under the lights
SWIM BY CHASE ATLANTIC
I hate this.
I always hate events like this—with red carpets, cameras flashing, everyone wanting a piece of me. It’s all fake smiles and hollow chatter. But tonight it’s even worse.
I’m here alone.
I always bring someone, just to soften the blow. Someone to move me along when it gets uncomfortable. But tonight it just didn’t feel right.
I walk up the red carpet, my shoes making a faint thud like I’m dragging myself unwillingly into this event. The lights flashing from the cameras are coming from almost every direction, and they’re blinding.
All I can focus on is the fact that I have no one. The first reporter lurches forward, tugging at my arm, microphone in hand.
“Oliver!” she says, smiling at me. “You look great tonight. Who are you here with?”
I freeze. That didn’t take long.
“Uh, uh… it’s, uh… just me tonight,” I mumble.
The camera flashes again, and I can feel the heat on my face. Rapid-fire questions start coming from every direction now.
“Where’s your date tonight?” a voice calls out.
I chuckle nervously. “I, uh… it’s just, uh…” My voice trails off and I can feel my mind starting to spiral. I can’t seem to keep my words straight and all I can think about is the hand I wish was in mine.
Another reporter steps toward me, firing off questions before I can catch my breath. “Great season so far, Oliver. What’s been the best part for you?”
I wipe my hands on the sides of my suit, my fingers fumbling with the buttons of my jacket. I feel a weight on my chest closing in on me.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “It’s been, uh… a really great season, you know? A lot of uh… progress. And goals. And, uh, yeah… just got to keep pushing.” I’m so painfully aware of how much I’m rambling, but I can’t stop myself. I need to get out of here.
More questions get fired at me, and all I want to do is say “fuck it” and high-tail it out of the event. I can’t string together a single coherent answer, but the questions just keep coming. My pulse is racing, my mouth is too dry, and I can’t figure out if the sweat on my neck is hot or cold.
Then, just as I feel like I might suffocate under the pressure, I see her out of the corner of my eye.
Addison.
She appears through the chaos like it parts for her. She glides confidently through the throng of photographers. Cameras flash around her, and the way the light hits her makes her look like a dream.
My fucking angel.
She’s wearing this dress that just hugs every inch of her body, like it was made for her skin.
A rich, royal blue satin gown with delicate, thin straps and a thigh-high slit that makes my stomach drop.
Her blue eyes are even more piercing, and her brown hair is pulled back into a low bun with loose strands around her face.
She’s utterly breathtaking and grounding all at once.
She locks eyes with me, and the chaos disappears. The weight lifts from my chest, and I finally exhale. She’s just steady, like an anchor in the media storm.
Addison takes my arm, guiding me through the media rope line with ease.
“I’ve got you, Ollie,” she whispers, loud enough only for me to hear. “Just breathe.”
The tightness in my chest subsides as her soothing voice fills in the space.
She takes the reins with the media, guiding me through the next set of questions.
Every step we take toward the hotel ballroom, I feel more and more at ease, but I’m not sure if it’s her media prowess or the fact that she’s on my arm.
As we finish the last set of interviews, I can’t stop staring at how fucking beautiful she is. I know there are more cameras inside—Matt’s film circus is waiting—but right here, with her, I feel safe.
As we step into the lobby, the noise from the red carpet outside fades away. The energy sinks into something a little more manageable.
“Thank you,” I say, taking a deep breath. “I’m just not good with the media.”
She steps a little closer to me. “The media isn’t the enemy, Oliver.”
“They make up shit all the time.”
“They make up stories where there isn’t one,” she corrects, soft but firm. “I’ve spent years doing this. If you give them nothing, they’ll fill in the gaps with what they want, what they think can sell.”
“So, you’re saying I should open up more?”
“I’m saying,” she says, drawing out the words, “they just want to see what’s real. They want authenticity. If they can’t see that, they make up their own version of who you are.” She smiles at me. “Don’t let them do that to you. You are an incredible person, Oliver. Let them see that.”
“Oi, Bradshaw!” Carlos yells, barreling down from the red carpet, his arm slung around the shoulder of a woman I don’t recognize. “Looking sharp.”
Sebastian follows closely behind, his date on his arm as well.
