Page 76 of Unspoken

His green eyes glitter in the candlelight, frustration and naked longing warring in their depths. It would be so easy tosurrender, to pull him to me and claim his tempting mouth with my own, consequences be damned. But that way lies ruin for us both. And I don’t know what scares me more—losing my life or losing him.

I gesture to the stage where the first performer of the night is stepping into the spotlight. "Just watch the show, okay? Let's try to enjoy the evening out like normal people for once."

Sasha huffs and withdraws his hand, slouching back against the cushions petulantly. But I can still feel the heat of his gaze on my profile as I try to focus on the performance. I've played with fire before, but something tells me this is different.

Getting all hot and heavy with my employer's little brother is a suicide mission, plain and simple. But with Sasha pressed against my side, the idea of not having him around has me panicking.

On the stage, a guy in his thirties sings without instruments, his voice powerful, and I watch Sasha as he listens, his eyes lit up with admiration. The vulnerability he usually hides from the world seems to soften in this moment.

Everyone claps enthusiastically as the singer finishes, and the second performer takes the stage, reading a poem that seems to resonate with the audience. I’m not the biggest fan when it comes to the arts. I don’t always get it, but Sasha’s eating up words that float from the stage like candy.

As the announcer finally says it’s time for the third performer to show what he’s got, he mentions a piano piece, and I know it’s our turn. I grab Sasha's hand and raise it high. His eyes widen in panic, but the cheering crowd seems to bolster his courage. He shoots me a glare as he rises, and I whisper, "Show them how it's done,mylash."

"You did this behind my back," he grits through his teeth, but something tells me he’s loving it. Ever since I saw him play at the shopping center a while back, I haven’t been able to get it out ofmy head. I wanted to do this for him—to let him be what he is at least for three measly minutes.

Sasha weaves past the tables and clusters of patrons and approaches the stage, his posture tense. The announcer shoves a mic into his face, probably expecting a few words, but it’s Sasha. He ignores the guy and just walks straight for the stool. There’s definite hesitation there as he settles in. It’s clear from the way his face shifts and the way his shoulders bunch up. And a part of me almost regrets putting him on the spot, but another part knows that secretly he wants this. Because I want the same thing—to not pretend anymore.

The club quiets as Sasha touches the piano keys. He holds his fingers there, on the surface as if introducing himself. And as soon as he starts playing, he transforms. From a spoiled little boy to an impressive young man.

The music flows through him, each note telling a story that only he can convey. I watch, captivated by the variety of emotions going through his expression and the way he seems to break free from the constraints of his life.

My heart races, I realize. Races so hard, my chest seems like it’s not going to hold it anymore. It’s a strange feeling, strange and terrifying and calming at the same time. Like I’ve just learned the secrets of the universe and one of those secrets is Sasha meaning more to me than I can ever imagine.

I’m overcome by this epiphany. Overcome and blinded. And I don’t follow the music anymore. I’m blending into its fabric like a part of it. When the last notes fade away, the crowd erupts into applause, and I feel a sense of pride for this beautiful, talented man who's slowly breaking down my defenses.

What is happening to me?

Why now?

And why does it have to be him?

Later on, when we leave the bar, our hands are brushing against each other during our walk side by side toward the valet. I hand the ticket to the attendant and he’s off to get the Navigator.

The charged atmosphere between Sasha and me crackles like electricity, fueling the unspoken tension and desire. Sasha finally voices his thoughts, his tone tinged with childish annoyance. "It wasn't fair… What you did to me," he says, his eyes shooting daggers at me.

"You were magnificent, Sasha. You should be proud of yourself."

"Who says I'm not chuffed? I am. I just like a bit of a heads-up about these things."

"The surprises I come up with for our dates?"

He pouts and I want to wipe that pout off his lips by kissing him silly. But we’re already being thoughtless by touching in public. I know it. He knows it. We both know it and we both keep on doing it despite the risks of being caught.

"Exactly," Sasha comes back while I watch as the valet brings out the vehicle and hands me the keys.

"They won’t be surprises anymore, will they now?" I chuckle. "If I tell you."

"Whatever, you stubborn git."

"You were magnificent, Sasha," I whisper in his ear as I nudge him gently toward the door. "You truly were. Not everyone has a gift like this."

His entire unhappy persona suddenly falls away. "Really?" he asks hesitantly, as if afraid to believe my words.

"Absolutely," I reply, guiding him as he climbs in.

Inside the Navigator, as we peel away from the club and merge with the traffic, Sasha's expression turns exposed. "I don't want to go home, Logan."

"Then where do you want to go?" I ask, trying to suppress the spark of hope ignited by his words.

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