Page 54 of Burn Bright (Cobalt Empire #1)

Beckett gives Tom one of his supremely famous what the fuck faces. “Coke?” Ah, this must have to do with the fact that their family owns Fizzle, the competing soda company.

“Dude, I did not order this.” Tom takes the Shirley Temple.

“I’m going to go find the other birthday boy.

” He sidesteps away from the bar, and Beckett lets out a deep exhale before turning to me.

I’m still not used to being in Beckett’s presence.

It’s easier when another Cobalt boy is around.

But if it’s just him—I find myself sweating.

Especially now that I’m keeping a giant secret from him.

Ben is planning to move to the remote wilderness in November.

I ache to tell him. Maybe Beckett would be able to convince Ben to stay, but if I utter the truth—I’d blow up my friendship…or whatever I have with Ben in a single instant.

I’m fucked up.

Not a great person.

Selfish.

Because I can’t manage to speak the truth. I just say, “Happy birthday.” And scamper away as quickly as Tom did. Pushing through the crowds, I find Ben stuck in a cluster of people. Surrounded by a wall of bodies. I think about shoving toward him, fighting through the small gaps of people.

But I don’t have to. He towers over everyone and looks around, his gaze planting on mine in milliseconds.

He smiles and weaves his way toward me.

When he’s in front of me, I imagine the world’s most epic reunion (not that we’ve been away from each other for long), but there is some sort of fairytale in being swept up in each other’s arms and spun around on a dance floor in a public display of affection.

It’s a silly thought. Even though we’ve hooked up once, we’re still just friends.

It is what it is…he gave me an orgasm to help me out during a dry spell, not to build a foundation to some long-lasting relationship.

But if he asked to fool around again, even with the threat of emotions slipping through the cracks, I’d say yes.

I’d say hell yes. Because the hot mental image of his fingers disappearing inside me has been cycling through my head on repeat since it happened six days ago.

It’s not really a question whether he’s been thinking about that night. I can see the way he slowly undresses me, as if he’s recalling his hands on my bare skin. It gives me free rein to check him out too.

He’s in more formal attire for the ballet.

Black slacks fit his ass and muscled thighs too well, and I could thank the club’s heat index for making Ben roll up the sleeves of his royal-blue button-down.

I wonder if he can tell how obsessed I am with his strong forearms. With the veins spindling down to his large, masculine hands.

He definitely can, Harriet. Neither of us tuck our attraction away. Nope, it is very fucking present.

He stops inches away, his eyes flitting from my lips back up to my gaze in a quick, sexy beat. It skips my pulse.

“Fisher,” he greets with a wide grin. “How have you survived without me?”

“Well, I was denied a Modelo. Called Shortie . And your brothers had a heated exchange in spitting distance of me, so I would say, I am thoroughly alive.”

Ben frowns. “Who called you Shortie?” His gaze narrows to hot pinpoints at the crowds, and I bite my lip, feeling my perpetual scowl morph into a smile.

“This Leo Valavanis jerk,” I say more upbeat because I am fucking giddy right now at Ben wanting to defend my honor. Calm yourself, Harriet.

Recognition hits Ben. “That’s Beckett’s rival in the company.”

“Makes more sense. He was definitely taking jabs at him.”

“Which of my brothers were going at it?”

“Tom and Beckett.”

“Because of Leo?”

“Yep.”

He nods strongly like that checks out. He peeks at his phone into a deeper frown.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“I’m just seeing if Guy Abernathy is stopping by. Beckett let me invite him to the afterparty.”

I go cold. “Guy Abernathy?” My jaw drops. “As in the president of the Honors House?”

“The one you’ve been insta-stalking all semester, yeah that one,” Ben slides me a teasing smile.

My cheeks are hot. “You invited him?” I’m about to ask how he got his number, but this is Ben . I wouldn’t be shocked if he had Patroclus on speed dial and every other Trojan War hero.

“Yeah, you said networking was a big deal to get in.”

So he invited him to Beckett and Charlie’s birthday outing at Pink Noir? The thoughtfulness nearly dampens the anxious anticipation surging through me. “And he said yes?” I ask, my pulse racing.

“He said yes,” Ben tells me. “But the bouncers cut off the line, so I’m just trying to make sure he’ll be let in if he shows late.”

Yes…yes. That’s a good idea. I try to waft my shirt, but the fabric of my crop top is too tight. Pit stains are likely. Thankfully it’s white. My phone buzzes at my hip. I unclip it, and all my nervous, excited energy plummets in a pit of despair.

“Fucking… no ,” I growl.

Ben leans closer, placing a hand on the small of my back. He’s leading us to a darker, more secluded corner of the club near a metal trashcan. His towering concern should calm me, but this night is seriously taking a turn. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“The grad student who’s mentoring me with my research project just texted. And I need to go into the lab.”

He frowns. “Now? It’s midnight.”

I don’t know how to explain this without divulging the truth.

I speak so quickly, I half-hope he can’t piece apart some of it.

“I can’t access the clean room as an undergrad, so I rely on the grad student to pull the pregnant mice for me.

She was supposed to pull one this afternoon, but she got busy and just did it now.

I need the embryos to be exactly seventeen days in gestation. So I have to dissect tonight.”

His eyes go big. “ Dissect? As in…?”

My heart hurts. “I’m killing the mouse, Friend.”

“The pregnant mouse,” he says without blinking.

“…yeah.”

I can’t read his expression. I’m not sure I want to. He says nothing else, and I think this might be too much for him to process.

Air is brittle in my lungs, but I manage to say, “I…I have to go. But I think I might be able to come back.” It’s not just for Guy Abernathy. I don’t want to bail on Ben or this night or his brothers, but mostly just Ben.

He nods slowly. “We’ll be here late-late. Four, maybe.”

I let out a breath. “Okay, I might be able to make it back.” I crane my neck to hold his gaze. “If you want me to come back, that is?” My chest tightens, dreading his response. I hate that I’ve hurt him, and by the pained look in his eyes, I know I have.

He nods even slower. “Yeah. I want you to come back, Friend.”

I repeat those words over and over in my head as he walks me out, hails me a cab, and makes sure I leave safely.