Brennan walks in, hand in hand with his wife, and it feels good to have another adult in the room. The lads continue to filter in, chatting and laughing, each one with a spouse or date on their arm. They’re all ready to have a good time and raise some money for charity.
Addison leans in to whisper something to Pippa, and their eyes flick to me at the same time. This ballroom is filled with people, and Pippa is the only one who knows what’s going on between Addison and I.
The bar area is buzzing with noise, laughter, and clinking glasses.
Everyone’s trying to grab a drink before dinner.
Addison stands next to me at one end of the bar, both of us waiting for our drinks.
She leans one elbow on the counter, the slit in her gown pulling just enough to show a glimpse of her thigh, and I’m fucking ruined.
I can’t stop staring at her. But then something catches my eye.
The London Eye necklace I gave her for Christmas.
She wears it every day, but something about here, at this event, feels different.
It feels intentional, whether she knows it or not.
She could have worn anything more glamorous tonight, and yet, she chose this.
Her fingers play with the chain absentmindedly as she chats with me.
“Oliver,” she says, her voice quiet. “Why didn’t you bring a date tonight?”
“I didn’t want to,” I say quickly.
“But… you told me you always bring a date so you don’t have to do the media thing alone.”
“I know.” It’s always been part of my routine. Show up with someone, push them in front of the cameras, then go home. Tonight is different. “I didn’t want to do that in front of you. I didn’t want to be here with anyone but you.”
She exhales softly, and for a second I see something flicker across her face before she tamps it down. “But we’re—”
“I know,” I say, stopping her from pointing out the obvious. I know what we are. I know the only thing she’ll allow us to be. But I still don’t feel right bringing someone else to this event.
“You know I can’t sit with you at dinner, right?” she says, voice low and hesitant.
“I know,” I say, gritting my teeth.
“There’s just so many eyes here. So much media. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.”
“The wrong idea?” I echo. “Like, that we’ve been fucking each other for months in secret?”
I’m not angry, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a sting in my chest. I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of pretending and keeping secrets like what we have isn’t real.
“Oliver,” she says, tilting her head at me, like she’s reminding me of how many eyes are on us tonight. I know the optics. I know her rules.
“Fine,” I murmur, a slow smile tugging at my mouth. I lean in just close enough that only she can hear me. “I won’t sit next to you, but you’re not getting off that easy.”
I follow her to the table, and though my hand itches to hold hers, I play by her rules and keep it clenched at my side.
She sits down next to Luke, and then I make my move.
I slide into the chair directly across from her, a small thrill running through me.
Addison looks at me, surprised. She can’t even hide her reaction.
She sits up straighter, smooths down her dress, looking at me with a mischievous grin.
If I can’t sit next to you and touch you, you better believe I’m going to fuck you with my eyes all night.
Her lips twitch, and she gives a little shake of her head, but her eyes are brightened with amusement. “You’re impossible.”
“You said I couldn’t sit next to you,” I whisper. “I’m not.”
No one at the table can even feel the tension in the hustle of everyone finding their seats. No one even realizes I’m fighting the urge to swipe away cutlery and fuck her over this table.
She’s so preoccupied she doesn’t even see it coming when Matt slides into the empty seat on the other side of her.
Of course he does.
I can feel the heat in my chest rise as I watch him settle in next to her, placing his hand on the back of her chair like she’s his plus one. I force my face to stay neutral, but I can feel my jaw tighten.
Addison practically shimmers under the dimmed chandelier lights, and every goddamn thing about her makes my chest flutter.
I watch as she laughs at something Pippa says, but I don’t even hear it.
All I hear is the thumping of my own pulse.
I can’t stop myself from watching her and wishing I could touch her.
Wishing I could peel that dress off her body.
Wishing I could unravel her right here, without a care in the world who can see.
I can’t help but run my foot along the edge of her chair, just grazing her leg.
She tenses as the softest breath escapes her lips.
I can’t stop myself now. I find space between her legs and slowly raise my foot higher.
I see the way she’s holding herself back, biting her lip as she tries, and fails, to follow whatever story Luke is telling.
And then she looks back at me, locks her eyes to mine, and I swear I’m damn near combusting from the intensity of it.