Page 62 of Cadence
Maddox
Twentyminutescomeandgo, and I’m soaked with sweat, legs aching, lungs burning, head still spinning. But it’s better than being trapped inside that bus alone with her.
I never should’ve walked her back. We’re only a week into this tour and already it’s like I’m losing my grip.
The bass of my music thuds in my ears, but it doesn’t even touch the noise in my head. Not the surprise on her face when I offered her my notebook. Not the unexpected warmth when I gave Cole her sticks. Not the way she looked at me like maybe I’m not the asshole she thought I was.
And definitely not the image that flashes behind my eyelids every time I blink—her mouth parted, skin flushed, the way I desperately want to see it again.
Crossing the street, I ignore the pressure pushing down my shoulders with each step. There’s too much. Too many eyes watching. Too many things we could lose if I slip up. I swear Beau knows. He keeps giving me these looks, already warning me with half-sentences I can’t let him finish.
Iknowwhat’s at stake. And Iknowwhat I’m risking when I glance at her bunk at night, letting those thoughts flood in like I don’t know any better.
This can’t happen.
But knowing doesn’t kill the ache inside.
My feet throb as I keep running until the tension in my legs is stronger than the knotting in my stomach. Until the edge dulls just enough that I won’t do something fucking stupid the second I see her again. Only then do I turn back.
The cool rush of air kisses the back of my neck as the bus door closes behind me. Panting, I drag a hand through my hair, sweat-soaked and clinging, my shirt tucked into the waistband of my shorts.
Heading to the fridge, I grab a bottle of water, tilting my head back and drinking deep. Ice-cold liquid hits my throat, and I swear I can feel her eyes on me before I remember she’s there. Lowering the bottle, I look over, finding Paige motionless in her booth, my notebook open on the table.
Gaze locked on me, her lips part slightly, her lashes fluttering once as she drags it down, slow and deliberate, over my shoulders, my arms, the muscles lining my pecs, like she’s mapping out my chest.
She doesn’t even try to hide it and, fuck me, that’s worse.
My body responds instantly, desire coiling low in my gut. Her attention alone is enough to trip the wire I’ve spent the last five miles trying to defuse. She shifts, and her eyes dart back to my lyrics, trying to pretend like she wasn’t checking me out. But hercheeks flush, her fingers white with the death grip she has on her pen.
I swallow, trying to ignore it, trying to act casual.
“The guys back yet?” I ask, voice hoarse from the run.
She blinks, her big blue eyes wide like she’s still playing catch-up. “Huh? Oh, no. Not yet.”
Nodding, I jerk my chin toward the small bathroom. “Imma take a shower.”
Her eyes meet mine before quickly looking away again, and I disappear down the hall, feeling her stare follow me the whole way.
The scalding water hits my shoulders and down my back as I stand, palms pressed flat against the tile, head bowed, letting the burn sink in.
I needed that run, needed the space, but it didn’t clear my head the way I thought it would. Not even close. Not when all I can picture is the way she looked at me the second I came back in, panting and dripping in sweat.
Like shelikedwhat she saw.
Cranking the temperature to cold, I tip my head back, the icy spray rushing over my face doing nothing to tame the arousal spiking in my blood just thinking about all the things I could do to her since we’re all alone.
My body reacts before I can stop it, my cock thickening between my legs, and I curse under my breath, the response always happening with her now.
Smoothing a hand down my stomach, my breath shallow, I wrap my hand around it, stroking once. It’s not even about the release. It’s about her. The memory I can’t seem to shake.
The feeling of her clenching around my fingers.
Stroke.
The way her body arched.
Stroke.
