Chapter 14Ingrid. Halloween, Five years ago
INGRID. HALLOWEEN, FIVE YEARS AGO
"I can’t believe I let you talk me into wearing this ridiculous outfit," Ingrid sighed, jabbing Eden’s butt with her plastic pitchfork.
"Excuse you," she huffed, rubbing her butt cheek. "I will not be disrespected by someone dressed like the main attraction at a devil-themed Vegas revue."
Ingrid narrowed her eyes. "You shoved me into this."
Eden grinned, completely unrepentant. "And you look hot ."
Eden had forced Ingrid into the tightest, shiniest red vinyl mini-dress known to mankind claiming she needed to "let her wild side out.
" It hugged every inch of her body, showing an offensive amount of leg and cleavage.
Ingrid had spent the last hour yanking down the hem in regret, silently plotting revenge.
Eden, of course, looked disgustingly good.
Her angel costume was a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen.
The fluffy skirt barely covered her ass, the corset was cinched to hell, and the massive feathered wings had already smacked Ingrid in the face twice.
If she got hit one more time, she was plucking those things bald.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, Eden had dragged her to this dingy bar under the pretense of "moral support.
" Turns out, moral support meant standing front row for thirty minutes while Eden howled into a microphone at the dive bar’s annual Halloween Rock Fest, for a paycheck so small it barely covered groceries.
The stage had been empty since Eden's set, but suddenly Toxic blared through the speakers, and Eden's head jerked up like a meerkat on high alert.
"Oh, this is happening," she declared.
And before Ingrid could react, she was being dragged onto the dance floor. Eden was already in full performance mode, wings bouncing as she threw her arms up and belted out the lyrics like Britney Spears herself had possessed her soul.
The vodka was doing its job. Ingrid’s limbs were loose and warm as she surrendered to the music. Her hips swayed, slow at first, then completely lost to the rhythm. Her curls tumbled over her shoulder as she threw her head back, laughing when Eden spun her in a wildly uncoordinated circle.
Bodies pressed close, the neon lights bathed the room in shifting hues of purple and blue. The music pulsed through the floor, vibrating up Ingrid’s spine as she let herself dissolve into the moment, her heartbeat syncing with the pounding bass.
A slow prickle crept up her spine, a heavy awareness settling over her before she even turned her head. Her breath hitched, instincts flaring. She wasn’t just imagining it. She was being watched. She turned, and her stomach dropped.
Beck was there, leaning against the bar like he had nowhere better to be.
And he wasn't alone. There was a blonde in a glittering dress pressed against him, her manicured fingers curled over his shoulder like she was auditioning for the role of Mrs. Beck Gershaw. But Beck wasn’t looking at her.
His gaze cut through the crowd and landed right on Ingrid.
His posture was casual, ankles crossed, one arm resting on the bar but his gaze was anything but. It pinned her in place. His lips curled at the corner, half amused, half something else entirely. Her pulse stuttered in response.
She hadn’t seen him since the kiss. The one that rattled something loose inside her, had flipped her entire world upside down. But it probably meant nothing to him, she reminded herself, jaw tightening. They weren’t dating. They weren’t anything.
And yet, his attention wasn’t on the woman beside him. It was on her. A wave of heat curled in her chest, unwanted, undeniable. She tore her gaze away, but the damage was done.
Eden was still belting out Britney Spears like her life depended on it, while Ingrid silently prayed she hadn’t noticed the six-foot-something problem staring from the bar. But Ingrid’s eyes kept drifting back to him and of course, Eden followed her gaze.
"Well, well, well." She leaned in conspiratorially. "Beck Gershaw is looking at you like it’s dinnertime and you’re the last steak on earth."
"Maybe he’s just hungry."
Eden snorted. "Oh, he’s hungry, alright." She waggled her brows. "Care to share why?"
Ingrid shot her a glare, but Eden’s grin only widened.
Eden knew about Beck’s brother sabotaging her, about their project together.
But Ingrid had carefully omitted a few key details.
Like the unbearable sexual tension. And the kiss.
Because, frankly, she still didn’t know what the hell to make of it.
Instead of responding, Ingrid let her body do the talking. Her hips swayed with the beat, her movements languid, effortless. She leaned into the music, ignoring the electricity of Beck’s stare still clinging to her like static.
Eden let out a low, knowing laugh. "Ohhh, I see. You want him for dinner too."
Ingrid rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the breathless laugh that escaped her lips.
"I thought we were supposed to hate him?" Eden pressed, arching a brow.
