“Exactly why Santino only brings the clear ones.” Tucking the candy into her cheek, Nelle turned her attention back to the TV. A split screen drew her to the edge of the seat. In a little rectangle, bottom right, was Bran. He looked perfect, relaxing back in his seat. Calm and still and focused.
And then his name was called. And Nelle realized what else he was: unpresumptuous. Bran’s head bowed, hiding his raw emotion. But when his eyes lifted, the rest of his face composed, Nelle could still see the disbelief. He hadn’t expected to win.
She brought fisted hands to her face—and Benj leapt forward to pry them off.
“Do you want to smudge?”
Nelle shushed her friend, twisting her hands free. Bran climbed the stairs, gripped the award, and paused. With each breath he took, the red suit jacket gaped open and shut.
“Ready?” Mina popped her head into the room. “You’re on after the next break.”
Nelle put one foot on the ground, but couldn’t complete the descent from the chair. She shouldn’t care so much. He’d won. That was what she wanted to see. But she couldn’t look away. That was Bran—her Bran. Onstage. Living a dream. Their dream.
“Nelle. Let’s move,” Mina spoke over Bran. The audience laughed.
“One second!” Nelle snapped, her eyes glued to the screen. She felt Benj’s hands in her hair.
“Let me make sure this doesn’t come loose,” Benj said to Mina.
Thank you, Nelle mouthed.
It was finally quiet enough in the room for Bran’s voice to be clear, but she wasn’t sure she was hearing him right. Even Mina turned towards the screen, her eyes narrowing, like she didn’t trust the source. Nelle had expected Bran to win. She didn’t think he’d try to take on the patriarchy in his acceptance speech.
He left the stage and them in stunned silence.
“What was that?” Benj said, her hands resting on Nelle’s shoulders, hair forgotten.
“That was Aya Cooke,” Mina added in a mutter, “God, she’s good.” She looked over her shoulder at Nelle half sitting on the chair, and clapped them back into action. “Okay, let’s go. That’s us in eleven minutes.”
Nelle let herself be guided through the crowded backstage, following behind Mina with her mind on the performance. She’d rehearsed, she’d warmed up, and now she was visualizing her triumph one more time. They stopped near a water fountain to let a marching band go past. Her palm felt hot and—sticky? She unclenched her fist and discovered the final gummy bear.
Mina stepped closer. “What’s in your hand?”
“Nothing,” Nelle answered, shoving the candy into her mouth before her manager could take it.
“You have ten minutes to disappear that.”
Nelle started to say it didn’t take ten minutes to eat a gummy bear, but a sudden intake of breath cut her off.
Bran Kelly, fresh off his Note Awards win, was surging down the hall towards them, and her body pulled in oxygen like it was preparing to dive. His eyes held a wild look that sent a shock down her spine. He moved through the crowd as more force than person, an unstoppable wave rushing forward to meet her. And secrets be damned, he would meet her—in this packed hall, filled with eyes and cameras and phones—she knew it as soon as his gaze washed over her. She couldn’t even be mad about it because she prepared to let him: her self-control and Bran Kelly looking at her like that didn’t exist long in the same space.
Nelle stepped behind Mina for protection, but her manager moved to check on the dancers waiting ahead of them. Nelle rocked on her heels, seeking somewhere else to hide.
There was an opening next to the water fountain, a sign for restrooms fixed to the wall.
“Cover me,” Nelle whispered to Benj before ducking through the gap. She took two quick lefts in pursuit of safety. From Bran and from herself. From the urge to throw herself into his arms and congratulate him without a care for who saw. From the urge to overlap and give up everything they’d gained.
The corridor came up short, dead-ending with a door to a maintenance room. Footsteps followed her and she spun, ready to tell Mina she was fine—
Bran Kelly turned the corner. Long, confident strides brought him closer and he didn’t stop. All that power crashed against her, forcing her flat against the wall. His hands raised to her hair and she caught his wrists, pulling them down to his sides.
