Chapter 7
ALEX
What a night.
I step onto the stage one last time as Marc and I close the show together, walking the runway side by side, taking a bow, and waving to the audience as New York Fashion Week draws to a close.
Exhaustion hits me hard, but the thought of kicking off my shoes and letting my feet breathe keeps me moving forward.
Backstage, I shake Marc’s hand one final time before parting ways. He’s always a pleasure to work with, a genius of his craft—yet generous and grounded, somehow both larger-than-life and incredibly human. I make my way to my dressing room, exchanging smiles and nods as praise trickles my way.
Ana and Emilee, of course, had claimed front-row seats tonight.
Seeing them there, dressed in their flamboyant glory during the standing ovation, I couldn’t help but grin wider than usual.
Their energy is infectious, their pride unmistakable, and I shake my head at the sheer audacity of their style.
I pick up my phone from the makeup station. Alerts flash across the screen—social media has gone wild over the girls. Front pages, fan accounts, paparazzi shots—Ana and Emilee have gone viral. I can only imagine Elijah’s reaction.
Scrolling through my messages while I wait, most are after-party invitations. Only one stops me—a text from a private number, recently added then deleted.
I’m at Gravity.
Not exactly an invitation, but close enough.
The door swings open, pulling me from my thoughts. I tuck my phone away and rise. “Hey, girls.”
Flanked by bodyguards, they shuffle into my dressing room, and I rush forward, pulling them both into my arms.
“Mr. J—Dad—” they say in unison, voices overlapping, bright with excitement.
“The show was amazing!” Emilee beams, tossing her hair back into a ponytail.
“Oh, my god!” Ana claps her hands—overzealous personality on full display. “There were so many hot guys. No wonder you turned gay!”
I feel my cheeks heat. That’s a Gabriel line if I’ve ever heard one. Like father, like daughter. Sometimes I still can’t believe she’s mine.
“Clearly, you’re both batting for our team.” I laugh, glancing at their outfits. I’m almost certain this was Ana’s idea.
“Totally.” Emilee grins. “So which party are we going to?”
“My dad said we have to go wherever you’re going.” Ana cuts in. “We’re cool with that. We can hang with you.”
Emilee follows seamlessly. “And we have a change of clothes. Steven has them in the limo. Or we can just stay in this—it doesn’t matter, right Ana?”
“Girls.” I hold up my hands. “I hate to disappoint, but Steven’s taking you home.
I have somewhere to swing by first, and then I’m heading straight home.
I’m exhausted. No partying for me tonight.
” Not to mention, most of these events are strictly adults-only.
“I can have Steven drop you at Bourbon Bar if you want to see Elijah for a bit?”
“I told you he was boring,” Emilee deadpans.
Ana crosses her arms like it’s the end of the world.
For fuck’s sake, these girls are dramatic.
“Okay, here’s what we’ll do,” I say, taking a deep breath, already dreading my own soft spot. “I’ll call Gabriel. There’s a party I know that’s more your speed—age-appropriate—but you still need an adult. If he’s on board, I’ll get you passes.”
“Yeeeeesss!” they shout, practically vibrating with excitement. Big surprise. It’s no secret that Gabriel is the favorite parent of the three of us.
Begrudgingly, I take out my phone and pull up his number. He’s the last person I want to talk to, but here we are. I brace myself.
“Ahh… Alex.” He answers on the first ring, dripping with that insufferable charm. “You must be looking for a date for tonight’s parties, sí? Well, it just so happens I’m available… as a friend, of course. But, as you well know, I offer certain benefits with that friendship—”
“Enough, Gabriel,” I cut him off, already regretting the call. “I won’t be attending any after-parties. But I need a favor. Can you take the girls to an age-appropriate party? If not, fine—I’ll send them back to Elijah’s.”
“Age-appropriate for who? Any chance of me getting laid?”
“Not a chance,” I mutter, ignoring his sarcasm.
“Ah, well… probably for the best. My boyfriend wouldn’t exactly approve of me partying my pants off with other men, sí?”
I grind my teeth. “Yes or no, Gabriel? The girls are waiting.”
“Sí, sí. Okay Alex. Leave the address with Steven and have him swing by in thirty minutes. I’ll be waiting.”
“Thank you.” I exhale, tension finally leaving my shoulders. “I owe you one.”
“Oh, well then,” he purrs, and I immediately regret my own generosity. “Should I bring my Speedo to dinner next weekend? Or would you prefer—”
“Goodbye, Gabriel.”
Gravity is jam-packed when I arrive shortly after midnight.
I sent Elijah a quick text to let him know the girls were with Gabriel and had been slightly surprised by his instant reply.
Short and to the point, he said the party at Bourbon Bar was in full swing and that he’d try to make it home by three a.m. I love you, baby, he added at the end, and suddenly I’m second-guessing this impromptu visit.
“Alex! How are you, my friend?” Fernando greets me enthusiastically as I reach the entrance, still dressed in my Marc Jacobs attire. He claps me on the shoulder with a grin. “Go right in,” he says, stepping aside to open the door.
