Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Sadie
Welcome To New York
Taylor Swift
By the time we pull into the venue, my body still feels warm and loose from the night with Dean, but my mind is an absolute mess.
Because the worst part of waking up wrapped in him wasn’t the vulnerability, it was how right it felt.
How natural. How frighteningly easy it was to fall asleep on his chest and wake up with his arm heavy across my waist like it had always belonged there.
We slip back to the venue separately, careful and quiet, letting the Airbnb become its own little bubble that the real world can’t touch.
But the second I’m inside the stadium, the reality of keeping this, whatever this is, a secret, hits me like a speaker blowout.
Not because I’m ashamed of him. But because I don’t want to lose this before I even get the chance to understand it.
Dean moves through the loading bay twenty feet away, talking to Cherry, squinting against the early light, his hair still a little damp from the shower we most definitely shared. His eyes flick toward me for the quickest second, just a glance, but it hits me dead center.
I force myself to look away first. We have to be careful. For now. But he sees through it. I can tell. And even from across the floor, the air shifts, something invisible and magnetic sparking between us, drawing my attention whether I want it to or not.
We know none of the guys will care. They’ve been teasing us and making it clear they know something was brewing between us.
But, it’s my job on the line. It’s important I maintain a level of professionalism that doesn’t include sleeping with someone in the band you’re supposed to be covering.
It’s Dean, and the execs wanting the guys to maintain their sex appeal, which apparently doesn’t include having a girlfriend.
I bury myself in work getting shots of the stadium, the crew, the build. But no matter where I turn, he’s somehow there. Close enough to feel, but far enough away that I can’t touch.
He brushes behind me as I’m swapping lenses, so close that his breath grazes the back of my neck. “Hey baby,” he murmurs, voice like warm sandpaper.
I freeze for half a heartbeat. “You can’t talk to me like that at work.”
“Then stop looking so kissable at work,” he whispers back, and I swear my knees almost buckle. He passes by without another word, just a sly brush of his pinky against mine. Invisible. Electric. Mine.
Later, I’m crouched near the drum riser shooting Mikey when a hand curls around my hip and a mouth presses quick and hot behind my ear. “Twelve seconds,” Dean grumbles. “That’s all I get in this corner before someone walks by.”
“Twelve seconds for what?” I whisper, breath catching.
His lips ghost down my neck, slow and sinful. “To make a new memory.”
Heat floods me so fast I forget where I am. “Dean…” Footsteps approach. He’s gone in an instant. My pulse is not.
During soundcheck, he catches me staring and smirks, tapping the guitar pick to his mouth in a slow, deliberate tease. The kind that reminds me exactly what his fingers and mouth were doing to me just hours ago. The bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. And I hate how much I love it.
By early evening, I’ve lost track of how many glances we’ve stolen. I go to grab my camera bag from the upstairs storage nook and find myself yanked softly into the narrow stairwell. Dean pins me gently to the wall with his hips, his hands bracing on either side of my head.
“Missed you,” he breathes, forehead touching mine.
“You saw me ten minutes ago,” I chide, trying not to smirk.
“Exactly.” His mouth finds mine and it’s needy and deep, tasting of heat and promise. His hand slides up my thigh just enough to make my breath stutter. I grab his shirt instinctively, pulling him closer, swallowing the low groan he lets slip.
Then, voices. Mikey and a tech on the landing above us. Dean’s mouth pulls from mine with a frustrated sigh, his forehead pressing to my cheek as he catches his breath. “I swear this tour is my punishment,” he growls. “I can’t get five minutes alone with you.”
“You sound distressed,” I tease.
He bites back a chuckle. “Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.” My body wants to drag him right back in. But we break apart before they spot us. Barely.
By the time we leave Charlotte, I swear the air between us is vibrating. We’ve become experts at the art of pretending: keeping our voices steady, our faces neutral, our hands far from each other unless no one’s around.
Not once do we say what we’re doing. Not once do we talk about a title or a direction. But the way he kisses me in the half-dark, the way he watches me when he thinks I’m not looking, the way he growls “come here” in that low, private tone that’s only for me, yeah, we’re something.
But naming it would make it real. And real is terrifying. Still, the fear is being drowned out by something louder. Want. Need. Hope. We’re not public. We’re not defined. We’re not safe. But yeah, this is real.
I pass him in the bus hallway late that night, and he grabs my wrist, pulling me against him in the dark. “Come here,” he orders.
His mouth finds the underside of my jaw, slow and reverent, and my hands slide under his shirt before I can stop them. His hand is down my shorts, and his fingers sliding through my wet folds a second later.
“You’re soaked,” he proclaims in surprise. ““Why are you already so wet?”
“That’s what being near you does to me,” I confess on a whisper.
“God, I want you so bad right now.”
