Page 31

Chapter twenty-one

Core Memory Girl thinks I’m important

Zoe

I ’m having the time of my fucking life.

We’re in the drinks tent, but the entire clearing is alive with people drenched in glitter and paint, shrieking lyrics to a remix I’ve never heard before.

A dude in rollerblades skates past, offering glowstick necklaces out of a fanny pack labeled “emotional support rave gear.” Someone’s wearing a wedding dress.

There’s a group of people in inflatable dinosaur costumes. I think I saw a ferret.

It’s pure, unfiltered chaos. And it’s glorious.

I lean toward Chase, grinning as I sip my drink. “I love it here.”

He exhales, clearly questioning every choice that led him to this moment. “Yeah, I can tell.”

“Oh, come on, Walton. Live a little.”

He gives me a long-suffering look. “I lived through the most unhinged scavenger hunt known to man, surrounded by people who look like they were birthed from a Fraggle and a confetti explosion. I think I’ve met the brief.”

I laugh and nudge him with my shoulder. “You’re such a grandpa.”

Which is a lie. He’s definitely not. Not even a little.

A few minutes ago, I convinced him to get blue glow-in-the-dark paint swirled over the tattoos on his arm.

Now he’s standing here, hair messy, sleeves rolled, mouth crooked in a way that should be illegal.

He hasn’t taken his eyes off me since I let them paint a tiny pink carnation on my wrist.

His eyes trail down to where it’s glowing. “What’s that color mean again?”

I roll my eyes, ignoring the heat that rushes to my cheeks. “Admiration.”

He leans in just a fraction, voice low and maddening. “You admiring me, Zo?”

“You wiiish,” I sing-song breezily.

He chuckles, and it rolls straight through me, easy and rich and effortless. Because dammit, I am admiring him. He looks so relaxed and happy now that we’re through the carnage that was the scavenger hunt. I want to bottle this version of him and drink it through a straw.

We’re standing near the bar, watching a drunk fairy pirate propose to someone dressed as a traffic cone, when two guys approach.

They’ve got the jawlines of frat boys but the confidence of men who do yoga at sunrise and own leather-bound journals.

Artfully messy hair, vintage band tees, and boots that cost more than my rent.

One of them has a nose ring and a tattoo crawling up his neck.

Another is wearing a bomber jacket that looks like it’s seen war.

Hipster heartbreakers. My personal Roman Empire.

One of them, Nose Ring, steps forward with a big smile.

“Well, hello, gorgeous,” he says, zeroing in on me.

I blink at him, pleasantly tipsy and fully entertained. “Well, hi.”

“I was just telling my buddy,” he says, “that your eyes are fucking sick.”

I let out a little laugh. “That’s a first.”

Behind me, Chase goes still. Not casual still. Full-body, not-breathing, primal-man-rage still.

“Oh, come on,” Nose Ring adds, riding the high of his own charm. “No way people don’t tell you that all the time.”

I tilt my head, letting my smile turn coy. “Maybe you’re just the first one to really notice.”

He chuckles. “You here alone?”

And because I have zero survival instincts, I let my lips curve into a slow, lazy smile.

“Alone?” I echo, letting my fingertips trail lightly over my cup. “Mmm. Not really. ”

The guy leans in a fraction, clearly interested, and Chase moves too, just enough that I feel him at my back. Warm and tall and solid.

I know I should shut this down, be a responsible adult, and reestablish boundaries. Pull back before it turns into something I can’t laugh off.

But I don’t, because Chase is jealous. I can see the heat in his stare, the tension in his body, the way his presence wraps around me like a claim. And God help me, I love that. Not because it proves anything, not even because it’s hot. But because it means he feels it .

So instead of pulling away from it, I answer it. I trail my fingers lightly up over his arm, over the blue neon paint, determined to still pass this off as casual.

Nose Ring’s gaze drops, clocking the movement. His brows lift. “Boyfriend?”

Chase exhales through his nose, and then his hand lands on my hip, steady and warm, possessive enough to make my heart jump, to remind me exactly where I belong.

I laugh softly and lean back into Chase’s chest as I look up at Nose Ring with a sugary smile.

“Something like that.”

Nose Ring raises a brow. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Chase says, hand tightening on my hip.

My smile curls, and I turn toward him slowly, letting my fingers trail up his chest.

“Jealous, babe?”

His jaw flexes, grip tightening. “You tell me.”

But I’m already too far gone, already fully committed to the bit, and if Chase is going to act like a possessive boyfriend, I’m going to make him suffer.

I shift, pressing against him, looping my arms around his neck.

