Page 23 of Rush

“Look, you’re not exactly my first celebrity. Let’s just sign the NDA and take this party elsewhere.”

“Pardon?”

“The NDA. I can be discreet. I’ll happily sign my life away for a night between your thighs. You’re a fucking peach—bet you taste just as sweet.” He winks, then wraps his hand around my arm, his head dropping toward my neck.

I shove him off me.

Of course. Everything’s a transaction with men likehim—the gratification of bagging a pop-star, dangling an NDA like it’s all formybenefit.

“Tempting,” I say, springing to my feet. “But I’d rather dry-hump a cactus. Thanks for beingdiscreet, though.”

The thought of him touching me makes my skin crawl. His expression falters—offended—but I don’t care. I’m not the keeper of his feelings.

The buzz that carried me here drains away, leaving nothing but exhaustion—and that hollow ache.

Is this my pool of men now? After being swept off my feet by Alex, I get some trust fund turd looking to cross another celebrity off his bingo card.

I head to the bar and order six shots of vodka. Throwing them back one after the other.

I weave back toward the dance floor, finding Riley and Philippa. I dance wedged between them, my human shields, asthoughts of the only man who’s ever truly touched me play in my mind—his lips, his eyes, his touch, his sweet promises.

Oh God.The liquid in my stomach starts to churn.

“I think I’m going to be sick!” I yell into Riley’s ear.

Philippa must hear, because her eyes widen and she wraps her arms around me, steering me toward the bathrooms.

“Elena, whatever you do—keep it together. People are watching,” she hisses.

“Fuck—the line’s too long. Let’s go, let’s get her home,” Riley says.

My legs feel like jelly, and the club blurs into a haze. They half-drag me through a dark hallway—toward the back entrance, I think.

As soon as the door opens, the crisp autumn air cools the sweat on my brow—but it’s mixed with cigarette smoke, garbage, and urine.

I hunch over, heaving up the contents of tonight’s bad decisions all over my stunning new shoes.

“Nooo,” I sob. “Rio’s gift—nooooo.”

They haul me into the back of a cab as ragged breaths tear out of me.

“I don’t want to fuck Cooper,” I slur. “I want my Alex.”

Tears burn hot as they spill. I can barely make out what Riley and Philippa are saying.

Why doesn’t he want me?The question loops like a broken record.

My eyes close, the cab’s motion making me dizzy.

“I don’t care that the baby’s his, you know,” I mumble.

“The babyishis? That makes so much more sense now,” Riley says.

“What? Are you seriously telling me you were willing to play—what? Stepmother to Alex’s child?” Philippa snaps. “Elena, you can barely take care of yourself, let alone a baby.”

“I don’t know…I mean, it’s not the baby’s fault. It would be half Alex. Our Swedish mountain baby.”

“What?” someone says. I don’t know—my head is spinning.