“Dean,” I hush out in panic. “Someone could see.”
“I don’t fucking care,” he growls, slamming his mouth to mine.
And for a solid thirty seconds, neither do I. He only lets me go when the bus groans to a stop at a gas station and Hayden stumbles out of his bunk. I nearly melt to the floor.
In the morning, NYC rises up outside the window like a promise. Steel and glass and noise. Mikey lifts the blinds and cheers the way only Mikey can.
Hayden shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous.”
I put a hand to my heart. “Okay, boys, this is my city, my hometown, my rules, and HOLY SHIT MY BABY SISTER IS COMING!”
As if she heard me from the bus in front of us, Cherry confirms the arrival with a text. “Ten minutes.”
“Great,” Mikey groans. “A baby sister. There’s two of you? God save us all.”
“Baby?” Dean mutters under his breath beside me. “She a toddler?”
“No.” I chuckle. “She’s incredible.”
His brow lifts. “Define incredible.”
“You’ll see,” I promise. We pull into the garage under the band’s hotel, and the unload chaos starts instantly; cases rolling, crew shouting, Cherry organizing thirty people at once.
The elevator a few feet away from us opens, and I snap my head up just as Quinn steps out. She’s bright and bold and confident as hell, boots clicking on the concrete, and a grin that could light up Times Square. She spots me and launches herself directly into my arms.
“YOU ARE GLOWING!” she squeals.
“I’m sweating.” I laugh, hugging her so hard.
“A sexy glow sweat. Keep it.” She beams. Then she turns, sees the guys, and I think, based on the expression he’s wearing, Mikey’s brain broke.
He actually stutters. “No. Absolutely not. You are not Quinn. Quinn is tiny and adorable and wears headbands and makes crafts.”
She smirks and winks. “Still adorable. Just longer legs.”
“Legs that are going to cause traffic to stop,” Mikey advises, shaking his head.
Her grin widens. “Nice to meet you too, Michael.”
He looks personally betrayed. No one ever calls him by his full name. Hayden snorts. Luc mutters something about popcorn. Dean chuckles beside me. “This is gonna be fun.”
Quinn’s eyes flick immediately between me and Dean, specifically the tiny space between us that clearly isn’t as big as we think it is. She corners me the moment she can.
“Tell me everything,” she demands in a low, knowing voice.
I inhale. “We’re figuring things out.”
“Figuring things out?” She clutches her chest. “You mean you finally let yourself climb that tattooed tree?”
“Please lower your voice,” I hiss.
“Absolutely not.” She giggles, but then becomes more serious. “I’m proud of you. He looks at you like he’d fight an army to get to you.”
The truth lands warm in my chest. Dean calls my name across the garage. Just a simple, “Sadie,” but it hits me low and deep.
Quinn leans in, whispering, “Yep. That man is gone for you. I think I’ll have some fun with that drummer. See if I can make him a little crazy.”
“What?” I twist my head in her direction, my eyes wide.
She smirks. “Just wait. You’ll see.”
The show that night is electric, but it is New York City. The show is sold out, the fans are screaming, the energy pulsing like a frantic heartbeat. My camera drinks in every second. But afterward, in the backstage lounge, is when things really get interesting.
Quinn wanders in wearing an oversized hoodie she absolutely stole from our bus. Mikey sees her and nearly chokes on his Gatorade. “Wait? Isn’t that my-” He sputters, pointing at her. “That’s swallowing you! You’re going to trip on it!”
She smiles coyly. “It’s cozy.”
“It’s too big. It’s- it’s inappropriate!” He continues to argue with her. “It’s practically lingerie!” He directs his stare to her bare legs.
“Michael, it’s literally a sweatshirt.” She’s practically cooing she’s having so much fun torturing him. “I don’t understand what the problem is.”
“Well, it’s mine,” he huffs out, like she’s wearing his prom tuxedo or something just as important. She snorts and sits beside him on the couch like she owns the place. Mikey goes rigid, staring straight ahead like she’s a wild animal he’s afraid to startle.
“Relax.” She giggles. “I don’t bite.”
He squeaks. Actually squeaks.
Dean appears at my side and whispers, “This is going to be the highlight of the tour.”
Quinn leans closer to Mikey. “So, tell me all about why you love drumming.”
He visibly panics. “I, uh, like to bang things.”
She laughs so loud her head falls back on her shoulders, and when Mikey realizes the double meaning of what he just said, his face turns a shade of crimson that matches an apple, and looks like he might faint.
They don’t know it yet. But something just flipped in both of them.
I know it. Dean knows it. Hell, the room knows it.
And standing beside Dean, feeling his fingers brush mine in secret as we both watch these two combust just by being near each other, I realize something big; we’re not the only story happening here.
Not the only spark. Not the only beginning.
And for the first time in a long time, that feels like hope.