Bryan flagged down a taxi before I could fully register what was happening. One minute, I was stumbling out of the club, half-fuming and half-confused, and the next, I was squished into the back seat of a tiny cab, Bryan sitting way too close for comfort.

The cab smelled faintly of air freshener and rain, and the faint hum of Latin music played from the front speakers. The driver glanced back briefly as we settled in, his eyes flicking to my slightly disheveled state.

"She's drunk," Bryan explained flatly, leaning back and stretching out like he owned the place.

"I'm not that drunk," I mumbled, though I could feel my words slurring slightly. "I'm perfectly fine. You're just... a buzzkill."

Bryan raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Sure you are."

I huffed, crossing my arms dramatically and staring out the window. The streetlights blurred together as the cab sped down the wet road, the rain earlier leaving everything slick and shiny.

But, of course, I couldn't just sit there in silence. My mind was spinning, and my thoughts kept circling back to one thing: that kiss. The image of Bryan and Miss Perfect at the bar replayed in my head like a bad movie I couldn't turn off.

"Why were you even at the club?" I asked suddenly, turning to glare at him.

Bryan glanced at me, his expression calm but guarded. "Why not?"

I narrowed my eyes. "You don't even like clubs."

"And you're an expert on what I like now?" he shot back, his tone sharper than usual.

I ignored the jab, leaning back dramatically against the seat. "Well, you seemed to like it tonight. All cozy with..." I trailed off, biting my tongue. Don't mention the kiss, Amber. Don't mention the kiss.

"With who?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

"No one," I said quickly, waving my hand dismissively. "It's none of my business anyway."

Bryan tilted his head slightly, studying me in that infuriating way of his. "You're jealous."

"Ha!" I let out a sharp, exaggerated laugh that sounded fake even to me. "Jealous? Of you? Don't flatter yourself, Munzo."

The driver let out a small chuckle, clearly enjoying the show from the front seat.

Bryan smirked, leaning closer so his shoulder brushed against mine. "You're so jealous you're practically vibrating."

"I am not vibrating!" I exclaimed, throwing my hands up. "If anything, I'm annoyed! And tired! And—and—your face is stupid!"

"Stupid, huh?" Bryan said, his smirk growing. "That's the best you've got?"

"Yes!" I said, crossing my arms again. "Your face is stupid, and your tattoos are overrated, and... and you shouldn't kiss random girls in public! It's tacky."

His smirk faltered for a split second, replaced by a flicker of something I couldn't quite place. "Noted," he said, his tone softer now.

"You two fight like an old married couple," the cab driver commented, his thick accent adding an extra layer of humor to the situation.

"We're not—" I started, but Bryan cut me off.

"Definitely not married," he said, leaning back with a smug grin. "She couldn't handle me."

"I wouldn't want to handle you," I shot back. "You're like... a feral cat. All claws and attitude."

The driver laughed, shaking his head. "Sounds like love to me."

I groaned, slumping into my seat as Bryan chuckled beside me. "This is the worst taxi ride of my life."

"Sure it is, Ballerina," Bryan said, his voice low and teasing.

By the time we pulled up to the hotel, I was halfway through a speech about why cab drivers were the unsung heroes of the world. The driver gave me a friendly wave as we climbed out, and I made a mental note to tip him generously the next time I saw him.

Bryan walked beside me as we entered the lobby, his presence annoyingly steady compared to my slightly wobbly steps. "You should drink less," he commented as we waited for the elevator.

"And you should be less... you," I retorted, narrowing my eyes at him.

He smirked, leaning casually against the wall. "You're not making any sense."

"Good," I said, poking his chest. "You don't deserve my sense."

The elevator dinged, and Bryan guided me inside, his hand lightly on my elbow. As the doors closed, I stole a glance at him, his face illuminated by the soft light of the elevator. He looked calm, unbothered, and, of course, ridiculously attractive.

Stupid Bryan.

The door shut behind us with a heavy click, sealing me in the small space with Bryan's unrelenting presence. My head spun from the cocktails and the emotions swirling inside me—jealousy, embarrassment, and something else I didn't want to name. I wobbled toward the bed, kicking off my heels haphazardly.

"You're a walking hazard," Bryan muttered, watching me with his arms crossed. "Sit down before you hurt yourself."

"I'm fine," I snapped, though my voice slurred slightly. "I don't need you hovering like... like some overprotective watchdog."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Right. That's why you almost face-planted in the lobby."