I rub my palms against the front of my designer slacks, trying to calm the sudden heat rising in my chest. My eyes slowly adjust to the dim lighting, taking in the crowd.
Everyone’s dressed to the nines—not surprising, given the star-studded events all week—but even by Gravity’s standards, tonight feels extra ritzy.
And then it hits me: the sudden urge to get the hell out. What the hell was I thinking? Or expecting? Clearly, this was a bad idea. Goddamn it—I thought I’d kicked this obsession with Noah.
But the second I saw the text saying he was here, it was like muscle memory took over. Like some pathetic reflex I can’t unlearn. And now here I am, scanning the room for a face I should’ve forgotten months ago.
Skipping the bar, I push through the crowd, shoulders brushing past bodies, making a beeline for the back door, careful not to draw Fernando’s attention.
My phone glows in my hand—I’m at Gravity—and I delete it as soon as I step into the alley.
The chilly night air bites into my skin, sending a shiver through my body.
I pull up Elijah’s text, swallowing the lump in my throat—I love you, baby.
God, I love him too. So much.
Pocketing my phone, I move toward the gate, fumbling with the rusted latch.
“Alex…”
Fuuuuck no. I was leaving. I am leaving. Going home to Elijah.
This damn latch.
I glance over my shoulder, hands dropping to my sides.
“Don’t leave,” he pleads—soft, sweet—closing the distance until his hand rests on my shoulder.
I exhale. Just a fraction. “I shouldn’t have come here, Noah.”
I hold my breath, afraid even one exhale could land on his lips and ruin me.
“But you did. You came for me.” Long lashes flutter over those impossibly pretty eyes.
I crush the plastic casing of my phone in my fist, fighting the pull of everything I’m trying to resist.
“I’m going home. I’m going home,” I repeat like a mantra, hoping the words will eventually reach my thick skull. Hoping they’ll jumpstart my stalled brain.
“Take me with you,” he murmurs, voice haunting—so much like a lost little boy.
It rips at me. Makes me want to scoop him into my arms and promise him everything will be okay.
He has this aura. Innocent yet magnetic. Like a boy trapped in a man’s body, carrying a secret he doesn’t know how—or if he should—share. And he’s always watching. Not always near, but always there. Haunting. Beautiful. Uninvited.
Christ. I’m not making any sense. That sweet voice short-circuits my brain every single time. This isn’t healthy.
His hand slides down my arm, breath shivering across my neck—warm, soft.
I breathe him in, lost in the tantalizing tang of his skin—sweet, fruity, like his lips. If rainbows had a scent, it would be this. Exactly this.
The collar of his white shirt hangs open, unburdened by buttons.
So, of course, I slip my fingers beneath the waffled fabric, needing—no, wanting—to feel the smoothness of his chest. It doesn’t disappoint.
His skin is softer than I imagined, warmer than memory allowed.
My fingers trace the line of his sternum, moving over the planes of his chest with deliberate slowness, pausing at the edge of his waist.
He draws in a sharp breath, a small surrender, giving me just enough space to linger, and I jerk him closer, heart hammering against my ribs.
“This ends now, Noah.” My eyes study his face—each curve of his mouth, the slight dip between his brows, the way his lashes brush his flushed cheeks. He looks like danger wrapped in fragility.
“I don’t know what you’re after,” I continue, my voice taut, “but it has to stop. Because if it doesn’t… I don’t know what I’ll do.”
His breath brushes mine, warm, uneven, a quiet dare. “Don’t be afraid.”
My lips hover dangerously close to his—so near I can taste the faint sweetness of his strawberry gloss. It’s a temptation I shouldn’t give in to.
I slip a finger between us, brushing it across his pout. “Mmm…” I hum, rolling my finger and tasting him again, the gloss lingering on my own lips.
“Noah?”
“Yessss?” he answers on the same breath as mine.
“Don’t text me again.”
“I won’t,” he promises, and I drop my gaze to his lips, telling myself again to just leave. The flavor of forbidden fruit still sticks to my mouth.
“Alex…”
He reaches for me just as I’m about to turn away.
“I suspect he gave you permission,” he murmurs, voice low, steady—unexpectedly bold. “Elijah… he gave you permission to love me.” His shy eyes lift to mine, earnest and unflinching.
“I want that,” he whispers, his lips ghosting against mine as he speaks. “I want that… with you.”
I pause, digging deep for my voice.
“You’re wrong, Noah. Elijah gave me permission to fuck you, not to love you.”
“Then let me love you, Alex. Please.”
I reach up, fingertips grazing the curve of his temple, tucking a strand of sandy-blond hair behind his ear, lingering in the softness of the gesture.
“You can’t love me, Noah. You can’t… because I won’t let you.”
I press a gentle kiss to his forehead, closing my eyes in a silent farewell.
“But I already do,” he whispers, as I step away. “I’ve loved you forever…”