Her head rolled on the wall, straining away from him as he brought his mouth down towards hers. “You can’t—”
His lips pressed hot against her neck. He murmured against her skin. “It’s my night—I can do anything.”
Her grip tightened on his wrists. “I’m onstage in nine minutes.”
If he got her lipstick on him, someone would color match it and compare it to everyone there—that was how the internet worked. There was probably an algorithm.
He groaned, grinding his hips into her, pinning her to the wall as his forehead leaned against it. Nelle closed her eyes, counting the pounding beats of her heart. A full eight-count passed before she felt Bran take a deep breath and ease off of her. She released his wrists and he brought one hand up to the wall next to her head. His eyes skimmed down her body, and she was suddenly extremely aware of the expanses of her skin exposed by a low-cut sequin bodysuit smoothing under black-and-gold houndstooth shorts.
Bran trailed a knuckle from her neck to just above her navel. “You still don’t have time to talk?”
She shook her head with her lips parted and he nodded.
“Then come home tonight. We’ll talk there.”
Sensation fogged Nelle’s mind as he dragged his knuckle back up. “What?”
“Come home with me.”
“I can’t—”
“It’s my night. They are my Cleffies. I’m leaving with everything I want.” His eyes gleamed as he repeated her words back to her. “I want you.”
“People will be watching you. We can’t leave together.”
“We won’t. You’ll go first and I’ll follow after.” He traced the curved side of her breast with one finger. Her nipples puckered against the tape that covered them. “I’m ending tonight satisfied. Deep inside of you.”
A dangerous smile pulled at one side of his face because he was well aware what that kind of talk did to her. Nelle swallowed. “That doesn’t make you sound very celibate.”
“Maybe I’m not celibate. Maybe I’ve forsaken everyone but my wife.”
Nelle’s pulse kicked up. It was a tease. She knew that. But still. To hear Bran Kelly say he’d forsaken all others for her—to have him openly call her his wife—her body responded everywhere. A shiver of pleasure ran across her shoulders and swept down her spine, urging her hips into him.
He reciprocated the pressure below her waist, his dick hard between them. “You wanted to come over last night, didn’t you? And you want to come tonight. We can make that happen. I can update my manifestation.”
Her breath was heavy and sweet between them. “Winning two Cleffies isn’t enough for you?”
Bran closed his eyes. “I’m adding you in.” He gripped her hips. “There I am. And there you are. And I’m doing things to you I’ve never done before.”
“That’s not possible.”
His palms slipped over the curves of her butt, squeezing her cheeks, pulling them apart. Nelle’s eyes widened with understanding. They hadn’t done that. She hadn’t considered that.
Bran had. Bran was. Right then. And the look of rapture on his face made her wonder—should she be considering it too?
No. Because she wasn’t considering any of this.
Bran’s blue eyes opened slowly, like he didn’t want to leave the place he’d created in his mind. He found the chevron ring on her hand and stroked it with the pad of his finger. “The way I see it, as long as this is on, so are we.”
“We can’t—”
> “Are you willing to gamble?”
“Not when I’m still waiting on two million dollars from our last wager.”
“Let’s figure out a sign. Let’s say: if I win again, you’re coming home with me. The universe will have spoken.”
“I can’t,” she said, but the repetition only weakened her conviction. A refrain repeated too many times, losing all meaning.
“But you want to. And you get what you want.” Half a smile graced his face, the one that she thought about most—the one that made Bran look like he had a secret. “Maybe if the visual was clearer—” He leaned in.
She put her hands on his chest, stopping him from landing the kiss.
“Just a taste?” he whispered.
He was going to win. That’s what she’d been telling them both. It’s what she knew in her heart. Why fight it? Nelle wasn’t one to argue with what the universe put in her path.
