Page 110 of Victorious: Part I

“Always working.” He grins, but there’s a warmth in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“It’s a good distraction,” I admit. “Keeps me from overthinking everything.”

“Like what?”

I hesitate, weighing how honest to be. “Like the club. What might be happening back home. Whether we’ll have anything to go back to.”

His expression sobers. “They’re gonna be okay, Clo.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No,” he concedes. “But I know they’re fighting like hell. And I know your brother. He doesn’t give up easy.”

I smile faintly. “Yeah, stubborn as they come.”

“Wonder where you got it from?” he teases, and just like that, the tension eases.

I retrieve my camera from our shelter, careful not to disturb Dracula, who’s now stretched out like he owns the entire sleeping bag. Phoenix watches from a distance as I move through the park, capturing the morning light as it plays across the abandoned structures.

Eventually, he disappears back into our shelter. When he emerges, he’s changed his shirt, and I nearly drop my camera at the sight of him.

His chest is bare, muscles defined in the morning light, skin tanned and marked with scars and tattoos I’ve only glimpsed before. The Roman numerals stand out on his chest, along with the tiger with bright blue eyes he described last night. There are others, too—symbols and words I can’t make out from this distance.

He catches me staring and freezes, T-shirt in hand. “Shit, sorry. Thought you were on the other side of the park.”

I swallow hard, trying to appear unaffected. “It’s fine. Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

It’s a lie.

I’ve never seenanythinglike this man before me.

He pulls on his shirt, but the image is already seared into my memory—the strength in his shoulders, the lean muscles of his abdomen, the scattered scars that hint at stories he hasn’t told me.

“Found my jacket,” he says, holding it up. “You were cold last night. Thought you might want it again.”

He crosses to where I stand, holding out the leather like a peace offering, and I take it gratefully, trying to ignore the way my fingers brush against his in the exchange.

“Thanks.” I slip it on over my T-shirt, immediately enveloped in its warmth and his scent—engine oil, desert dust, and something distinctly him. “It helps.”

His eyes linger on me for a moment too long, and I feel the heat rising to my face under his gaze. “What?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he says quickly. “Just, you look good in it.”

The simple compliment shouldn’t affect me as much as it does, but I feel a flush of pleasure warming my cheeks. “Thank you.”

We stand awkwardly for a moment, neither of us sure what to say next. In the daylight, whatever almost happened between us last night feels both more real and more impossible.

Finally, Phoenix clears his throat. “I should try calling that mechanic. The sooner we get back on the road, the better.”

I nod, trying not to feel disappointed. “Oh, yeah, of course.”

He heads back toward the truck while I continue taking photos, though my heart isn’t in it anymore. I’m too distracted by thoughts of him, by the memory of his face inches from mine in the darkness, by the feel of his body rocking against mine, by what might have happened if Dracula hadn’t intervened.

When I return to our shelter to pack up my gear, the cat is gone, the sleeping bag empty. I gather our things methodically, my mind still wandering.

I shouldn’t be feeling this way. Phoenix is Sadie’s brother. He’s a member of the club. He’s been assigned to protect me, not whatever this is becoming.

And yet, I can’t ignore the pull between us. The way my heart races when he’s near. The way I find myself looking for him, even when I should be focused on other things.

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