Page 49 of Collide (The Rhapsody of Heartbeats #1)

I slap down cash before Broderick can reach for his wallet and nudge him toward the quieter end of the bar.

“Shots first. Unless you’re chicken?”

He raises a brow. “Alright.”

We lick, clink, and throw the tequila back in unison.

The burn hits hard, coarse and clean.

I suck the lime and drop it in the empty glass.

“Fuck, tequila is cruel,” he coughs.

I giggle, the buzz hitting. “Weak.”

He coughs again, and I can’t help but laugh. For someone his size to be taken down by a little tequila—it’s almost comical.

I pat him on the back. “Need me to call an ambulance, big guy?”

He chuckles, and so do I.

“Hey, you’ve got some—” he says, brushing his thumb along my lip. His hand lingers, cupping my jaw. “Salt.”

Everything stills.

The bass throbs in my chest. His thumb lingers. My lips part. His touch is warm—gentle. I can’t help but lean into it, every part of him drawing me closer.

“Elena?”

That voice.

It slices through the haze like cold steel.

My stomach sinks.

I jolt back. Broderick’s hand drops.

I turn my head and spot Alex just a few feet away, half-lit by the strobe lights—bravado wrapped in disarming calm. A navy blazer, shirt unbuttoned just enough to catch the light. He doesn’t need to try. The room rearranges itself around him anyway.

Fuck.

“There you are, Darling .” The sweetness in his voice doesn’t match the edge in his eyes as they move from me to Broderick and back again. Steady. Measuring. A grin playing at his mouth like he’s already won. Broderick straightens, jaw tight, but doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch.

I silently pray they’ve put their measuring tapes away for the night.

My fingers twitch around my glass. My purse digs into my ribs.

I can’t do this again. Not another one of their silent wars. It was already two too many.

“Yeah, here,” I mutter. “Let’s head back.”

I grab my drink, clutching the strap of my purse like a lifeline. I nudge Alex to follow as I pass, shoulders stiff, eyes forward, slicing through the crowd back to the roped-off comfort of our section.

If you look up awkward in the dictionary, my face would be the definition. Probably next to self-inflicted.

The three of us rejoin the group without a word. Broderick drifts back to the wall, same spot as before, nursing his drink and studying anything that isn’t me.

Alex and I sink into a low loveseat.

“What was that about?” he asks, light on the surface, but there’s an edge threaded through it.

“I owed Broderick a drink,” I say, brushing it off. I sip the old fashioned—smooth, warm, a little too much like Broderick—and set it on the table.

“How was your birthday dinner?” I ask, trying to divert the topic from Broderick.

“Good. Would’ve been better if you were there.” His eyes are full of sincerity, and it makes my heart melt.

I feel terrible for missing his birthday dinner.

“Well, I’m here. How can I make it up to you?” I lean in, batting my lashes at him, my shoulder brushing his.

He chuckles. It’s low and dark like he knows I can’t make good on that right now. Sliding his hand along my leg and lifting it into his lap, his fingers trail from my heel to the hem of my dress.

“You look…breathtaking tonight.”

I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes. “Bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Only the sexy ones.” He winks.

His hand catches my jaw. He pulls me in and kisses me—deep and hungry like he’s staking a claim.

Fuck.

I break the kiss. “Alex,” I whisper sharply. “People might see?—”

I glance around. Sure enough, there are whispers. A few phones angled too deliberately.

“Let them,” he says, and pulls me back in. This time, he doesn’t stop at a kiss—he lifts me fully into his lap.

I surrender. His lips feel like heaven, and he massages my tongue with his until I’m putty in his hands.

I feel him—hard and growing—pressing into my thigh.

The heat of him, thick through his pants, pulses against my skin.

His fingers trail up my leg like he’s memorizing every inch, dragging until they find the hem of my panties.

He doesn’t move further. Just toys with it.

Flicks the elastic, letting it snap back, biting into my skin.

I gasp into his mouth, a low moan caught in the back of my throat as my hips shift, yearning for more. I’m wet, tequila and lust searing through me.

I want him to touch me, my body begging for release. He could brush my clit right now and I’d probably orgasm from it.

He grabs my ponytail and tugs it. My head tips back, exposing my neck, and his mouth is at my ear, hot breath curling down my spine.

“Ahh.” A groan escapes my mouth.

“Imagine me holding this while I fuck you from behind.”

My thighs clench. Breath stutters. The image hits like a lightning strike—me bent over, him deep inside, that fist in my hair, his voice in my ear.

God.

I get wet at the thought. My chest rises fast. Skin flushed. I’m seconds away from dragging him into some corner?—

“Babe! Come dance with us!” Riley’s voice breaks through, slicing the moment clean in two.

It takes me a second to catch up.

“Please,” Philippa adds, wobbling slightly in her heels, her lip gloss smeared, eyes glassy.

Alex’s grip tightens around my waist. He’s not ready to let go. Neither am I.

I turn to him, heart still sprinting. “Duty calls,” I say, breathless, kissing the tip of his nose like it’ll steady me.

“Put on a show for me,” he murmurs, then squeezes my ass from under my dress, firm like he’s staking a claim.

I yelp, half-laughing, half-flustered as Riley tugs me toward the dance floor. I glance back once.

He’s watching.

Jaw set. Eyes dark.

And I’m still throbbing.

