"Madie, just go talk to him."

I forced my eyes away from Bren's so I could look at Nessa. Her voice was low, her long hair covering half of her face as she peered over at me.

"I don't want to talk to him right now."

She snorted. "True. You just wanna fuc—"

"Wednesday!" I clamped a hand over her mouth and hoped no one else heard, especially Bren.

Nessa shrugged, her laughter muffled beneath my hand. I dropped it, and she said, "The air is so thick with sexual tension that I think I'm gonna choke on it."

"It is not," I insisted before swallowing hard. Bren's gaze was still on me; I could feel it.

A brow rose on my friend's face. "You worked that spoon over pretty good, and I think Bren nearly passed out."

My cheeks flamed for like the fifth time tonight. "Oh my god, shut up."

"Go make-up with him, Madie."

"He—"

"I know what he did. You told me. And you have a right to be mad because he's an idiot for keeping things from you. But he's your idiot. You only have tonight. At least give him a chance to say what he has to say. Don't miss out on everything Bren is doing to you in his mind."

I rolled my eyes and took a bite of my baguette. "He's just pissed I'm ignoring him."

"Well, yeah. There is that. But look at that man, and tell me he isn't thinking about how he wants to give it to you."

I did, daring to peek at Bren.

But it was at that moment that he apparently decided to give up on me. His eyes wandered away to the rest of the ballroom, and I was admittedly and shamefully disappointed. Although, I did get the perfect view of his handsome side profile.

With a glance back at his plate, Bren stabbed a bite of steak and slipped it into his mouth. And then he chewed it, looking around the room again, his jaw clenching as he worked his food over. And god, it shouldn't be hot, but it was.

I couldn't tear my gaze from him. And I think he must have felt it. With a slow turn of his head, those brown eyes landed on me again. They flared as soon as he realized I was watching him. He swallowed his steak. Licked his lips. Mouthed my name, his entire face like a plea. Or at least the parts of it that I could see.

After swearing beneath my breath, I made myself look away. Because Nessa was right, and it was taking all the self-restraint in the world not to go over to there.

Jerking my gaze away again, I looked over his shoulder instead. And that's when I saw another handsome guy staring my way. Except he wasn't looking at me, and my jaw dropped as a realized who it was.

"Nessa," I said, nudging her to get her attention. "I don't think Bren is the only guy in the room imagining things."

"No, I'm sure there are a lot of horny ass men in—"

Her voice faded as she looked up from her plate and followed my line of sight.

A man sat behind a grand piano, his fingers dancing across the keys. But he wasn't watching them. It was like his hands were on autopilot, leeching beautiful music from the instrument without even having to think about it. No, he wasn't thinking about the keys, and he wasn't looking at them.

All of his dark, smoldering attention was on Nessa.

"Is that—?"

"I think so," I said with a smirk.

It was hard to tell with the mask, but I was nearly certain that our music man was Grayson Everett.

And that thought was confirmed when he saw us looking and flashed a shy smile before putting his attention back on his hands.

Nessa ducked her head.

"Do you guys know him?"

Ah, fuck. I forgot about this Jonathon guy.

Nessa turned to her date, peering around me to answer him. And because of that, she didn't see what happened next. She didn't see how Grayson lifted his head again. She didn't see how his lips tightened, how his eyes flicked between her and Jonathon, who was now leaning across the table in front of me to try to get closer to Nessa.

Don't get me wrong, Jonathon seemed nice enough. He had this wavy blonde hair that seemed perfectly situated on his head with no chance of moving out of place. He was tall, broad-shouldered. Classically handsome, if you will. Not to mention, he'd been nothing but polite and kind.

But there was absolutely no chemistry between these two. I would know. I was sitting between them, and nothing was passing through. Not even when he awkwardly picked up Nessa's hand and gave the back of it a playful kiss before leaving to find the bathroom.

"Did he really just do that?" I hissed at her when he was out of earshot.

"What?" Nessa said with a shrug. "Come on, it was cute."

"It could be cute. But I don't know. That...that was just weird."

She rolled her eyes at me. "Okay, spoon girl."

Ignoring her, I said, "You should go talk to Grayson. You know, after he's done playing performing his masterpiece."

Nessa gave me a sharp look. "Why the hell would I do that?"

I pretended to deliberate, tilting my head back and forth. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because he likes you."

She rolled her eyes again. "I'm here with Jonathon. And I don't do football players. You know that's not my type. Grayson was friends with Quinton, for crying out loud. No, thank you."

"He wasn't," I insisted.

"What?"

"He really wasn't friends with Quinton. And he doesn't seem like the others. I mean, look at him. He's playing the piano." Nessa just shook her head, so I leaned in to whisper, "I bet he's good with his hands."

She snorted into her water glass at that and gave me a little shove. "Go back to staring at your boyfriend."

Jonathon came back then, and I decided I should probably give them some space. Or, more accurately, get some space away from Bren.

I needed to clear my head. I needed to think. And I needed to do it away from him. It was impossible to think straight with his eyes on me.

Pushing away from the dinner table, I stood and found my balance in my heels before taking off across the ballroom. With a break between the main course and dessert, gala attendees had begun to dance. Greyson's music, now backed by strings, filled the hall, and lilting couples peddled their way about polished floors.

