Page 46 of One Last Encore

Eden had forced Ingrid into the tightest, shiniest red vinyl mini-dress known to mankind claiming she needed to "let her wild side out." It hugged every inch of her body, showing an offensive amount of leg and cleavage. Ingrid had spent the last hour yanking down the hem in regret, silently plotting revenge.

Eden, of course, looked disgustingly good. Her angel costume was a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen. The fluffy skirt barely covered her ass, the corset was cinched to hell, and the massive feathered wings had already smacked Ingrid inthe face twice. If she got hit one more time, she was plucking those things bald.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, Eden had dragged her to this dingy bar under the pretense of "moral support." Turns out, moral support meant standing front row for thirty minutes while Eden howled into a microphone at the dive bar’s annual Halloween Rock Fest, for a paycheck so small it barely covered groceries.

The stage had been empty since Eden's set, but suddenlyToxicblared through the speakers, and Eden's head jerked up like a meerkat on high alert.

"Oh, this is happening," she declared.

And before Ingrid could react, she was being dragged onto the dance floor. Eden was already in full performance mode, wings bouncing as she threw her arms up and belted out the lyrics like Britney Spears herself had possessed her soul.

The vodka was doing its job. Ingrid’s limbs were loose and warm as she surrendered to the music. Her hips swayed, slow at first, then completely lost to the rhythm. Her curls tumbled over her shoulder as she threw her head back, laughing when Eden spun her in a wildly uncoordinated circle.

Bodies pressed close, the neon lights bathed the room in shifting hues of purple and blue. The music pulsed through the floor, vibrating up Ingrid’s spine as she let herself dissolve into the moment, her heartbeat syncing with the pounding bass.

A slow prickle crept up her spine, a heavy awareness settling over her before she even turned her head. Her breath hitched, instincts flaring. She wasn’t just imagining it. She was being watched. She turned, and her stomach dropped.

Beck was there, leaning against the bar like he had nowhere better to be. And he wasn't alone. There was a blonde in a glittering dress pressed against him, her manicured fingers curled over his shoulder like she was auditioning for the role ofMrs. Beck Gershaw. But Beck wasn’t looking at her. His gaze cut through the crowd and landed right on Ingrid.

His posture was casual, ankles crossed, one arm resting on the bar but his gaze was anything but. It pinned her in place. His lips curled at the corner, half amused, half something else entirely. Her pulse stuttered in response.

She hadn’t seen him since the kiss. The one that rattled something loose inside her, had flipped her entire world upside down. But it probably meant nothing to him, she reminded herself, jaw tightening. They weren’t dating. They weren’t anything.

And yet, his attention wasn’t on the woman beside him. It was on her. A wave of heat curled in her chest, unwanted, undeniable. She tore her gaze away, but the damage was done.

Eden was still belting out Britney Spears like her life depended on it, while Ingrid silently prayed she hadn’t noticed the six-foot-something problem staring from the bar. But Ingrid’s eyes kept drifting back to him and of course, Eden followed her gaze.

"Well, well, well." She leaned in conspiratorially. "Beck Gershaw is looking at you like it’s dinnertime and you’re the last steak on earth."

"Maybe he’s just hungry."

Eden snorted. "Oh, he’s hungry, alright." She waggled her brows. "Care to share why?"

Ingrid shot her a glare, but Eden’s grin only widened. Eden knew about Beck’s brother sabotaging her, about their project together. But Ingrid had carefully omitted a few key details. Like the unbearable sexual tension. And the kiss. Because, frankly, she still didn’t know what the hell to make of it.

Instead of responding, Ingrid let her body do the talking. Her hips swayed with the beat, her movements languid, effortless.She leaned into the music, ignoring the electricity of Beck’s stare still clinging to her like static.

Eden let out a low, knowing laugh. "Ohhh, I see. You want him for dinner too."

Ingrid rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the breathless laugh that escaped her lips.

"I thought we were supposed to hate him?" Eden pressed, arching a brow.

"We did," Ingrid admitted, voice lower now. "But then we actually got to know him, and… he’s not what we thought."

"So, what? He rescued a puppy? Started recycling?"

Ingrid sighed. "He’s just… really sweet."

Eden gagged. "Sweet? Puppies are sweet. Grandma’s cookies are sweet. That man looks like he’s one bad day away from getting a face tattoo."

Ingrid huffed, trying to ignore the way her chest tightened. "I don’t know, he just…he surprises me."

Eden held up a hand. "Let me guess, he’s got that tortured musician, brooding but sensitive, ‘love me, but don’t fix me’ vibe?" She deepened her voice dramatically. "I am but a lone ship lost at sea, searching for a lighthouse that is you. That kind of thing?"

Ingrid groaned. "Why do I tell youanything?"

"Because youlovesuffering. And apparently, Beck Gershaw." Eden cackled. "Don’t let me stop you from getting your man, I am your tool, wield me as needed."

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