Page 53 of Never Your Girl

The music fades as I push to my feet, my chest rising and falling with a controlled exhale. I step to the edge of the stage, letting the golden light spill over me one last time. My final glance into the crowd catches the faint gleam of expensive watches, tailored suits, and top-shelf liquor in crystal tumblers.

I turn away before slipping backstage as the roar of the applause dulls and the adrenaline that carried me through the set begins to fade. It always feels like stepping from one world into another.

A huff escapes me as I slip my arms into a robe and drop onto my chair. The mirror is surrounded by soft, warm lights that make everything feel more glamorous than it actually is. My reflection stares back at me, framed by brushed gold edges. I focus on the smudge of mascara under my eye instead of the girl in the mirror.

I grab a makeup wipe and swipe it across my cheek, erasing the last traces of Lavender Smoke. Adrenaline still hums through my veins, making my hand tremble as I clean my face. I’m not sure if it’s the aftermath of the performance or the fact that I spotted Bridger loitering near the bar, attention glued to me.

As much as I tried to ignore him in the crowd, that was impossible. After a handful of minutes, I stopped trying to pretend and kept my attention locked on him until it felt like I was dancing solely for him.

That’s not something I ever imagined myself wanting to do.

The thought sends a prickle down my spine, and my gaze flicks to the side, realizing I’m no longer alone. In the reflection, I catch a glimpse of him leaning against the doorframe, his sharp jawline and broad shoulders unmistakable. He doesn’t belong here. His presence clashes with the carefully curated elegance of the space.

I force my attention back to my reflection, and press the wipe harder against my skin, as if scrubbing away more than just makeup. My pulse quickens. I don’t want him here. I don’t want him to see me like this—stripped of the armor I wear outside this place. But more than that, I don’t want to think about how his gaze feels like a physical caress, trailing over me even when I’m not looking.

Bridger doesn’t speak or move.

He’s just there, a steady presence I can’t ignore.

The weight of his stare presses against my skin, making my hand shake as I dab at the stubborn eyeliner clinging to the corner of my eye. The makeup wipe slips, leaving a dark smudge across my temple.

I release a shuddering breath.

The shuffle of his footsteps makes me glance up, and suddenly, he’s right behind me, close enough that his cologne, along with the scent of clean soap, fills my lungs. His eyes catch mine in the mirror, and for a moment, neither of us speak.

“You missed a spot,” he says softly, his voice low and rough.

“I’ve got it.” My hand trembles as I try to fix the smudge, but the wipe catches, smearing the black streak further.

“Clearly.”

Before I can protest, he reaches forward and takes the makeup remover from my hand. His fingers graze mine, sending a jolt through me.

“Hey—” I start, but he’s already tilting my chin upward, his touch surprisingly gentle as he wipes the smudge away.

My breath catches.

I should be annoyed, mortified even, but all I can do is stare at him. He’s too close, his features more defined in the fluorescent light of the dressing room. The strong line of his jaw, the sharp angle of his cheekbones, the way his lips quirk ever so slightly as he concentrates.

He’s ridiculously handsome.

The realization stirs emotions I’ve tried so hard to bury.

“There,” he says, his voice softer now. “All clean.”

Our eyes meet, and for a second, it feels like the room shrinks, leaving just the two of us. My heart pounds against my rib cage. I hate that he can affect me so easily. That he’s always had this power over me. I tug my chin from his hand, needing to shatter the moment.

“Why don’t you wait in the car,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

His mouth twitches, as if he’s about to argue. Instead, he nods and takes a step in retreat. “Don’t take too long.”

The door closes behind him, and a puff of air escapes me as I turn to the mirror. My reflection stares back at me, flushed and wide-eyed. I pull my robe tighter around myself and shake my head, trying to snap out of the daze.

“You okay, hon?” Megan asks, walking past with a towel slung over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” I mutter, fumbling for my clothes.

She glances toward the door Bridger disappeared through. “That guy yours? He’s hot.”

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