Chapter 15
Anna
I’m fine.
Sure, I spent the last twenty minutes laying on my bed, thinking about the envelope that completely ruined my night—and the man who gave it to me. No biggie. Right?
Somehow, Joel Price has wormed his way back into my head, and now I can’t shake him loose. My brain keeps replaying the past few moments. The way his fingers slid through my hair. The way my body reacted before my brain could catch up. The way I let it happen for a fraction of a second too long.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I knew letting him stay here was a bad idea.
My stomach twists. I throw an arm over my face and groan, willing the feeling away, but my chest is still tight and my heart rate is at a highly concerning level for someone who has been lying still.
But it’s fine. I’m fine. This is fine.
I exhale sharply, smoothing my palm over the top of my head before forcing myself upright.
Bathroom.
That’s what I need. A reset. I’ll splash some cold water on my face, brush my teeth, and erase this entire day from my brain.
I push off the bed, my limbs feeling heavier than they should as I step into the hall. My mind is still buzzing, stuck in an endless loop of why did I react like that? and what the hell does it mean? Mixed with a bit of why am I even thinking about any of this?
I reach for the bathroom doorknob, desperate for the distraction.
But my hand hesitates midair.
Water’s running.
Good god, how many showers does one guy need to take?
My jaw tightens. Okay. Not ideal, but whatever. I can wait. I’m an adult. I can do hard things.
He was on stage tonight. He probably worked up a sweat. Maybe he really does need another shower.
I take a breath, doing my best not to think about him all sweaty or soapy. I’m about to turn back toward my room, when—
I hear it.
A low, muffled sound. Barely audible over the running water.
I freeze.
At first, I think maybe I imagined it. This is an old house. It was probably a pipe whining or something.
Then it happens again.
Only, this time—
Oh my god.
My entire body locks up, my blood draining straight to my feet.
It’s not my imagination.
Because I know exactly what that sound is.
It’s Joel.
It’s Joel in the shower.
And he’s not just showering.
Oh god. Oh my fucking god.
My stomach twists into a violent knot. Heat crashes over me in a tidal wave of secondhand embarrassment and something else I refuse to name because somewhere low in my abdomen, a warm tingling sensation floods my senses.
No. Nope. No way. That’s not what I heard. I’m being ridiculous.
He could be… stretching.
Or groaning about how sore he is from his stupid performance.
Or yawning. Yeah. A yawn. A totally normal, in-the-shower yawn.
There are squishing noises and another low, barely contained sound, and my soul is about to leave my body.
I swear to god—
Wait, what?
Did he just say my name?
My pulse flatlines and my lungs forget how to function.
No—no way. That’s not what I heard. My brain is just short-circuiting from the sheer horror of this situation. There is no universe where Joel Price is in that shower—doing that—and thinking about me.
Except…
Except I did hear it.
And now I can’t unhear it. In fact, the sound of him groaning my name as he—well, it’s burned forever into my brain now.
Holy fuck.
My whole body locks up as if staying perfectly still will somehow make this situation not real. If I don’t move, maybe the fabric of reality will shift, and I will be back in my room, blissfully unaware of whatever the hell this is.
Anna, don’t just stand there like an idiot. You need to leave.
You need to walk away, right now. Immediately. Stop hesitating, for fucksake.
But I don’t.
Because my traitorous brain is still making connections, and every single one of them is worse than the last.
The stupid letter and contract.
The check.
The way he was acting earlier.
The way he looked at me.
The way I reacted.
The shower.
A pulse of something hot and electric shoots down my spine, and I slam the lid on it so fast, I nearly give myself whiplash.
Absolutely not.
I am not having this reaction.
Not to him.
He is the villain in this story. He is the reckless, arrogant bastard who stole my song and shattered my trust—the one person I swore I would never, under any circumstances, let get under my skin again. So why is my body acting like it didn’t get the memo? The fucking bitch.
The heat in my face burns like a warning light, flashing DANGER, DANGER, DO NOT PROCEED.
Move, Anna!
I need to burn this house to the ground.
I need to—
The water shuts off.
Oh, shit.
But instead of walking away—
Instead of saving myself—
Instead of doing literally anything that makes sense—
I freeze.
Why?
How the hell am I supposed to know?
What kind of moronic self-preservation instinct is this?!
Move Anna. Now—
The door swings open.
And my entire body malfunctions. My limbs forget how to move. My brain forgets how to form a single coherent thought. My breath stalls halfway up my throat, and oh god, I am so, so screwed.
Joel steps out, still dripping wet despite a towel hanging obscenely low on his hips. His chiseled torso is on full display—like some reckless god of destruction sent solely to dismantle my last shred of sanity.
I think I actually black out for a second.
His shoulder length hair is damp, messy, curling slightly at the ends and it reminds me of how he used to look when we were kids. A single droplet slides from his shoulder down his chest—
Nope.
Absolutely not.
Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.
Do not, under any circumstances, let your eyes go any lower, Anna.
My gaze jerks up to his face so fast, it’s a miracle I don’t snap my own neck.
Of course Joel notices.
His lips twitch, amusement flickering behind his way too curious eyes. Something else flashes across his features and his face flushes.
And just like that, I know.
He knows.
He knows that I know.
Heat bursts up my neck and into my own goddamn cheeks.
I need to fix this. Right now.
