Page 200 of Rush

“Yeah I jinxed myself with that one. Felt like death for a couple days. Left my phone alone, otherwise, I would’ve worked the whole time.”

“Well that makes me happy—that you took a break from work.”

“Oh you’ll be ecstatic then—I slept. Ate soup. WatchedThe Princess Bridetwice.”

I roll my eyes, but the ache inside starts to unravel. Slowly.

“I could’ve taken care of you,” I say softly, looking up at him my chin resting on his chest.

He arches a brow. “Would you have now?”

“Yes, brought you food, rubbed Vicks on your chest,” I whisper tracing my finger over his shirt.

“Now why would you do that?”

“Because you’re kind of special to me.” The confession slips out before I can catch it.

“Am I?”

“You’re one of my best friends.”

“Friendzoned.Ouch.”

“Hey.” I giggle. “We’re best friends who fuck. That should mean something, right?”

“Don’t tell Riley,” he says. “I got the upgraded package.”

His laugh vibrates through me—low, warm, familiar. I turn my ear toward his chest again, listening to his heartbeat. It’s become one of my favorite sounds.

He rests his chin against the top of my head. “El,” he says softly. “You’re special to me too.”

We stay like that for a beat, bodies molded together, the world falling quiet around us.

It feels tender…loaded.

I pull back, only slightly. “I’m going to have to write you up for breaking the rules of our arrangement.”

He barks a laugh. I tilt my head up, catching the gleam in his eye.

“I’m serious,” I say. “We spent all day together on Thanksgiving and you left mewanting.”

Broderick lifts my chin, fingers gentle. “Can’t leave youwantingnow, can we?”

His mouth brushes mine before the kiss deepens, and there’s no space between us.

I sink into it, him—breathing him in like he’s the only oxygen I’ve got.

Yes. I’ve missed this.Neededthis. But before we can make good on it, one of the event coordinators interrupts us. I forget, for a moment, that I have a job to do.

“I’ll catch up with you later.” I wink back at him as I’m ushered away.

The start of the gala drags on in a blur of polite conversation, bad wine, and too many thank-you speeches. I smiled through it all, nerves still dancing from the set I’d just performed. As I rejoin the table—his fingers, slowly graze the inside of my thigh under the white-linen-draped table.

I shift in my seat. Leaning into his touch, his hand stills, before moving—higher this time.

My pulse kicks.

We’re seated between a board member and some actress, everyone laughing, sipping champagne, pretending to care about the silent auction. Broderick doesn’t even look at me—just drags his fingers along the fabric of my dress like he has all the time in the world.