"I was fine," I argued, plopping onto the bed. The room tilted slightly, and I gripped the edge for balance. "See? Perfectly fine."

He groaned, running a hand through his dark hair. "You're stupid."

"And you're—" I paused, narrowing my eyes at him. "Well, you're mean."

Bryan rolled his eyes, walking toward the dresser. He pulled out a loose tank top and a pair of pajama shorts and tossed them onto the bed. "Get changed before you pass out in that dress."

"I don't need your help," I said, though my fingers fumbled with the zipper on the back of my dress. The tiny clasp refused to budge, mocking me as I struggled.

"You're hopeless," Bryan muttered, stepping forward. "Turn around."

Before I could protest, his hands were on the zipper, deftly pulling it down. His fingers brushed against my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. I froze, the sudden intimacy making my breath hitch.

"There," he said, his voice softer now. "Done."

I shrugged the dress off my shoulders, letting it pool around my waist. As I reached for the tank top, Bryan's gaze dropped, his entire posture stiffening.

"Amber," he said, his voice low and sharp. "What's that?"

"What's what?" I asked, blinking at him.

"That," he said, nodding toward my hip. His dark eyes were locked onto the pale, jagged scar that curved along my hipbone. "That scar."

The tension in the room felt like it could suffocate me as Bryan stood there, his dark eyes burning with questions I didn't want to answer. I yanked the tank top over my head, my hands trembling, trying to ignore the way he was staring at me—at the scar. My scar.

"Amber," he said, his voice low and sharp. "What happened?"

"Nothing," I muttered, reaching for the pajama shorts and tugging them on, desperate to cover myself, desperate to avoid the conversation he clearly wanted to have.

"That's not nothing," he said, taking a step closer, his brows furrowing. "That scar... I saw it before. At the party. I didn't say anything but what the hell happened?"

"It's none of your business," I snapped, my voice trembling as I turned away from him. My chest felt tight, my hands shaking as I adjusted the waistband of the shorts. "Just leave it alone."

"Like hell it isn't my business!" His voice rose, frustration clear in every word. "You can't just brush this off like it doesn't matter. Did someone hurt you?"

I froze, the weight of his words crashing over me. My throat tightened as I tried to steady my breathing, but the anger bubbling under the surface was too much. I spun around, my hands clenched into fists.

"Why do you care, Bryan?" I demanded, my voice shaking with anger. "Why do you suddenly care about me or my life?"

He blinked, caught off guard, but before he could respond, the words spilled out of me like a dam had broken.

"You're mean to me," I said, my voice rising with every word. "You embarrass me, make me cry, and—and—humiliate me in front of everyone! So, no, you don't get to act like you care now. You don't get to play the hero!"

His jaw tightened, and his hands curled into fists at his sides. "Amber, it's not like that—"

"It is like that!" I shouted, my voice cracking. "You've been nothing but awful to me, and now you're standing here, pretending to care? Why? To make yourself feel better?"

His eyes flashed with something I couldn't name—anger, frustration, maybe even guilt. "You think I don't care about you?" he asked, his voice low and rough. "You think I'm just doing this for fun?"

"Yes!" I snapped. "You've made it pretty clear that I'm nothing but an inconvenience to you."

He took another step forward, his tall frame towering over mine. The intensity in his gaze made my heart pound, but I refused to back down. "You have no idea what you're talking about," he said, his voice tight with barely contained anger.

"Then enlighten me!" I shot back, throwing my arms out. "Tell me why you're here, Bryan! Tell me why you care so much!"

He didn't answer. Instead, he closed the distance between us in one swift motion, his hand moving to the back of my neck as his lips crashed against mine. The force of it stole my breath, my heart lurching as his other hand gripped my waist, pulling me closer.

For a moment, I froze, caught off guard by the sheer intensity of the kiss. But then something inside me snapped, and I kissed him back with just as much desperation. My hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer as the heat between us ignited into something wild and uncontrollable.

His lips moved against mine with a hunger that made my knees weak, his tongue sliding against mine as he deepened the kiss. His hands roamed cautiously, one resting on my hip while the other tangled in my hair, sending shivers down my spine.

I pressed closer, my body reacting to him in ways I couldn't control. His chest was solid against mine, his warmth seeping into me as his fingers traced the curve of my waist. Every touch, every movement, was electric, and I felt like I was drowning in him.

When his hand slid down, brushing against the bare skin just above my waistband, I gasped against his lips, my fingers tightening in his shirt. He groaned softly, the sound vibrating through me as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss even further.

