Page 27 of Enticing the Enforcer
She grins, my history with Jake already forgotten, and leans forward. “Tell. Me. Everything.”
“It was raining and they could have cancelled their set, but they didn’t. They played the full set, soaking wet.”
“I saw the pictures. I can’t believe you were there.”
“It made everything feel even more intimate, like they were committed. I love that about them. They are true to their fans.”
Twyler clutches a pillow to her chest like she’s holding on for dear life. “I knew it.”
Nadia laughs. “Now you’ve done it. She’s going to make us listen to their entire discography on repeat before bed.”
“Correction,” Twyler says, already grabbing her phone. “Live performances only. I need to experience this properly.”
Shelby snorts, tugging the blanket higher. “Fine, but only if Ingrid does the commentary. I want the behind-the-scenes version. Did you meet them? Backstage? Anything juicy?”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling now. “No backstage gossip, just the rush of being in the crowd, singing at the top of my lungs. Sometimes that’s enough.”
Twyler’s grin softens. “See? That’s what I love. The feeling–not the drama. Their music really helped me through a hard time.”
“Exactly,” I say, hugging my knees. “Music should feel like that. Not like… shitty exes who are using you to get ahead.”
For the first time in months, talking about him doesn’t sting.
The girls chatter on, pulling up live clips, squealing when the crowd roars through the speakers, but my mind drifts. Not to Jake. Not to the wreckage he left behind.
To Jefferson.
To the hard press of his mouth against mine in the bathroom, the way he kissed me like we were the only two people on the planet. He makes me feel alive in a way Jake never did. Not like an accessory or a prize. But seen. Chosen.
I close my eyes and bite my lip, heart racing. Except… how is this different? We’re still sneaking around. Still hiding in the shadows. The question twists in my chest, sharp and unwelcome. Is that my decision–keeping us secret? Or his?
The next morningthe girls head out to see the city before the final game that night. I told them I’d meet them at the arena. Unfortunately, I have a full day of catch-up to do–even days off tour are workdays. I’m in sweats with my setlist propped against the mirror, humming scales under my breath, when the door bangs open.
Madison doesn’t knock. When has she ever?
“You’ve been caught.”
I blink up at her. “Huh?”
She strides in with the energy of a storm, iPad clutched like a weapon. One swipe and my face fills the screen.
“Oh my God,” I mutter.
It’s me. Sitting between Madison and Shelby in the stands, my stocking cap with the ridiculous little gold pompom pulled low over my forehead. I’m mid-cheer, mouth open, eyes shining, cheeks pink from the cold. Honestly, I look good. Alive.
But yeah. Busted.
“What does it say?”
Madison scrolls, then reads aloud in a faux-serious announcer voice: “Was Ingrid Flockton really at the Frozen Four playoff games? At first it made no sense to see our favorite winged singer at a college hockey match, but we did a little digging…”
She skims further, eyebrows rising. “Blah blah. Rehash of the last year. Then–ah, here we go. They haven’t ID’d the girls yet, but it’s only a matter of time. They’re speculating you must know someone on the team. Family member, boyfriend, something.”
I groan and bury my face in my hands. “The Flock is terrifying with their detective skills. They should be solving actual crimes instead of stalking me.”
Madison shrugs. “Internet sleuthing is their Olympic sport. But this–” she taps the screen again, “this has traction. You’re trending. It’s not just the fan sites. The sports and pop-culture pages have picked it up.”
I flop back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. My phone is on the cushion beside me. I reach for it, thumb hovering over the screen.
