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Not the insult.

Not the women.

Not even the fact that he stood up for me.

It's that he doesn't seem to understand why hearing him say those things matter so much. Especially when I spent years believing he thought of me as nothing more than his best friend's little sister.

I move closer. “Can we go home?”

His gaze searches mine.

“You sure? We don't have to leave because of them.”

“I'm not leaving because of them.”

“Then why?”

I slide my free hand beneath the lapel of his tuxedo jacket.

“Because I've spent the entire night watching women flirt with you.”

His mouth twitches. “Have you?”

“And I've been very well-behaved.”

“Debatable.”

I smile. “But I'm getting a little tired of pretending I don't want to kiss you.”

His fingers tighten around mine. “Becks.”

“What?”

He glances toward the ballroom. Then back at me.

“You have any fucking idea how hard it's been keeping my hands off you tonight?”

I rise onto my toes. Close enough to see the faint crease between his brows. Close enough that I don't have to raise my voice.

“Then don’t. Just make the play, Bishop.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

DELANEY

Bishop doesn't kiss me in the hallway.

Instead, he studies my face for a moment, then brushes his thumb along my jaw.

“Not here, Becks.”

Three words.

A promise, maybe. I'm almost afraid to ask.

He takes my hand, and we walk back through the ballroom to say our goodbyes.

Twenty minutes later, we're in the back of a car headed home. Neither of us has said much since leaving Ignite Arena.