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And she’s the only one that kicks my heart up just by looking at her. Smelling her scent.
Just being in the same room as her.
She’s the only one that’s ever made me question whether or not my feelings for her were real ones.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I eat up the distance I created, doubling my speed, and bringing me closer to the festival I was so desperate to run away from.
When I get a clear path a block over from the service road that leads into the back of the venue, the tension in my chest vanishes, my shoulders drop, and my stomach gives itself a little twist.
The closer I get, the clearer the bass vibrates with the show that’s been in full swing, and that twisty feeling drops.
How many people have already been to see her?
Too fucking many.
I swear my brow has been permanently deep in a scowl since seeing her again at the party, my chest in a slowly tightening vice with each passing day that Cedar tries to avoid me and that shit just won’t fucking fly with me anymore.
She can hate me while I’m right next to her.
The guarded gate comes into view, opening without pause the moment I get close enough to be recognized and I pull the bike directly into the camp where As Above’s RV is set up for the weekend.
Parking the bike near our bus and killing the engine, I take the keys and dump them in my pocket.
I have to walk across the entire stadium to get to Cedar’s tent, so I cut through the VIP of VIP walks I’m glad to have found last night and stop at the Mexican food place for enough tacos and margaritas to share.
Cedar’s been working in this heat. The breakfast is sure to have worn off by now.
Maybe she’ll consider it a peace offering of sorts.
Striding my ass the rest of the way through the throngs of people that stare and question my existence when pings of realization light up their eyes, I keep my shoulders up and a scowl on my face. They swear it’s me to their friends, but there’s no way I’d be out in plain sight like this without a bodyguard.
“He’s gotta be a lookalike.”
“A major fan.”
“Just a biker with similar tats because Fin doesn’t havethoseones.”
I hear it all as I walk in the blistering sun, swiping my sweating forehead on my bicep thanks to my full hands. Cedar’s tent finally comes into view when I round the corner through the field exit to the main row of vendor canopies.
Letting my eyes scan the mass of people—some hanging out and smoking, some walking, some in lines way too long for shit that’s not that good—I catch the flash of orange that has the vice in my chest relaxing and my grinding jaw loosening.
Peach’s sight catches on mine with a grin when I jut my still ticking jaw in appreciation for his forethought, which he returns with a peace sign and fades into the crowd around him.
Bypassing the impressive line for Cedar’s artwork, I duck straight into the tent despite the protesting groans thrown my way and come face to face with a woman’s ass straight up in the air.
She’s wearing pink bikini bottoms that have been pushed enough to the side that I see an ink-smeared crack I wasn’t planning on witnessing as hands move over the skin and prick the permanent mark on the girl’s ass.
“Hey, sweetness.” I let my eyes follow the buzzing hands to the bare and inked arms of the artist. Up to the strong shoulders that hold Cedar hunched over the body at the weird angle that allows her to notput her hands in the chick’s more private parts and settle on the way her nose gives a slight curve to her left I wouldn’t normally be able to see.
“That better be fucking tacos I smell.” The growl doesn’t stop Cedar’s concentration as she works the devil head into the chick’s cheek with a deep brow and thinned lips.
“Sure is.” I snort and step around the artist to fit myself in the corner and wait for Cedar to finish her work.
Why does it feel like days since I’ve seen her when it’s only been hours?
“Um …” The questioning sound has my gaze raising from Cedar’s slim waist as she kneels on her stool for a better angle to the matching goth standing next to what looks like the cash register.
