Page 52 of The Publicity Stunt

Grinning, he turns his attention to me. “And what about you, baby doll?”

A few guys dressed as members of the Justice League walk by, some of them pausing to throw curious stares in Shara’s direction. She fidgets with the hem of her black dress, clearly uncomfortable with all the attention.

I frown. Now does it make sense why I wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of April “hanging out” with Ben at his place? Men are pigs.

“Stay with her,” I tell Logan. “I’ll get us all some beers.”

An automated shriek blasts from the nearby speaker, and Shara jumps up against him. He wraps an arm around her shoulder and lowers his mouth to her ear, whispering something. She smiles and elbows his stomach.

It’s a casual scene. Nothing extraordinary. But the longing it triggers in my chest is exactly that. Fierce and unexpected.

If April was here and if things were good, we’d probably be standing in some unattended corner, judging everyone’s Halloween costumes. Innocently holding hands, acting like it isn’t the most special thing ever. It sounds fucking corny, but I really like holding her hand. The way her thumb strokes my palm and how my fingers squeeze over hers. A secret conversation no one can hear. Sometimes not even us.

Walking toward the kitchen, I grab three plastic cups from the stack on the granite counter and make my way to one of the kegs. Deafening hip-hop blasts from the speaker system, and several warm, sweaty bodies jostle me as I venture deeper into the kitchen. A zombie man walks by, sipping on a drink, and the smell of alcohol fills my nostrils.

I pour the last cup of beer as a familiar voice pipes up from behind me. I instantly turn around and find April leaning against one of the kitchen cabinets, dressed head to toe in yellow-green spandex, a white wig, and a brown leather jacket.

You’ll probably be the only guy to recognize me.

Of course.

“Rogue?” I raise a beer cup at her.

She gives my Gambit costume a long once-over. “You look nice too.”

“Not as nice as you.”

A hint of a smile fills April’s mouth before it flatlines again. It hurts more than it should. Like she’s showing me what could be, if either one of us was brave—then taking it all away.

“Are we in a fight?” April asks, her voice meek.

I look down and shake my head. “We don’t fight.”

“We don’t?”

I set the beer cups on the countertop and force a smile. “Gambit loves Rogue too much to stay mad at her.”

She frowns. “Mad at me? Why are you mad at me? What did I even do?”

Okaayy … I guess we are sort of still in a fight. But of the hundred mature responses I could come up with, I choose the least mature one. “Where’s your little boyfriend tonight?”

“What?” Her frown deepens as slow realization strikes. “Who, Ben? Parker, he’s not my—”

Right that second, the devil himself enters the room, shirtless and in a pair of brown pants. After stopping to talk to a couple of guys, Ben saunters toward the fridge on the other side of the kitchen. He grabs a can of beer and walks over to us. “Hey, babe.” He slides an arm around her waist, pulling her close.

My muscles tighten into taut strands. Babe?

“Hey,” she says, giving him a light pat on his chest and he plants a kiss on her cheek.

Something hot and ugly bursts in my chest. I want to yank the fucker off her and deck him in his stupid pretty-boy face.

April reintroduces us and Ben’s eyes dart between the two of us. “S’up, dude? What are you supposed to be?”

“Gambit.” My response is curt and to the point.

“What the hell is a Gambit?”

My forehead squeezes in a frown, and I look at April with arched eyebrows. Really? This guy?