I clear my throat, crossing my arms so tightly, I might cut off my own circulation. “Took you long enough.”
Joel tilts his head, a hint of entertainment spreading across his lips as he gives me a lopsided grin. “Something wrong, Ace?”
Yes. Everything is wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
But then he shifts his weight slightly, and—
Oh my god, the towel dips.
Panic explodes in my chest.
My brain flatlines.
I snap my gaze back to his face with the force of a thousand nuclear reactors.
Joel’s smirk deepens.
Fuck my life.
“Did you, ah…” He pauses, dragging my torture out as he runs his hand through his wet hair, making his bicep flex in the motion. “Were you standing outside the bathroom door long?”
I scoff—too fast, too sharp. “What? Psh. No. Jesus, Price, I was—”
Too defensive. Absolutely zero chill.
Joel’s breath catches slightly, a little flush tinting his cheeks, but then—oh no.
Oh no.
His grin turns lethal.
He adjusts his towel, purposefully slow.
My eyes drop before I can stop them.
He catches it.
I hate him.
“Happen to hear anything of interest, Ace?” His voice dips just slightly, teasing—knowing.
Okay, maybe he didn’t know before. But he most certainly does now.
I swallow hard, raising my chin high as I force my face into an expression of total indifference. “Oh, yes. The sound of water is an utter fascination of mine. I listen for it whenever I can.”
Joel hums, amusement flickering behind those green eyes of his like he knows exactly what game I’m playing and is more than happy to let me lose.
Joel steps in closer, his body radiating heat, his towel slung low enough that my brain issues an immediate evacuation order.
He’s too close, too smug, too… unfairly gorgeous for a man who just did what he did while thinking about me.
My pulse hammers against my ribs. This isn’t happening. This cannot be happening.
“Good to know.” His voice is silky smooth, smug as hell. “Wouldn’t want you to be bored.”
My pulse spikes dangerously, and I have to clench my fists to keep from doing something insane—like smacking that stupid smirk off his face. Or worse, wondering what it would feel like pressed against my skin.
Nope. No. Absolutely not.
Joel shifts again, his towel dipping another fraction of an inch, and my fight-or-flight instinct short-circuits enough to make me whimper under my breath.
I need to go.
I need to go now.
But my feet are still rooted to the spot, and Joel—because he is the actual worst—takes a slow, deliberate step toward me.
Finally, my stupid feet move as I back up.
He follows.
The hallway wall stops me cold.
His grin grows when all I can do is blink back at him, my words held captive in an alternate universe.
I swear to god, this is how I die.
Joel braces one arm against the wall next to my head, caging me in. His scent—clean soap, a hint of spice, something inherently him—fills the space between us, and I can’t breathe.
I can’t do anything except exist in the molten chaos of this moment.
He leans in, his voice dropping low. Dangerously low. “You sure you weren’t listening for something else?”
My stomach flips and another whimper escapes my lips before I finally bite out, “Go to hell, Price. I wasn’t spying on you, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
His eyes flick to my mouth. My breath catches.
Oh no. Oh no.
His free hand lifts—slow, deliberate.
And then—
His fingertips slide along my jaw and the pad of his thumb grazes my lower lip, featherlight and completely devastating.
But my entire body shatters.
This isn’t a brush of a hand or a wrist grab. It’s definitely not tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. This is…
What the fuck is this?
My stomach swoops, my nerves spark like live wires, and a full-body shudder runs through me before I can stop it.
My lips part—just a fraction, just enough to take in a single sharp inhale of breath, but the moment it happens his lips curl slightly, his pupils wide as he takes in my reaction.
Like he knows he won.
And then—just as fast as he cornered me—he steps back.
He turns, flashing me one last devastating smirk over his shoulder.
“Night, Ace.”
Then he disappears into his room, leaving me standing in the hallway, wrecked.
My entire body is still locked in place, like a system crash I can’t reboot. My skin is flushed, my breath too sharp, my pulse a runaway train I can’t slow down.
And the worst part? I can still feel it.
The burn of his touch. The heavy weight of his gaze. The way my breath stuttered when his thumb grazed my lip—like he knew exactly what he was doing—like he wanted to see me come undone.
Like he liked it.
Like he wanted me to like it, too.
My insides flip violently, and for a horrifying second, I feel something dangerously close to anticipation. A pulse of heat, sharp and unmistakable, twisting low in my stomach before I slam the brakes so hard, I nearly give myself a migraine.
Oh, no. Nope. Nope. I am NOT doing this.
And yet, my entire body is trembling—not in fear, not in anger, but in something far, far worse.
Desire.
Not possible. That is not what this is.
And yet… my fingers lift to my lips, tracing the spot where his thumb had just been.
It tingles.
I groan, letting my head fall back against the wall, praying for divine intervention, or maybe an EMP for my brain so it will erase the last ten minutes from existence.
Because this isn’t just about the fact that Joel got under my skin. It’s the fact that I LET him.
And worse? For one terrifying second—a part of me actually wanted him to.
No. NO. Nope. That is NOT reality. That is a brain malfunction. A temporary lapse in judgment due to prolonged exposure to his bullshit.
This is fixable.
This is salvageable.
I just need to never, ever, in the history of time, be alone with Joel Price again.
I hate him. I really, really hate him.
Only for one single, excruciating moment—
I didn’t.