I hated how much I wanted this. Hated how easily he unraveled me, how his touch set my skin on fire and made me forget everything else. But the anger, the frustration, and the lingering jealousy still simmered beneath the surface, refusing to be ignored.

I broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. His dark eyes were filled with a mix of emotions—desire, confusion, and something deeper. His chest heaved as he caught his breath, his hands still resting on my waist.

"Bryan," I whispered, my voice trembling. "Why did you do that?"

He let out a heavy sigh as his grip on my waist loosened. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice hoarse. "I shouldn't have."

My stomach twisted at his words, the sting of rejection cutting through the haze of the moment. "You're right," I said quickly, stepping back and crossing my arms. "It was a mistake."

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might argue. But instead, he nodded, his expression guarded. "Yeah," he said softly. "It was."

The air between us was heavy with tension, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on us. He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident as he turned away.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice barely audible.

"Don't be," I said, though my voice cracked slightly. "It doesn't matter."

He glanced at me briefly before he grabbed the blanket and settled onto the bed. The silence that followed was deafening, and I felt like I couldn't breathe.

Climbing into bed, I pulled the covers up to my chin, staring at the ceiling as my mind raced. My lips still tingled from his kiss, and my heart refused to settle. Whatever had just happened between us, it was dangerous. And I wasn't sure either of us knew how to handle it.

Bryan's POV

The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the streetlights outside casting streaks of pale light across the ceiling. I lay on the floor, staring at the shadows shifting above me, the blanket twisted around my legs. It had to be at least 2 a.m., but sleep refused to come.

My mind was a chaotic mess, replaying everything that had happened tonight. The kiss with Amber—it was all I could think about. Every detail of it was seared into my memory: the way her lips moved against mine, hesitant at first and then desperate, as though she'd been holding back for weeks. Hell, maybe she had been. I knew I had.

I ran a hand over my face, letting out a quiet groan. What the hell had I been thinking? Kissing her like that—no, devouring her like that—was reckless, dangerous. It was everything I'd told myself I wouldn't do. She wasn't just some random girl. She was Amber. And we... we weren't supposed to get along, let alone kiss like our lives depended on it.

But it wasn't just the kiss haunting me. It was the scar. That jagged, pale mark along her hip bone, something she'd clearly tried to keep hidden. I'd noticed it that night at the party that night, but I hadn't asked then. I told myself it wasn't my place, but the truth? I hadn't wanted to know. Seeing it again tonight, though, I couldn't push it aside.

Who did that to her? The question burned in my chest, twisting into something that felt dangerously close to anger. She'd shut me down so quickly when I asked, her voice sharp and defensive. And the look in her eyes—it wasn't just anger. It was fear.

And then there was Ethan.

I clenched my jaw, the image of her laughing with him flashing in my mind. The way her face lit up when he said something stupid. The way he looked at her, like she was the only person in the room. It had irritated me all night, even though I had no right to be mad.

But I was.

Seeing her with him, watching her smile at someone else, it shouldn't have mattered. But it did. And the worst part? She'd seen me kiss someone else first.

That was supposed to be nothing—a distraction, a way to forget the way she'd been invading my thoughts lately. But instead of feeling better, it had backfired. I couldn't even remember the girl's name now. All I could think about was Amber, standing there, her eyes flashing with something that looked suspiciously like jealousy.

She'd kissed me back tonight. She kissed me back. That wasn't just in my head. She'd wanted it too, even if she didn't want to admit it. But the moment I pulled away and said it was a mistake, the way her face fell—it gutted me.

Because I didn't think it was a mistake. Not really.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. I needed to get a grip. Amber deserved better than me pushing her buttons, kissing her like that, and then pretending it didn't mean anything. But at the same time, I didn't know how to stop. She got under my skin in ways no one else ever had, and it scared the hell out of me.

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Thank You for Reading Chapter Thirty-Four!

Hey everyone,

First of all, I just want to say a huge thank you for your patience and support. I know it's been a little while since my last update, and I'm really sorry for the delay. Some of you already know that I have a heart condition, and the past few days have been really difficult. Writing has always been something that brings me joy, but sometimes life gets in the way, and I needed a bit of time to rest.

That being said, I'm so happy to finally share this chapter with you! Your love for this story and these characters keeps me going, and I can't even put into words how much I appreciate every single one of you who reads, comments, and supports The Bad Boy's Ballerina.

I'm wishing you all the best, and I'll see you in the next chapter! Thank you for being here. ❤️