Chapter 4
THE ARENA TREMBLES under thunderous drums and tortured guitar riffs, but it’s Travis who sets it ablaze.
He’s a man possessed, headbanging with feral intensity, voice shredding every decibel into molten gold.
Shirt long gone—sacrificed to some lucky girl—his torso gleams under the spotlights, every sinew and tattooed line rippling like living art.
His abs shift with each roar; his chest swells, imposing.
I’ve never seen a man so dangerously hot, or so damn untouchable.
“He’s fucking unreal,” Reagan breathes next to me, but I barely hear her. My pulse pounds in my ears, a drum solo of its own, and I’m frozen, mesmerized by the way sweat beads at the curve of his jaw, the way his scars and ink tell stories I ache to know.
Then—silence. You could hear a single heartbeat dropping. My blood freezes. Light shifts, and my name cuts through the dark like a laser: “Vi, oh my God, Vi—”
I whip around. Reagan’s eyes are wide. “What?”
“Travis just—he’s calling you.”
It feels like a dream, as if I’m not really here and this is not really happening. My stomach flips. I scan the stage, find him grinning, an explosion of lethal charm aimed right at me. “Come on, Mischief. Up here.”
My cheeks burn. Every woman around me stares as if I am mad for not screaming and hauling myself in his direction. If only I could tell them what I know, what I was to him once. Instead, I shake my head. My five drinks conspire to make my limbs jelly, but adrenaline surges through the veins.
“If you don’t move,” he taunts, his voice low, “I’ll come down there and drag you up myself. What do you all think?”
The crowd roars approval. I have no choice.
He vaults off the stage, landing before me with a predator’s grace.
They scream, they claw at him, and he wades through them then bends to scoop me over his shoulder.
I scream, hammering my fists into his back, but the world tips as he carries me back onto the stage.
He sets me down, spins me to face the sea of faces.
“Everyone, meet my guest tonight, Violet, but I have been calling her Mischief since we were kids, because that’s how long this girl has had my heart.” His voice booms, and the audience erupts.
Oh my God.
I can’t breathe.
My heart hammers. I want to melt into the black floor, disappear. But he’s not done. “She’s going to sing a song with me. Or—she can kiss me. I will let her decide.”
Laughter ripples through the crowd. My mouth goes dry. “Quit it, Travis,” I hiss.
He lifts one brow, dangerously amused. “Sing or kiss. Ladies, what’ll it be?”
A chant rises, simultaneously playful and feral: “KISS! KISS! KISS!”
There’s no escaping fate. Before I can think, he’s leaning in.
His lips brush mine, soft, urgent, and electrified with whiskey and smoke.
My hands press against his chest, attempting to push him away, but they freeze in place.
I can feel the hard planes of muscle beneath slick skin.
Every nerve ignites. My heart is screaming yes, yes, ached-out years of yearning stuffed into one searing moment.
He deepens the kiss with fierce hunger; my knees threaten collapse. When he finally releases me, I can barely stand. The crowd’s screams crash around us. He laughs, dark and knowing, eyes still locked on mine. “I think she liked that. Did you like that, baby?”
“God damn you, Travis,” I gasp, voice distant. “I’m not a fucking toy.”
I turn and rush off the stage, weaving through the crowd as if in a trance, bursting out the door before Reagan can catch up. She corners me at the backstage exit. “Vi, what just happened?”
I shake my head, breath ragged. “I don’t know. I need to leave.”
“Of course, honey. Let’s go.”
Before she can say anything more, Travis is there, striding toward us. I don't think—just react. My palms slam against his chest, shoving him backward.
"What the hell was that?" My voice cracks. Tears burn behind my eyes, threatening to spill over. "You don't get to drag me on stage like some groupie trophy and kiss me in front of thousands of people!"
Travis steadies himself, jaw clenched. "Vi—"
"No!" I push him again, harder this time. "What do you want from me, Travis? What sort of fucking game is this?"
His eyes darken. "You know exactly what I want."
"You will never get it." The words rip from somewhere deep and wounded. "You broke my fucking heart. You left me behind like I was nothing, and now you think you can just use me whenever you feel like a trip down memory lane?"
Reagan steps back, her eyes wide. Travis steps closer, closing the space I created. "This isn't a game."
"Everything is a game to you." My voice drops to a whisper, raw with pain. "I'm not one of your instruments you can pick up and put down whenever you feel inspired."
His fingers reach for my face; I jerk away. "Stay away from me." I back toward the exit, vision blurring. "You don't get to decide when I matter again."
He stands frozen, something deep flashing behind his eyes. "Mischief—"
"Don't call me that." I turn and push through the door, leaving him in the hallway with nothing but echoes and the ghost of what we were.
“YOU’VE GOT TO BE FUCKING kidding me!” I huff, flinging my phone across my desk so hard it sends pens flying.
“It’s—” Sally starts, but I cut her off.
