Page 109 of Victorious: Part I

Part of me wishes Dracula hadn’t interrupted us.

The more sensible part knows it was probably for the best.

Maverick would absolutely lose his shit if he knew.

And there is one tiny, little important thing I haven’t told Phoenix, that to me is not a big deal, but to him, it might be—technically, if we did have sex last night, it would have been my first time.

Yeah, it's probably a good idea that Dracula stopped us.

Sighing quietly, I carefully extract myself from the sleeping bag, trying not to wake either Phoenix or the cat. I need a moment alone to gather my thoughts and process everything that’s happening between us.

Stepping outside, the desert is beautiful in the early morning light. The abandoned water park looks less creepy and more melancholy in the soft golden glow. I walk a short distance from our makeshift shelter, stretching my stiff muscles and trying to sort through the tangle of feelings inside me.

I’ve always thought Phoenix was attractive—that was never in question. But what I’m feeling now goes beyond simple attraction. There’s a connection between us that I didn’t expect, an understanding that makes me feel seen in a way I rarely do.

Everyone else in my life—Maverick, Haven, the whole club—they see me as someone to protect, someone fragile. Phoenix started that way, too, but I don’t know, it’s almost like he saw how that annoyed me, so he flipped the switch.

He sees my strengths, not just my weaknesses.

And that’s intoxicating.

I hear movement behind me and turn to see Phoenix emerging from the building, hair mussed from sleep, eyes squinting against the morning light. My heart does a stupid little flip at the sight of him.

“Morning,” he says, his voice still rough with sleep. “You okay?”

I nod. “Yeah. Just getting some fresh air.”

He lifts his arm, sniffing underneath. “Do I smellthatbad?” he teases, and I grin at him.

“I mean, I didn’t want to say anything, itwashot yesterday,” I joke back.

With a big smile, he comes to stand beside me, close but not touching. Neither of us mentions last night’s almost, but it hangs in the air between us, an unacknowledged current.

“I tried the truck again earlier,” he says after a moment. “No luck. I’ll call for a mechanic once it’s a decent hour.”

“So, we’re stuck here a while longer?”

He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “Afraid so. That a problem?”

“No,” I chime, perhaps too quickly. “Not at all.”

A ghost of a smile crosses his face. “You should check your blood sugar. I’ll go grab your kit.”

“Thanks.”

He returns with my testing supplies and a piece of jerky, just in case. I’m touched by his thoughtfulness and by how much he’s paying attention to my needs.

As I check my levels, he paces the area, surveying our surroundings in the daylight. Something about the way he moves—always alert, always scanning for threats—reminds me that beneath his casual demeanor, he’s a man who’s lived through danger.

Who’s clearly caused some too.

“All good?” he asks, nodding toward my monitor.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I pack away my supplies. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Wait for the mechanic, I guess. Not much else we can do.”

I nod, glancing back at the abandoned park. “At least the light is perfect for more photos. I could get some morning shots to complement yesterday’s sunset ones.”

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