Page 20 of Collide (The Rhapsody of Heartbeats #1)

Crush

W e stroll through the streets of Brooklyn, hand in hand, as the sun finally breaks through the clouds, casting a golden glow over the damp pavement. The humidity lingers, thick and sticky, curling around us like an embrace.

Then, I notice her.

A woman with a dog, staring directly at Alex. Not just a passing glance, but with recognition, her mouth agape.

Her phone is in her hand in an instant, and before I can process it, she snaps a picture.

What the fuck?

First Nick. Now her.

Before I can say anything to Alex, we round the corner.

A mouthwatering scent floods my senses, and I lose my train of thought.

The aroma of smoky meats, sizzling spices, and sweet pastries wraps around us, pulling me toward the nearby park.

A convoy of food trucks is parked under a canopy of trees, their colorful signs advertising everything from Korean barbecue to gourmet tacos.

“Hungry?” Alex grins, his expression boyish and irresistibly charming.

“Always.” I giggle, poking his side. Hard muscle meets my fingertips, the contours of his abs obvious even beneath his shirt.

We settle under the shade of a sprawling oak tree, claiming a weathered wooden picnic table. Our makeshift feast stretches between us—sticky, smoky ribs, grilled corn, soft tacos bursting with fresh salsa, cheesecake, and homemade pink lemonade.

I take a sip, letting the sweet citrus bite melt on my tongue.

“This is amazing,” I exclaim, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips, not sure where to begin.

“I have to admit,” Alex says, picking up a taco with ease, “the tacos in California are better. But these? Not bad.”

I grin, licking a bit of salsa from my thumb. “Speaking of the West Coast, I’m actually headed to San Diego on Sunday to shoot the video for my debut single.”

Alex pauses mid-bite, his eyes flickering with interest. “What a coincidence. I’ll be in San Diego the day after tomorrow for the week.”

I perk up, realizing we haven’t really talked about his job. “Oh? Right, you mentioned that. What was it you do again?”

He takes a slow sip of his drink, his expression unreadable. “Hmm…A little bit of this and that.”

I raise a brow. That was vague.

Before I can press, he smoothly redirects. “So, how long will you be on the West Coast?”

Evasive. Noted.

“I fly back the following Saturday.” I shrug between mouthfuls of sticky, delicious ribs.

Alex’s lips curve into a smirk. “Maybe we could meet up?”

His tone is casual, but there’s something deliberate in the way he says it, like he’s already planned it in his head.

I nod silently, pretending to focus on my food, but my mind is already spinning.

Why wouldn’t he answer my question?

We finish our lunch, the conversation shifting easily, trading stories of memorable meals—my mom’s home-cooked Filipino dishes, the time Alex accidentally set fire to a steak trying to impress someone.

He’s charming, funny, and magnetic.

But that little piece of mystery clings to the back of my mind.

What exactly does Alex do for work, and why is he going to be in San Diego, of all places?

And why won’t he tell me?

Before I can dwell, a cool droplet lands on my arm.

Glancing up, I notice the sky has darkened once more, and another drop hits my forehead.

“Shit,” Alex hisses, right as the sky splits open.

The rain pours down in sheets, drenching us in seconds.

We scramble to toss our rubbish in a nearby trash can, laughing breathlessly as Alex tries in vain to shield me with his body.

It doesn’t help.

The rain soaks through his white shirt, making it cling to him, outlining the solid lines of his chest, his broad shoulders, the ridges of his abs.

I wet my lips at the sight.

Before I can get lost in that thought, Alex hastily flags down a cab.

We jump in, shivering, breathless, soaked through, our laughter still hanging in the air between us as Alex leans forward, relaying the destination to the driver.

I glance over at him.

“Looks like the open-air cinema is off the table.” He sighs, shaking his head.

His hair is damp, messy, and his shirt? Completely ruined.

And yet, somehow, he’s never looked better.

Arriving in NoHo, we take refuge from the downpour within the sleek confines of Alex’s modern, masculine penthouse.

Penthouse . So he’s clearly successful at…whatever it is he does.

And yet, he’s so damn evasive about it.

Maybe he’s in the CIA. Or an assassin.

Is there such a thing as a Swedish mafia?

The rain drums steadily against the windows, as do my nervous thoughts, a rhythmic hum filling the space as I step inside, shaking the chill from my bones.

It dawns on me—I’m in his home.

Soaking wet.

We’re alone.

“Welcome,” he says. “I’ll be right back.” He flashes me a charming smile before disappearing down the hallway.

