Page 32 of The Chance

But when he tips back the hood and looks over his shoulder right at me with such an intensity in his eyes, I stop breathing.

Holy fuck, he’s beautiful.

His grin spreads when I continue to stare, frozen and tingling from head to toe when he turns my way, and hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans, tugging them lower.

My gaze snaps to the light trail that starts at his navel and disappears into his jeans that are just on the right side of appropriate.

My mouth waters.

The tattoo is right next to it, fresh and stretching from that low waistband clear up to his ribs. It’s a gorgeously rendered eagle diving for its prey, drumsticks in its talons like it just plucked them up.

Forcing myself to look up, our gazes clash and he shoots me a wink before breaking the connection and looking over his shoulder at the camera.

I force a shaking breath. Uncross my arms that I don’t remember moving. Break myself from the trance Mac put me in and spin to find Peach staring at me from behind two black eyes and a cock to his head.

He mouths anohand bounces his brows but then winces.

I clear my throat and flip him off.

Movement draws my sight back to the photoshoot and my fists clench against the wave of chills that overwhelm me when I see that all of Mac’s brothers have joined him.

And each one of them are wearing the same logo in different Pride color combinations.

Fin’s hoodie has pink, purple, and blue.

Pink, yellow, and blue make up Leo’s tee.

Toby’s chest totes purple, black, grey, and white.

And Rex … his is yellow, white, purple, and black.

Though I don’t know what all of them stand for, I do know that my drummer stands in the middle of them with his rainbow on full display and shining, glassy eyes.

Flashes capture the moment, but there’s not a damn thing that could capture the amount of pride I feel for the man Mac is in this moment. Nothing that could express the chills that rack over me at the acceptance crackling in the air.

The raw power of a moment like this.

“Fuck,” Peach mutters thickly from beside me, then takes off, photobombing the shoot by walking right up to Fin and grabbing at the hoodie the guitarist wears. They laugh and fight over the material until it ends up on Peach’s shoulders, the hood pulled tight around his face.

A face that is blotted in red like he’s fighting back his emotions just as much as I am, the camera catching every bit of it.

“Hey, Jordan,” Aria’s words shake me from the stupor this family has put me in, and I look down at the woman that designed it all. She’s holding out a folded garment, and when I take it from her, unfurling it, my breath catches all over again.

“Ari …” I breathe out, my sight darting over the rainbow print pitched inside bold bands of white and black to the woman with watering eyes.

“I didn’t think I’d be so emotional …” She sputters out a thick snicker and waves a limp hand at the hoodie in my hand. “I just thought you might like to match him.”

I clutch it in both hands and nod. “Thank you.”

She smiles and nods back, and I catch her before she can spin away.

“Which one is … um—” I swallow thickly, “is the demi colors?”

Her smile softens and she holds up a finger before disappearing. She’s only gone a moment, but it’s still long enough for my stomach to flip and regret to build up.

I clear my throat.

“Here, hun.” She places a smaller bundle in my grip, and my brows bunch when I notice the print is different than all the others. The colors are the same as the one Toby wears, but this one has a black triangle feeding into the purple, white, and grey stripes.

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