"We did," Ingrid admitted, voice lower now. "But then we actually got to know him, and… he’s not what we thought."
"So, what? He rescued a puppy? Started recycling?"
Ingrid sighed. "He’s just… really sweet."
Eden gagged. "Sweet? Puppies are sweet. Grandma’s cookies are sweet. That man looks like he’s one bad day away from getting a face tattoo."
Ingrid huffed, trying to ignore the way her chest tightened. "I don’t know, he just…he surprises me."
Eden held up a hand. "Let me guess, he’s got that tortured musician, brooding but sensitive, ‘love me, but don’t fix me’ vibe?" She deepened her voice dramatically. " I am but a lone ship lost at sea, searching for a lighthouse that is you . That kind of thing?"
Ingrid groaned. "Why do I tell you anything ?"
"Because you love suffering. And apparently, Beck Gershaw." Eden cackled. "Don’t let me stop you from getting your man, I am your tool, wield me as needed."
A small smile tugged at the corners of Ingrid's lips, appreciating Eden's willingness to play along. This is why she was her best friend. Eden was always ready to dive headfirst into any situation, no questions asked.
Ingrid pivoted in her stilettos, pressing back into Eden’s space as the bass throbbed beneath them.
Their movements synced effortlessly, Ingrid’s hips swaying to the beat, her body responding instinctively.
But her mind buzzed with awareness of him, of how desperately she didn’t want him to stop watching.
"Wow, you look hot as hell," Eden said, smirking as she looked at Ingrid’s devil costume. "No pun intended." She gave Ingrid an approving once-over, then added, "Keep going. I think Beck’s about to have a conniption."
The sound of his name sent a jolt through Ingrid’s chest. She risked a glance toward the bar, and her breath caught.
Beck stood stiffly, empty glass dangling from his fingers, knuckles faintly white. His jaw tensed, the muscle ticking as his dark gaze stayed locked on her. She could feel his gaze like fingertips skimming skin, hot enough to scald.
Heat bloomed low in her belly, molten and heady. She didn’t look away. Let him watch. Let him see exactly what he was missing. She let the beat take her, let it curl her spine and tilt her hips in a rhythm that was pure sin, the kind that wasn’t meant for polite company.
Then he moved.
Beck set his glass down like he was declaring war. He pushed off the bar, leaving the blonde beside him mid-sentence. She said something, probably something sultry and ego-stroking but Beck didn’t even blink in her direction. He was coming straight for her. What a good boy.
Until a shaggy-haired guy materialized out of nowhere, clamping a hand over Beck’s shoulder and yelling something over the music. He looked vaguely familiar to her.
Ingrid had no idea who he was, but she immediately disliked him. Read the room, man. This was a moment.
Beck barely acknowledged the guy, his eyes locked on hers, as if willing her not to disappear.
He murmured something quick, his attention never wavering, and whatever he said made the shaggy-haired man flick a glance her way. A knowing glance.
Then, after a pause, the guy sighed, nodded, and let himself be pulled away–though not before shooting her a look. A promise, maybe. Or an apology.
Next to her, Eden snorted, leaning in. "Talk about a cliterference."
Ingrid blinked. "A what?"
Eden gestured toward where Beck had disappeared. "Cliterference. The female equivalent of a cock block."
She let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. But whatever. Fine. She wasn’t here for him. She was here to have fun. So she did exactly that–rolling her hips, losing herself in the beat, pretending she didn’t care.
Except… Her mind kept circling back.
Maybe he was leaving.
Maybe he was going back to that girl in the sparkly dress.
Maybe she imagined that look.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Then the music cut out. A low hum of feedback crackled through the speakers, followed by the deep thrum of a guitar through an amp. The energy in the room shifted instantly, excitement rippling through the crowd like an electric current.
Ingrid turned toward the stage, rising onto her toes to see past the bodies. Beck sat behind the kit, head down, idly twirling a drumstick.
She clocked the shaggy-haired man from earlier. He was the bassist in The Defectors with Beck. He flicked his gaze between her and Beck before he leaned into the mic.
"Alright, who wants to keep our drummer company tonight?"
The crowd erupted. What the hell did that mean?
Ingrid barely had a second to process before she saw her. Sparkly Dress Girl. Bouncing on the balls of her feet like a sugar-high toddler, arms flailing like she was summoning a rescue chopper.
The bassist grinned, scanning the crowd, his gaze flicking over Ingrid for a fraction of a second before he pointed right at Sparkly Dress Girl.
Heat surged up Ingrid’s spine, a cocktail of irritation and something even worse.What, did she need sequins?