Page 22 of Rush

Broderick and his sparkly green eyes.

The thought of him eases something in me—better than booze ever could.

Cooper nudges his friend, who catches the cue and slides out from beside him, motioning for me to sit. Then, in perfect wingman fashion, he throws an arm around Riley.

“Can I trouble you for a dance?”

“Lead the way, stud.” She grins, letting him guide her back toward the dance floor.

“I’m coming too,” Philippa chimes in, shooting me a look before following them. She’s about as subtle as a flying brick.

Now it’s just me and Cooper.

Great.

I toss up taking her spot—before I can, he says, “Have a seat, Elena. I don’t bite.” He pats the space beside him.

I sigh. Not wanting to be rude—he’s been shouting us drinks all night—I reluctantly sit down.

“Are you having fun, Elena?” he asks, voice dipped in flirtation. It might’ve worked under different circumstances, but he has no idea he’s dealing with a woman nursing a bruised ego and a wounded heart.

“You know Brody?” I ask, steering the conversation elsewhere. Saying his name feels safe—grounding.

Cooper chuckles. “You could say we’re acquainted. In business. You know him?”

“Yeah, we’re friends.I think.”

That kiss between us flashes through my mind, and I’m not sure anymore—all theose charged moments, the tangled web between him and Alex.

“Youthink?” He smiles, amused, snapping me back to reality.

“Well, he’s the best man at Philippa’s wedding.”

“I see.” He takes a sip, eyes raking over me. He shifts closer until our arms brush.

My pulse skips—for all the wrong reasons.

Then his finger trails lightly up my arm. The touch is deliberate.

“You never answered my question,” he murmurs.

“What question?”

“Are you having a good time tonight?”

I nod, though my breath shortens.

He leans in, his breath grazing my ear. “Anything I can do to make it even better?”

“Are you normally this forward with women?” I ask, keeping my tone light, my body rigid.

“When they look like you? How can I resist?” The heat curls around my neck—but it doesn’t feel seductive. It feels predatory.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

“So what does it take to make you scream those high notes?” he says, brushing my hair off my shoulder. I shudder.

I want to scream,Don’t fucking touch me.But the bile rises—silencing me.