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“Hey,” he says, leaning in against my uncovered ear. “Your mashups were amazing.”

I beam with pride. “One last one to drop. Hopefully, I’m saving the best for last.”

“Mind if I stay and watch?”

I stare up at his ridiculously thick lashes, losing myself for a moment before knocking his arm with my shoulder. “Sure. You can be my first groupie.”

His laugh is deep and warm in a way that reminds me of curling up in front of a fire with a soft blanket and a cup of hot cocoa.

He bends, placing his mouth against my ear again. “You look amazing by the way.”

My heart races and my skin heats. “Thanks, Rossi. You clean up nice yourself.”

He smiles, pushing a hand through his thick, dark waves.

Did I put a little more effort into what I wore tonight? Sure. It’s the Bees’ opening party. Everyone did. I’m kind of obsessed with my skintight black bodycon dress and gold heels. Although, I slipped off the heels about an hour ago.

I give Aldo another smile before returning my focus to the decks. I spent hours perfecting this mix and I want it to drop just right. If it does, it should light this place up.

My mouth is dry, my heart pounding as I line up the beats, looping the track as I blend in the next. As soon as the sweaty, writhing, crowd hears the beginnings of the tune, they start yelling noises of appreciation. I grin to myself, knowing that they’re going to lose their shit when I mash in the other song.

Almost holding my breath, I do, and the effect is instantaneous. The crowd jumps, faces stretched with joy as they squeal with delight. Adrenaline floods through me and when I glance up at Aldo, I’m buzzing.

The crowd has already validated my drop but the awe and appreciation on my teammate’s face is the icing on the cake.

“Holy crap,” he says over the music. “That was epic!”

My grin is so wide, my face aches. “Right?”

He nods at the dance floor. “You can’t, right?”

I shake my head. “Maybe later. I might hand over to Trey if he’s up for it.”

Aldo smiles. “Come find me if he does. I’ll save you a dance.”

As he moves off to the dance floor, I could burst with happiness. Looking out over the crowd, I spot most of our senior class, but a few others have snuck in, like they always do.

My heart stops. All excitement emptying from my veins as my blood runs cold.

I blink as an all too familiar head of perfectly styled blond hair disappears back into the crowd.No.It couldn’t have been him. I haven’t seen him in years. Why the hell would he be here, in the Hive?

I’m imagining things. Maybe the adrenaline high is making me hallucinate. Because the last thing I need is Lane Masters back in my life.

I swallow hard.

With my parents being ex-professional athletes, Olympians for that matter, I’ve been competing professionally since I was eight. I competed in the NCAA championships between sixteen and eighteen and just lost out on qualifying for the Olympic team in senior year.

I totally didn’t throw the race. Nope. Didn’t happen.

It took a lot of tears and tantrums, but I managed to convince my parents to let me concentrate on college. The only proviso was that I was on the swim team. Dad is an alumnus, so Franklin West was always preapproved by them.

They’re expecting me to try and qualify for Team USA this year. I’m not. As soon as swim season finishes in March, I’m hanging up my cap and goggles for good.

I was ten when I first met Lane Masters. While I was the top of the under twelve girls he was top of the boys under twelve. We went to all the same competitions and, even though he’s a year older than me, a friendship blossomed.

Lane made things bearable. When my parents applied so much pressure, I thought I might snap, he was there to give me strength and pull me together.

I’m from Utah and he’s from Montana, so although we kept in touch by phone, we could only see each other in person at meets and during the summer.

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