His home is tidy, modern, with an open-plan kitchen and living space. In the corner, there’s a study nook filled with books, various vintage cameras, and a desk with his laptop. Black and white photos match the monochromatic scheme of the home.

Alex returns moments later with a fluffy white towel and hands it to me, my clothes clinging to my skin. I wrap it around myself, self-conscious about how my damp clothes expose every curve of my body. I’m a walking wet t-shirt contest.

“Nice place,” I murmur, shifting under his gaze.

“Thanks,” he says, then disappears—only to come back shirtless, wearing nothing but gray sweats and a towel around his neck, holding out a fresh change of clothes like it’s no big deal.

I freeze.

Time seems to stop as I take him in—his sculpted physique, broad shoulders, and defined abs impossible to ignore. He’s in incredible shape and moves with an effortless confidence, completely unaware of the effect he has on me.

I gulp. Speechless.

“You can change in my room if you’d like,” he suggests, like he hasn’t short-circuited my brain.

My mouth goes dry, and I nod. Clutching the clothes like a lifeline, I escape before I make a fool of myself.

Inside his bedroom, my gaze drifts across his space. A sleek king-size bed with charcoal gray sheets. Minimal decor, but undeniably manly. It’s exactly what I would have pictured for him.

Trying not to let my thoughts wander, I peel off my wet clothes, slipping into the warmth of the fresh set he gave me. The softest gray shirt and shorts, which feel like butter on my skin. As I towel my hair dry, something catches my eye: a dresser lined with carefully arranged personal items.

A few framed photographs.

One in particular holds my attention. A snapshot of Alex on a beach with two friends, his blond hair ruffled, his smile wide and unguarded.

It’s a version of him I haven’t seen yet.

Young, carefree.

I linger a moment longer before I join him in the living space. He’s in the kitchen, boiling water.

“Tea?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder.

“Please,” I murmur, stepping closer. “And…thanks for the clothes.”

Watching him move, every flex of muscle pulls at something low in me.

I long to feel his touch—the hug from yesterday, the kiss we shared earlier, the way his hands held me like he couldn’t help it.

My heart flutters against my ribs. Before I can stop myself, I slip behind him, arms circling his waist. I press my cheek to the heat of his bare back.

His skin hums undermine. The ache quiets.

His body tenses slightly before relaxing into my touch.

I breathe him in as a deep hum vibrates through him. His large hand finds my wrist, his thumb tracing a slow, lazy circle over my skin.

“Shame about the rain,” he muses.

“I figured you planned it, getting me here, wet and undressed.”

His chest shakes with laughter. Then, in one swift motion, he turns and lifts me onto the counter with ease.

A surprised squeal escapes me, my hands flying to his shoulders. He steps between my legs, filling every inch of space between us, his palms resting firm against my thighs.

Our eyes lock.

His stormy gray gaze mirrors the downpour outside—wild, intense, brewing with something seductive.

A silent understanding passes between us.

His fingers brush a loose strand of hair behind my ear before he nuzzles into my neck, his breath warm against my skin.

“That’s exactly right.” His voice is low, rough, dripping with intent.

A sharp thrill rushes through me, heat unfurling in my stomach.

Kiss me.

Then—

The kettle sings.

Ugh. I squirm in frustration.

Alex exhales a quiet laugh, stepping back to pour the water into two mugs, the moment between us briefly severed.

There’s something incredibly sexy about watching him make us tea.

Shirtless.

My eyes catch on his strong forearms, the veins along them, those large hands. I gulp, wondering how they might feel all over me. I take my time, tracing every inch of him, tucking it away for later.

“You know,” he starts, glancing over at me, “I think now is the perfect time to cash in on my prize.”

That again. I was hoping he’d forgotten.

“What prize?” I tease, swinging my legs lightly from the counter.

He gives me a look. That slow, wicked smile. “The one I won fair and square.”

I roll my eyes. “You cheated.”

He chuckles, leaning against the counter, his gaze dark with mischief. “I played to win.”

I exhale, shaking my head. “Alright, fine. What do you want?”

His smirk deepens, but when he speaks, his voice turns sincere, quieter.

“I want you to sing for me.”

What?

Out of all the things I expected, this wasn’t one of them. It catches me completely off guard.

“Just for me,” he adds, his expression unreadable.

My insides somersault.

I hesitate, fidgeting slightly. “You want me to serenade you?”

He nods. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

His voice is steady, but there’s something else beneath it. Something that makes my breath shallow and my pulse uneven.

This is more tender than a kiss.

More exposing than touch.

I glance at him.

Alex watches me, his expression unreadable as I take a steadying breath.