“Relax, baby ,” I purr, just to watch him react, and I’m not disappointed.

His hands splay out over my hips, pulling me in closer. “Didn’t you say rule number one was no touching in public?”

I grin sweetly. “That was my rule, which means I can break it when the need arises.”

And then I kiss his jaw. Soft, barely a brush, but Chase goes still in a different way this time. Not the angry, territorial still. The kind that feels like the split-second before lightning hits.

When I glance back, Nose Ring is already walking away.

“Look at that. You saved me from the big, scary flirt.”

I should feel smug, but instead I feel flustered because Chase hasn’t let go. His hands are still on my hips, fingers resting low, palms hot through the mesh of my top. He’s quiet, watching me like he already knows the truth, and he’s waiting for me to stop running from it.

“You gonna keep using me as a shield,” he murmurs, “or are you trying to make a point?”

I twist slightly, chin tilted. “I’m just staying in character.”

“Uh-huh.”

The weight of his hand is doing things to me I’m not ready to unpack, but then, because the universe loves dramatic timing, a voice booms across the clearing, amplified through the massive speaker system, and I’m saved.

“Denver, Colorado… you didn’t think we’d actually show up, did you?”

My mouth falls open because that voice belongs to the lead singer of the Vinyl Saints.

“ No way ,” I breathe.

And then I scream. A full volume, hands-in-the-air, holy-shit-it’s-happening scream.

Chase barks out a laugh, watching me lose my mind, and I grab his face with both hands, squishing his cheeks between my palms.

“This is, like, a core memory. Don’t ruin it, Walton.”

His grin falters for half a second, just enough for something softer to slip through, but the teasing tone remains.

“You’re making a core memory with me?”

I freeze. Shit.

“No. Shut up. I didn’t say that.”

“You did.” He’s beaming now, hands sliding to my waist again. “You said it, it’s on record. Core memory with me.”

“Stop talking,” I mutter, shoving his face away with both hands.

“Kind of a big deal, Zo.” He laughs, but his voice is warm and smug and weirdly tender. “Core Memory Girl thinks I’m important.”

“I’m gonna vomit,” I deadpan, but I can’t stop smiling.

His eyes twinkle, and he opens his mouth to say something else, but the beat suddenly drops and the crowd surges. I gasp and bolt for the stage, because there’s no way I’m not getting as close as possible to watch these guys.

“ZOE!”

I’m pulled forward by the tidal wave of bodies. Music pounding, lights strobing, and I spin, laugh, and get swallowed whole. One second, Chase is behind me, and the next, he’s not.

I barely have time to react before I’m caught in the current, swept toward the stage, laughter bubbling in my throat because this is it. This is what I came here for.

The lights, the chaos, the absolute freedom.

Somewhere behind me, Chase is yelling my name, but the bass is too loud, the pulse of it rattling through my ribs, and I can’t stop.

Because the Vinyl Saints are here, and I’m fully losing my mind.

But then it changes. Too many hands graze my hips, my lower back, my arms, as I push through the crush of people, and suddenly I’m acutely aware that my skirt is too short, that my balance is too unsteady, that I am way too deep in this mass of bodies with no clue where Chase is.

A streak of glow-in-the-dark blue snakes in front of me. Strong, solid arms wrap tight around my waist from behind, elbows digging into the space around me, forcing bodies back like a shield locking into place.

His voice finds my ear, rough and full of pure feral possessiveness.

“If you don’t want me to start breaking fingers, I suggest you stay right where you are.”

A thrill shoots through me, curling low in my stomach. I laugh and almost turn in his arms to shoot something back—a joke, a jab, anything to break the moment before it gets too real. But I don’t want to. I want to exist in this moment without the sharp edge of awareness digging in between my ribs.

Chase’s arms stay locked around me, and I let myself sink into it, into the security, the warmth of his breath against my neck, the way he’s holding me without hesitation.

The Vinyl Saints launch into their opening song, and I start to move slowly.

My hips swaying to the rhythm, my body brushing his.

The crowd presses in closer, bodies swaying against mine, but I hardly notice.

Not when Chase’s hands flex against my stomach, his thumb stroking once over my hip absently.

I glance back at him and realize he’s not even watching the stage. Just me.

His jaw flexes, the muscle twitching beneath his skin as he brushes his lips at my temple. “You good?”

“You’re brooding,” I reply, words barely audible over the music.

His arms don’t loosen. “I’m thinking.”

I hum, dragging my fingers along the backs of his hands, feeling the way his grip tightens, the way his chest shifts behind me as he inhales a fraction too sharply.

“Dangerous,” I say, voice soft but teasing.