Chapter 8 – Unwanted Curiosity

 

By the time my shift ends at Club Mirage, it’s close to two in the morning, and my feet are screaming at me in languages I didn’t even know they spoke. High heels are glamorous until you’ve been wearing them for six hours, spinning, twirling, strutting, smiling at strangers while pretending you don’t feel the dull ache of loneliness at the pit of your stomach.

But the music, the lights, the way the crowd cheers—it always covers it up, at least until the show is over.

I swipe off the glittery lip gloss in the dressing room, but I’m still in my stage outfit when I leave. My regular clothes are stuffed in my duffel bag, but honestly, I didn’t have the energy to change. Sequined shorts and a cropped top with rhinestones across the neckline aren’t exactly subtle, but they’re also not the worst thing I’ve ever walked home in.

The Uber drops me off in front of Liam’s house. The neighborhood is quiet, wrapped in the kind of silence that makes my ears buzz. I slip out, adjusting the strap of my bag, and tiptoe up the walkway. I’m hoping to sneak inside unnoticed.

Of course, the universe laughs at me.

Because when I push open the front door, there he is. Liam.

Standing in the hallway. Barefoot, wearing a gray t-shirt and sweats, his hair mussed like he’d just gotten out of bed—or maybe like he hadn’t slept at all. He’s holding a glass of water, frozen mid-step when he sees me.

His gaze sweeps over me in an instant. Head to toe. And it’s not subtle.

My sequins catch the dim light from the lamp in the corner, throwing little sparkles against the wall. The neckline dips low, my legs bare under the shorts, makeup still fresh enough to scream “stage.”

For a second, neither of us speaks.

His jaw tightens, like he’s annoyed at himself for looking. Or maybe annoyed at me for existing. Hard to tell with him.

I clear my throat. “Don’t get the wrong idea. This is work.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he replies, but his voice sounds rougher than usual.

“You didn’t have to.” I brush past him toward the stairs, but my pulse is doing somersaults.

I can feel his eyes on me, even as I climb a step. That heat. That weight. Like he’s trying not to look but can’t help it.

It should irritate me. Instead, my skin tingles all over.

I stop halfway up, turning back to him. “What? Do I look like a glitter bomb exploded on me?”

His eyes flicker to my legs, then back up to my face. “You look… different.”

“Different bad or different good?”

His jaw works. “Just different.”

I smirk, even though my heart’s hammering. “Well, I don’t exactly go grocery shopping in rhinestones, so don’t get used to it.”

He leans against the banister, crossing his arms over his chest. “I didn’t realize it was… that kind of job.”

There it is. The judgment.

“Don’t start,” I warn, my voice sharper than I mean it to be. “I perform. I dance. That’s all it is.”

He doesn’t answer right away, and I can’t tell if it’s because he doesn’t believe me or because he doesn’t know what to say. His silence is worse than words, though—it feels heavy, like it’s pressing against me.

I grip the railing. “I don’t need your approval, Liam.”

Something flickers in his eyes then—something almost guilty. “I wasn’t…” He exhales, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Forget it.”

But I can’t. Because the way he looked at me just now didn’t feel like judgment. Not entirely.

It felt like something else. Something hungrier.

And that scares me more than any judgment ever could.

I turn back up the stairs, forcing my voice to sound breezy. “Goodnight, Mr. Carter. Try not to lose sleep over my sequins.”

“Zara—” he starts, but I don’t let him finish.

I push into the guest room and shut the door, pressing my back against it. My chest rises and falls too quickly, like I’ve just finished another performance. Only this time, there was no stage, no lights, no crowd. Just Liam.

And that look in his eyes that I can’t shake.

That look that makes me wonder what would happen if either of us ever dared to break the one rule we agreed on.

No touching.

But rules are only rules… until they’re broken.

And something tells me, it’s only a matter of time.