Page 3 of Resist

“We’ll make it. I promise.” I drape my arm over his shoulders, wanting him closer, though I never look too closely at why, and keep my eyes on the city. “We have the talent, and one day, we’ll be out there with our name in lights and thousands of people screaming it. Until then, we have each other, cold beers, and music.” I tap my bottle to his.

“And each other,” he adds, leaning into me. “You’re right. The music is all that matters. I have to trust in that . . . in us.” His eyes meet mine for a moment, and I swallow words I can never say.

The night closes in around us as we stare into each other’s eyes, lost in one another.

TWO

Istruggle to sleep, staring up at the ceiling of the overly warm van. Ry stayed up with me as long as he could before dragging me to bed since we need to spend tomorrow working on the next bar. As usual, the covers were kicked off us since we are all practically shoved together, stripped down to our jeans and boxers just in case the police come to move us. Dash and Strike snore to my right, pressed together since there’s no room. Ryker shifts to my left, sighing in his sleep and rolling over, lying across my chest.

I try to ignore the way my body reacts.

It’s normal. We are in a tiny space where we need to squeeze together, and besides, we are friends. This is totally normal.

Why does it feel anything but?

He slides up my body, resting his head on my shoulder, his warm breath blowing across me. When I turn my head to look at him, our lips almost meet.

He looks so much younger, more innocent, as he sleeps than when he’s gyrating on stage, spitting filthy lyrics. It’s a side of him many don’t get to see, but it’s one of my favorites. I love the dirty, slutty singer, but this is all for me, a part of him I claim from others that even he doesn’t know about.

His shoulder-length, black hair curls from the humidity. The deep midnight color is almost purple. His thick brows furrow in his sleep, pulled down over deep brown eyes the color of earth. His pale skin is unmarred, and his high cheekbones and thick jaw are clean-shaven. His plush, plump lips are still stained from the blush we use and slightly parted.

He’s pretty, and he knows it.

He’s skinnier than I am and slightly shorter, but not by much, with sleeker muscles compared to mine. The sight of his bare chest has me swallowing hard, trying to push back my desire, so I bring my eyes back to his face, allowing myself to stare when I normally wouldn’t.

I am obsessed with him. I know it’s useless, but it doesn’t stop me craving him. Ryker is a goddamn work of art, and he knows it. He uses his looks like a fucking weapon against everyone—he just doesn’t know how damn well it works on me too. As his friend, it shouldn’t, but I never wanted to be just friends.

My eyes widen as he moves closer, closing the small distance until his lips innocently press to mine. I freeze and stare at him until reality sets in.

I scoot away as much as I can. I want to kiss him, but not like this, not while he’s asleep.

Besides, Ry will never be mine. We flirt and act, but everyone knows he’s straight, including me, with how he fucks his way through every city. No, it’s just a one-sided obsession that I can’t seem to get over, and I get my own back the only way I can—on stage, showing him what I can never say.

He thinks it’s just an act, but for me, it isn’t.

Forcing my eyes shut, I try to sleep, but despite my exhaustion, my mind whirs, fear mingling with my insecurities. When I finally do drift off, the sun is almost up and Ryker is still pressed to my side like a safety blanket.

“Guys, wake the fuck up!”

I jerk upright, hitting my head with a groan. I frown at Strike and Dash, who sit on the bumper, their toothbrushes forgotten. Ryker groans next to me, curling into my side.

“Ry.” I shake him. “What is it? Cops?”

“No, look at this.” Dash holds out his phone. Rubbing my eyes, I pull from Ry’s grip and crouch in the back of the open van, early morning sunlight streaming in. “Our set last night is going viral—I mean fucking viral. Our songs have already been played everywhere, and my phone is blowing up. We went from five thousand followers to close to a million overnight.”

“Fuck, what?” I rub my head. “Why? We didn’t do anything different. Was there a scout there?”

Dash and Strike share a grin and look behind me to a still sleeping Ryker. “Uh-uh, no. Look.” He scrolls back to the top, and I sit down on the end of the mattress, blinking at the videos.

They are of Ryker and me.

Our music was edited to them, and my eyes widen. Hundreds of videos from different angles and different parts of the set show us flirting and playing together.

“Looks like the internet is shipping you and going crazy.”

I take the phone, continuing to look through it as Dash kicks Ryker, who groans, sitting up and looking far too cute and grumpy. I force my eyes away from him, and he shuffles my way as Dash explains.

He looks over my shoulder, and I’m acutely aware of the warmth of his body pressing against my back. I lift my knees to hide my reaction to him, though no one seems to notice. Everyone else’s eyes are locked on the phone.

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