“Don’t you dare say it’s amazing, Sally! Look at this,” I pick up my phone and shove it at her, so she can get a real glimpse of me draped all over Travis Phoenix, our bodies mashed together in a steamy onstage kiss. “How the hell do I get this removed?”
Her eyes go wide. “I don’t know what you can...”
“Oh my God,” I press my hands to my face. “Chief is going to murder me if he sees this online. I’m calling him.”
Her eyes widen. “Travis?”
I blink. “Yes, Travis.”
“You have his number?”
I exhale, rubbing my hands down my face.
To them, Travis is a major rockstar, to me, he is the kid I grew up with.
I dial his number and throw it on speakerphone, keeping my head in my hands.
“Violet,” he murmurs, his voice low and slightly different after our fight.
“Tell me you can have that photo removed from the internet, Travis.”
“Ain’t that easy, kid.”
“If Chief sees that, he’ll flip. You know that. My face is all over the internet, I can’t even imagine what’s happening on social media.”
“It’ll cool down. Chief doesn’t look online, you know that. He’s too old school.”
“What if someone shows him?”
“We’ll handle it if that happens. It ain’t a big deal.”
“You can’t be fucking serious?”
“Not livin’ in the past, Violet. We can’t just remove things now. Once they’re out, they’re out. Trust me, it won’t be as bad as you think.”
I made a frustrated sound. “God damn you, Travis.”
“You keep saying that,” he murmurs. “How about tryin’ something different.”
“I’m not in the mood, I’m really not.”
“Come to dinner with me.”
I pause. “Have you completely lost your mind?”
“No, I’m a man who is tryin’ real fuckin’ hard to fix what I broke. I get it, you’re mad at me and you have a right to be. But for the friendship we had, let me take you out.”
“Travis...”
“Please, Mischief,” His voice softens. “Just give me an hour. If you hate it, you walk and I’ll leave you alone, for good. I swear it.”
I close my eyes. He always had a way of wearing me down. “Okay.”
“I’ll get you around seven.”
“You know where I live?”
He snorts. “I know where you and your mom live, yeah. Not rocket science.”
“That’s creepy.”
His voice drops low. “See you later, Mischief.”
I hang up and exhale.
Why am I so weak when it comes to him? I text Reagan.
V - Travis just asked me to go to dinner.
R - Are you freaking serious? Girl, I hope you said yes. Oh my God!
V - I did, but only so he will leave me alone.
R - We both know you don’t want him to leave you alone.
V - I can’t handle him leaving again, I really can’t.
R - Fair call. I love you. Tell me when you’re getting ready and we can FaceTime.
V - On it.
I tuck my phone away and drop my head onto the desk.
This is probably a very bad idea.
The day crawls by, and when I finally get home it’s six o’clock on the dot. My heart skips as I tear through my closet. Why do I always wait until the last minute? I wrestle into my dress, tug at my hair, I check the clock: 6:52. My pulse is racing.
At exactly seven the rumble of a motorbike shakes the porch. Travis kills the engine, swings off. All black again—leather jacket, slim jeans—hair neater but still perfectly tousled. He looks at me with that same slow, appraising gaze.
“Well, fuck,” he says, voice low. “You look...unbelievable.”
My cheeks flare. “Thanks,” I manage, breath catching.
He holds up a helmet. “Ready to go?”
“On the bike...in this dress?” I tug at the hem. It’s riding halfway up my thighs already.
He shrugs, smooth as silk. “I’m not complaining...”
My stomach tightens. “The entire town will see between my legs.”
He hands me the helmet, brushing my fingers with his. “No one will see because your legs will be around me,” his voice is a low rasp.
My heart leaps. I force a smile. “You say that to all your...uh...passengers?”
He chuckles, low and warm. “You’re the only girl I’d ever put on my bike.”
“So you save the crazy sex for your limo?” I tease, trying to sound casual.
He fits his helmet on, voice muffled but clear. “I can have crazy-hot sex anywhere. Even on two wheels.”
My pulse spikes. I take the helmet, buckle it, fingers trembling. He pats the seat behind him. I swing a leg over, dress bunching up, and clinging to the leather. I tug at it, no luck. His arm reaches back, pulling me until I’m flush against him. Heat spreads through me.
He runs a finger over my knee. “Nice legs.”
My face burns. He pulls me closer, the curve of his back against my centre. My heart is in my throat.
“Wish you didn’t smell so fuckin’ good. You’re makin’ this hard.”
I clamp my lips shut, saying nothing even though my entire body is on fire. He starts the bike, the engine growls, and we’re off. Wind slams into me, city lights blur. His hand on my knee is steady, reassuring and terrifying all at once.
We slow in front of a bar slash restaurant, neon sign half-hidden in shadow.
He kills the engine. My legs wobble as I climb off, desperately pulling my dress down as quickly as I can before anyone sees.
I try hard not to stare at him, but my God he’s perfection.
I wonder if he knows just how beautiful he is.
God, this night could make everything so much worse.