Riley twirls me and we start to move, hips swaying, arms loose, the beat sinking into my bones. The electricity of Alex’s touch still clings to my skin, a ghost of heat I can’t shake.

Riley slides behind me, her hand curling around my neck. I turn, my back pressed to her front, grinding as the bass throbs between us.

“Babe, you’re in trouble,” she purrs into my ear, her breath sticky-sweet with tequila. The lights strobe across her face. Philippa dances somewhere in front of us, lost in her own rhythm, hair stuck to her lip gloss.

“Why?” I shout over the music, spinning to face her again.

Riley just smirks.

The rhythm builds. It feels good to dance—mindless, messy, sweat gathering at the base of my spine. Riley grabs my hips, turning me slowly, deliberately, until I’m facing the VIP section again.

And there they are.

Alex, legs spread, one arm slung over the back of the couch, watching me like he wants to drag me back into his lap and finish what he started.

Broderick, standing. Stiff. Glass in hand. He’s looking anywhere but at me.

Our eyes catch. Just for a moment.

Then he looks away. Takes a long sip of his drink. Says something to Andrew, who doesn’t even glance up.

The music keeps pulsing, but I don’t feel it anymore.

“We almost kissed,” I whisper into Riley’s ear, holding her close, swaying.

“Who?” she asks, arms flung out like it’s just part of the choreography.

“Broderick.”

“What the fuck ,” she hisses, stumbling a little. “Oh my God .”

“Guys, this is the best night,” Philippa slurs somewhere beside us, spinning in place like a kid at a birthday party.

Of course.

Trust Philippa to choose this exact moment to let go completely. Then again, if there’s ever a time to lose it, it’s your bachelorette party, right?

“You’re so cute,” I say, placing my hands on either side of her cheeks and pressing them. Philippa scrunches her nose playfully.

“I love you, you’re the best,” she stammers her words as she throws an arm around me.

“I love him so much,” she adds, pointing straight at Andrew, glass in hand like it’s a wand.

Then Philippa pretends to cast out a fishing line and reels it in, her tongue between her teeth, concentration fierce like she’s actually trying to catch a marlin.

We turn just in time to see Andrew take the bait, grinning as he steps onto the dance floor.

With Broderick in tow.

Fuck.

Oh, fuck .

Riley grabs my wrist. Her eyes find mine—wide, wild, do not panic .

But it’s already happening.

Andrew sweeps in, wraps his arms around Philippa, and they start to dance, her squeal echoing over the music, limbs loose, drunk on love and liquor.

Then Broderick.

Steps beside me. Resting his hand on my shoulder, warm, steady, sending a pulse straight through me.

“Elena,” he says, leaning down and brushing his lips against my ear, voice low against the beat, the warmth sends a shiver down my spine.

I freeze for a half-second. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the way he smells—woodsy and delicious.

“I’d like my phone back, please.” His voice is low, but his request cuts through my lust.

What? No! All he’ll do is stay on it for the night and sulk in the corner. Not on my watch.

“No phone, Brody! Have some fun.” I grab his arms like strings on a puppet, flinging them around as I sway my hips into the beat. Riley whoops behind me, our own personal hype girl, hair flying, face flushed.

Broderick laughs—low, real, unguarded—his head tipping back just enough to make my chest tighten.

“Let loose, dance with me,” I yell, gripping his arms and shaking them harder. “Woooooo!”

His smile deepens. Dimples cut through. Eyes catch the neon and glitter, bright and open—so him , it hurts.

Then Riley stiffens beside me.

I barely register it before a cool hand wraps around my arm and tugs.

I turn and let go. Dropping Broderick’s arms.

Alex.

Fuck , I totally forgot all about him. I’m such an asshole.

He doesn’t say a word, just steps in, palms my face, and kisses me.

He’s sending Broderick and me a clear message.

His lips press like he’s stamping his name into mine.

I lose myself in him—for a breath, for a heartbeat—before pulling back and spinning around, grinding into him.

His hands find my hips, firm, pulling me into the rhythm as he moves to the beat of the song.

Beside us, I catch it.

Broderick taps Andrew’s shoulder. They exchange a few words, then Philippa slips her hand into Andrew’s, and the three of them disappear off the dance floor.

Gone.

A tall stranger slides up beside Riley, and just like that, she’s in motion again—arms around his neck, laughing, hair whipping in time to the beat.

“He wants you,” Alex whispers, voice dark and smug against my ear as he nips the tip with his teeth, it sends a jolt right between my thighs.

“Who?” I ask, not bothering to turn.

“The best man,” he chuckles, smug and close.

“Does he now?”

I know that.

Broderick told me himself. That almost kiss. The pause between us, heavy with things unsaid, the question of what ifs still clinging to my skin like sweat.

I turn, facing Alex fully, my arms sliding around his neck, my body flush against his.

“And what are you going to do about it?” I challenge.

He smiles, slow and sure, fingers tightening on my hips. “I don’t even have to try.” His lips brush my jaw, his voice oozing confidence. “And Elena…I don’t share.”

Everything in me stills.

It wasn’t my intention to make Alex jealous, and to be truthful, I hadn’t expected it, but something about the way he says it strokes something inside me. The need to be wanted, to be chosen. To be enough .

He’s making it so clear. He wants me.

This sexy, magnetic man—watched, chased, desired by so many— wants me .

Doesn’t he deserve to be chosen, too?