It would be a lie to say that I didn't intentionally sway my hips as I walked away from the table. My petty side unashamedly hoped Bren was watching, but I didn't turn around to find out.

Slipping into the bathroom, I made my way through the perfumed and over-styled occupants. I tried not to roll my eyes at the way they were fighting for a spot in front of the mirror, perfecting themselves like they were about to compete in America's Next Top Model. That or The Bachelor. Either way, tonight was clearly some kind of competition.

I hadn't thought of it that way when I'd stepped into Beau's Rover earlier, but now I couldn't help but compare myself. With her.

Storming into an empty stall, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. And then I internally scolded myself for even daring to give space for those thoughts in my head.

Don't do that, Madie.

Church-basement-girl was gorgeous, but I couldn't let her knock my confidence. I didn't have much of it to start, so I'd be damned if I let it slip away completely.

I took a few more deep breaths, and my heart rate slowed for the first time since I saw Bren walk into the hotel. The anger and sadness that I'd initially felt faded a bit, and the absence of those overwhelming emotions allowed the ache I had for him to grow.

More than anything—more than jealousy or betrayal—I missed Bren Hadaway.

After welcoming a sense of calm and gathering my confidence, I strode past all of the ANTM contestants and emerged back into the gala's fray. The beauty of it all hit me for the very first time—the dancing, the lights, the colors. The Cairdarel Hotel was dazzling, and I leaned against an ornamental pillar to appreciate it for a moment.

That is until I saw Bren laughing at something church-basement-girl had said.

Goddamnit.

Good-bye sense of calm.

"Why the long face?"

Following the voice, I glanced over to see a tall man with auburn hair leaning against an opposite pillar. Flaming eyebrows were raised as he assessed me above the rim of his wine glass.

I wasn't in the mood. "I'm sorry, do we know each other?"

He lifted one shoulder before letting it drop. "We do not. I am merely being observant. I find I am rather good at it."

Grumbling, I folded my arms across my chest and turned my attention back to Bren. As if sensing me, he looked up, his eyes searching the room. And for some reason, I sunk back into the shadows that the edges of the ballroom afforded.

"You're avoiding someone," the man next to me said.

"No shit," I muttered, looking over to him again. How he managed to keep his eyebrow so high on his goddamn forehead was beyond me.

He waved his hand in the air lazily. "I'm going to take a gander and say it is the gentleman who is now standing in the middle of the hall, spinning in circles like a well-trained dog."

My eyes instantly flew back to the center of the ballroom. The man wasn't lying; Bren was clearly looking for me now, a concerned frown on his face. I should feel bad. I really should.

"He's my boyfriend," I explained for some reason.

"Mmm." He made a noncommittal humming noise that had me turning to face him again. "Lovers' quarrel, perhaps?"

"And who are you hiding from?" I accused, ignoring the question.

"I am not hiding," the man retorted, apparently offended by the idea. A hand flew to his chest before waving out at the ballroom. "I am merely admiring from afar."

I couldn't help but laugh a bit. "Fine, then. Who are you admiring?"

He grimaced. "My...girlfriend." He nodded toward a dark-haired woman who I actually recognized from Western Civ. She was huddled with a group of other students from our class.

But his tone of voice made me frown and ask, "Why did you say it like that?"

The man gave a little roll of his eyes. "I merely find the term lacking. Your language is ridiculously ironic."

My frown deepened. "My language? You're not from around here?"

I was surprised, but only because he looked like this was exactly where he belonged, skirting the dance floor with a drink in his hand and a meddling glint in his eye. I wouldn't have been surprised if he worked here or something.

But he chuckled and said, "You could say that." Sure enough, his gaze twinkled as he took a sip of his wine.

"Your girlfriend is in my history class," I said, for some reason trying to find a way to continue the conversation. Or more accurately, trying to find a way to avoid Bren until I could figure out exactly what to say to him.

"Is she?" the man asked, raising that brow again.

"Yeah. Her name is Poppy, right?"

He nodded. "She's decided to go back to college for medical school. So here we are."

I snorted. "Why is she in a Western Civ course with a bunch of freshmen?"

His eyes crinkled in amusement. "For the hell of it, I suppose. History has been an interest of hers as of late." Then he tilted his head to the side and said, "Why, would you look at that?"

"What?" I followed the nod of his head, turning.

"Tall, dark, and handsome found you." He practically sang the words.

Bren was striding toward me, determination in his eyes. One hand casually slipped into his pocket, but the rigid pull of his mouth gave him away. He radiated tension. Bren's stare flicked tightly to the redhead beside me, who promptly chuckled lowly and murmured, "He's a jealous one."

Meanwhile, my stomach flipped as Bren walked straight to me and held out his hand. "Dance with me, Madeline."

I hesitated. The music was soft, and the lights had started to dim. The glowing ambiance and Bren's hot gaze tugged at me. But my feet wouldn't move.

"Please, Madie," Bren said pleadingly, keeping his voice low. "I need to talk to you."

"That's it. Make the man beg," the voice to my right whispered.

Bren shot an irritated look at my companion, but I couldn't help smiling. And it was with that smile that I reached out and took Bren's hand.

🤍

lol don't mind me, just plopping in cameos and urging on Bren's jealousy.
It's practically a ball; I couldn't help it.

lots of bren and madie time coming up soon, I promise.

xoxo amelie