Nelle felt Bran’s erection throb as her tongue swirled against her cheek. She brought the last gummy bear forward, holding it between her teeth, her red lips parted around it.
Bran angled his head, careful not to touch his lips to hers. He bit into the sweet, drawing it into his mouth.
Nelle stared at him as he pulled back. There were a hundred things she should be focusing on before going onstage to perform, but she couldn’t pull a single one to the surface of her mind.
Everything was Bran. Could she bet on his success for another night together? It was impossible. They’d never get away with it. Or maybe they would? Against the odds they were alone now, weren’t they? There were no cameras here, no people, no one to stop her from—
“Nelle?” Mina’s voice traveled down the hall and Nelle froze.
Chapter Nineteen
Nelle’s palms were hot through his coat. She’d slipped them under the lapels like she couldn’t help getting just a little bit closer to him. The gummy bear he’d taken from her teeth had lost definition, worn smooth by her mouth. He bit into it. The tang of pineapple coated his tongue as she stared up at him with wide amber eyes. Had she felt the air stutter out of his lungs?
Bran felt drunk, buzzing with adrenaline from his win and intoxicated by the sight of Nelle in thigh-high boots and little else, looking like she hadn’t come to play. Fuck the awards, he wanted to take her home—he wanted to take her now. But he had to win another Cleffy first.
A voice he didn’t recognize interrupted his thoughts. “Nelle?”
Panic set the intensity in Nelle’s eyes and a primal urge to help her spurred Bran into action. He tugged her off the wall, sending her back the way they’d come. She disappeared around the corner and he heard her collide with someone just out of sight.
“Is this another Barcelona?”
“No.” Nelle dropped the one-word sentence like a mic and he imagined her eyes glowing hot and fierce as she said it. “I’m fine. I was taking a moment for myself. To get focused.”
“And are you?”
“Absolutely.”
Focused? Bran fell against the wall as the two pairs of footsteps faded away. How could she be focused right now? He could barely remember his name. He looked down at the extremely noticeable bulge in his pants, the cause of his limited brain function.
Bran racked his mind, trying to think of something unsexy to shut down the launch process, something that was the opposite of Nelle. No Nelle. He couldn’t think of anything worse. It wasn’t a particularly advanced thought, but it worked: missing Nelle’s performance because he was contemplating jacking off in a maintenance room was not sexy.
Nelle’s friend Benj had ushered him into the corridor saying, “Bathroom’s to the right.” Now Bran found it, staying long enough to wet his hands and grab a paper towel, which he made a display of tossing into a black bin next to the water fountain when he returned to the main hall. In case anyone wondered where he’d been.
Nelle and her team were gone.
He found an assistant producer to get him back to his section just as the commercial break started. Aya looked up when he jostled the seat next to her. She studied his face. “Tell me you didn’t try to see her back there.”
“How did you—”
“You look like you do when you come offstage after a long set.”
“Hot and wired?”
“Bran. The two of you are already a meme.”
She held a phone low in her lap. Someone had made a gif out of their moment on the red carpet. Bran squinted down at a loop of himself staring hungrily at Nelle as she rolled her eyes and walked away. Aya scrolled and the picture became a still, a screen grab with white block letters over his chest reading, “Milk that’s organic and grass-fed but not local.”
“I don’t get it,” Bran said.
Aya let out an exasperated breath and kept scrolling. He read the text over his body out loud. “‘A free UberX but the cooler is full of off-brand La Croix.’ ‘Artisanal candles but the glass jar isn’t recycled’? What does that even mean?”
In each one Nelle was walking away, one hand above her shoulder like she’d tossed a match and didn’t care to see what exploded. The word NOPE slanted across the green bow of her dress.
“It means: You’re not perfect enough. And she’s in a discerning, self-respecting mood.”
“That’s not so bad.”
“It is if you don’t want it to exist outside of your house. It is if you won’t let me get involved—”
“I won’t.”
