Knox barks out a low laugh. “To me? Yeah. You can only dodge me for so long, Amelia. And come on, I know you. This isn’t just a hookup thing.”
That sobers me up a little. I glance out the window, watching the clouds roll by in soft layers, before finally saying it.
“It’s… complicated.”
“Preston complicated?” His voice dips low, more serious now.
That name still hits like a damn bruise.
I swallow hard. “No. Not like that. Ash—he’s different.”
Knox studies me for a beat, his eyes softening and the smugness fading.
“Good,” he says simply. “You deserve that.”
Something thick twists in my chest. Knox was there when Preston tore me to pieces—when I swore off ever letting anyonein that deep again. But here I am—falling—and there is no pretending I’m not.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
He leans back with a satisfied grin. “But if Ash screws this up, I will make him regret it.”
I laugh, the tension breaking, and shove his shoulder.
“Deal.”
The next fewweeks are a blur—city after city, event after event. Early mornings, late nights, the constant rush of adrenaline as the team finally hits its stride. Everything is clicking. Our routines are tight, the energy is high, and for the first time, it feels like we are more than just a crew—we are a unit.
But then there is Ash.
And that? That is a whole different game.
By day, it is business as usual. I keep it cool—head down, focused—same as him. No stolen glances, no lingering touches, not a single crack on the surface. We are just teammates.
But by night?
That’s when it all unravels.
It’s a silent dance—unspoken but understood. A subtle brush of fingers when no one is looking, a sly smirk shot across the lot after a long day, a text that only reads, “Room 417. Door’s unlocked.”
I’ll wait a beat—sometimes two—just to keep the suspense alive. And then I’ll be out of my room, slipping through dimhotel hallways, heart racing like I am breaking some unspoken rule.
And every time, I find him waiting.
Ash will be there, all smug confidence, but with this fire in his eyes that says he’s been counting the minutes. And then it’s hours of tangled sheets, whispered words, and stolen moments before slipping back to my room before sunrise.
Rinse. Repeat.
Every city.
Every stop.
But during the day? We are stone cold.
“Nice run today, huh?” he’ll say casually after practice, barely a hint of anything deeper.
“Yep, y’all are looking great,” I’ll toss back, like I hadn’t spent half the night wrapped around him.
And no one seems to notice.
