and sudden.

I jerk back, eyes wide. “Why did you do that?”

He frowns slightly, like he’s unsure why I’m reacting this way. “I’ve wanted to for a long time—”

“What? Why?” I shift along the bench, putting space between us, my heart racing far too fast.

He exhales, dragging a hand over the back of his neck. “Sorry. I must’ve read it wrong.”

I stand abruptly, wrapping my arms around myself as everything inside me feels too big, too much, like I’m about to split open—my skin prickles, my chest tight. “Damn right you read it wrong,” I snap. “We’re best friends, Aston. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

He stands too, stepping toward me, but I move back instantly.

He stops, lifting his hands slightly in surrender. “Okay. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Relief hits first.

Then something else follows right behind it, sharp and confusing, twisting in my chest.

“Good,” I say quickly, turning away before I can even begin to unpack that. I barely make it a step before his hand wraps around my elbow, pulling me back. I stumble, and suddenly I’m against him, his arms coming around me to steady me, holding me there.

And for a split second, I freeze.

“Aston, don’t—”

I see it then. The way his gaze drops to my mouth, the way his focus narrows as if the rest of the world has disappeared.

He leans in.

My breath stutters.

And then something inside me snaps.

I wrench free and slap him, the crack sharp in the quiet night.

His head jerks to the side, his hand flying up to his cheek as I stare at him, my vision blurring with tears.

What the hell is he doing?

“Jesus, Lennox…” he starts, but I don’t stay to hear the rest.

I turn and bolt inside.