Around them people were settling back into their seats and Aya clicked the screen black. “Your speech was good. It’ll probably offset this nonsense. Arlo asked me how I came up with it and I won’t tell you how hard it was for me not to take credit. But you can’t be seen anywhere near her again tonight. I don’t want your name in the same paragraph of copy.”
Bran folded his hands over his stomach and leaned back. Aya should have known better than to tell him not to do something. You can’t—the words heated his blood so it seared through his skin, but in his mind it was Nelle’s voice saying them. The scent of her hair thick in his nose, the sequins of her top winking up at him.
You can’t was a challenge. He was going to get close to Nelle again. Tonight. He was going to win and she’d come home with him. And if he didn’t, there was the after-party. There were dark corners. He could admit that not getting caught was part of the draw. That he liked living on the edge. Aya had seen it on his face—sneaking around with Nelle affected him like the roar of a crowd. Like live drums that boom-boomed in veins like heartbeats. Hips that moved to the music like sex.
Like rock and roll.
“Kelly, are you listening to me? If I see one more picture of you two together, I’m stepping in.”
Spotlights roamed overhead and someone coaxed the crowd into applause. On the farthest stage, an actor—one of the brothers from those cop movies, Jackson or Milo Fox, he couldn’t tell which—was making an announcement Bran ignored until the last word: Nelle.
“You don’t want to do that to her.”
The arena went dark.
He used the momentary hush to ask Aya, “Do what to her?”
“Make her night about you.”
A single beam of gold light snapped on, and the audience erupted into genuine cheers. High above them, at the top of stage steps leading nowhere—nowhere but to her—stood Nelle, a silhouette of confident curves and backlighting.
Someone whistled long and loud, the shrill ringing in Bran’s ears, and Nelle waited, absorbing it all, second by second.
Her night.
Half an hour ago, he’d congratulated himself on his ability to see things from her perspective, never thinking of it as anything but his night.
Nelle was performing at the Note Awards. And minutes before she was about to go on, he’d been trying to distract her, to make her focus on him. Because he’d needed
an antidote to his father’s poison, a reason to win that would block out any thoughts of how it would benefit the old leech.
Bran’s stomach dropped out. What if she’d needed that time to prepare, what if because of him Nelle missed a step or a note? He had a sudden image of her tripping down the stairs, without him to catch her, and it felt like he was spinning, falling uncontrollably.
But then Nelle started to sing, and Bran’s face grew hot in the dark. Because she was a pro, her unaccompanied voice clear and strong as she walked gracefully down the stairs. Each step she took sent shockwaves of light across the black screens, a goddess spreading her power through a dark sky.
She was the queen of light and he embarrassed himself imagining he’d affected her ability to spark.
Nelle finished the first verse of “Under Water” and paused at the bottom of the stairs. All at once the music kicked on, the lights blazed, and she was flanked by a V of backup dancers.
Bran hid a grin behind his fist as Nelle took over the stage. The lights flashed and the bass shook and Nelle commanded it all, glittering from head to toe, performing perfection.
The song rose with the bridge and she sang, “Devotion’s an ocean, unstable in motion, I want to make it freeze—”
The music broke off, the lights cut out. In the dark, the audience was suspended in a state of rapture. This was why Bran loved live music. The crowd on the hook, captivated by a performance that transformed a song into something new. Nelle was incredible at it.
Switching back to a cappella, lit by a semicircle of dancers kneeling with candles, Nelle set them free.
“Ebb and flow,” she sang, her face lit by the flickering light.
And for the first time Bran understood it. He heard the heartbreak in her voice. It was a line about the inevitable, the things she couldn’t control. He braced himself for the next part—the part he had told her hadn’t dug deep enough. Get low wasn’t a dance-floor cop-out, it was tragedy, her acceptance of being pulled under.
Nelle’s voice rang through the darkness, loud and clean and powerful. “Ta-ta-ta, take me home.”
All the Best Nights Page 17