-Devon.
I woke to the sharp sound of barking, the kind that sliced clean through whatever dream I'd been in. My eyes blinked open, heavy and reluctant, the room a blur until it settled into the familiar shapes of Bryce's guest suite. I sat up slowly, rubbing the heel of my hand against my eyes. The barking didn't stop.
Still in my pajamas, I shuffled out into the hall, the cool floor waking my feet before my head had a chance to catch up. Halfway down the corridor, something small and caramel-colored shot toward me like a furry missile, barking with all the force of a guard dog ten times his size. He skidded to a stop at my feet, tail wagging like it was powered by a motor.
A second later, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye—white fur, impossibly plush, gliding past in the manner of someone who had absolutely no stake in the chaos around them. A cat, every step deliberate, her expression unreadable.
I muttered to myself, "Am I even awake yet?"
That's when I noticed the woman standing in front of me, her presence warm and grounded. She was in her fifties, kind eyes behind faint lines that looked earned from years of laughter. She gave me the kindest smile I'd seen since arriving here and extended her hand.
"You must be Devon," she said.
I straightened a little, shaking her hand. "Yes. Devon. Nice to meet you."
"I'm Kate, the house manager," she said, voice carrying the ease of someone who kept the rhythm of this place. Her gaze dropped to the dog, then to the cat, as if their presence needed explaining. "Those are Mr. Villa's. We took them with us on vacation because Cereal here"—she bent to scoop up the little Pomeranian—"has separation anxiety. And when no one's at the house, he tends to pick fights with Milk."
I raised a brow. "Milk is the cat, right?"
Kate's grin widened. "Yes! They've both been with us since they were babies. They just turned three."
Before I could respond, Bryce appeared at the far end of the hallway, also in pajamas, his hair an endearing mess. The moment Cereal saw him, the dog's entire body quivered with excitement. Kate barely had time to lower him before he bolted, nails tapping against the floor, and leapt into Bryce's arms.
Bryce knelt to catch him, burying his face in the dog's fur. "Cereal! I missed you so much, oh my god!"
Kate slipped away toward the kitchen while Bryce came over, still holding Cereal like a prized treasure. "I hope you don't mind animals," he said, "and you don't have any allergies?"
"Nope and nope. I'm good," I replied. "I just didn't expect… the creativity in names."
"I know, right?" he said, eyes lighting up.
I gave him a slow nod with a crooked smile that I didn't try too hard to hide.
His eyes narrowed. "Oh my god, you're making fun of the names."
"I didn't say anything," I said.
"It fits them both so much! Look—" He held Cereal up, turning him so the dog's tiny face was directly in mine. "I can't bring Milk. She hates being picked up."
I leaned back slightly to avoid Cereal's panting. "It's funny you're respecting the cat's boundaries but not any other human's."
"When have I ever disrespected your wishes?" he asked, feigning innocence.
I gave him a look. "All the time. The other night, for example."
"That's different," he said, straightening with Cereal still tucked under his arm. "I can handle myself around the fans. Actually, I took taekwondo. I could definitely take you down easily."
I stared at him, the absurdity curling into a laugh I barely kept in check. "You? Take me down? Not a chance."
His grin widened, challenge already in his eyes. "You really want to test that?"
"Bryce, I could take you apart before you even figured out which stance to use."
"Big words for someone in pajamas," he said, shifting Cereal to one arm like he was clearing space for the fight he thought he wanted.
I smirked. "You want me to prove it?"
"Oh, please. Let's go," he said.
It was ridiculous. It was going to end with him losing. And somehow, I already knew I was going to enjoy every second of proving him wrong.
Bryce set Cereal down, the dog instantly circling us with yips that made the whole thing feel like we'd been thrown into a cartoon brawl. Bryce bounced on the balls of his feet, grinning like a kid who thought he'd just discovered a hidden talent.
"Alright," he said, "no holding back because I'm your boss."
"You're not my boss," I reminded him, adjusting the waistband of my pajama pants.
"Fine," he said, "no holding back because you're secretly in awe of my skills."
I stepped forward slowly, letting him think I was giving him time to prepare. "Alright, show me this lethal taekwondo form."
He squared up, hands a little too high, knees locked in a way that would get him swept off the mat in about two seconds. "Don't blink," he warned.
I didn't.
He lunged—not badly, but not well either. I sidestepped, caught his wrist, and twisted just enough to unbalance him. His foot caught on the edge of the hallway rug, and he let out a startled noise that was more laugh than anything else. I guided him down gently but firmly, pinning him before he could wriggle free.
"Wow," I said, looking down at him, "lethal."
He kicked at my shin, though without much force. "I wasn't ready."
"You said 'don't blink.'"
"I meant don't blink when I actually start."
I let him up, and he dusted himself off, cheeks faintly flushed but grinning like he'd just won something anyway. "Okay, rematch. Best of three."
"Bryce, you wouldn't survive three," I told him.
"That sounds like fear talking," he said, bouncing again.
From the corner, Milk the cat padded in, sat, and began licking her paw with an air of pure disinterest, as if she'd seen this level of stupidity before. Cereal barked once, spun in a circle, and Bryce immediately pointed at him. "See? He's rooting for me."
I laughed, shaking my head. "He's rooting for whoever feeds him next."
"Well, then, you're in trouble," Bryce said, lunging at me again.
I caught him mid-move and lifted him off his feet, his surprised shout echoing down the hall. "Taekwondo's got nothing on breakfast," I said, carrying him toward the kitchen while he kicked in protest, half-laughing, half-shouting for Cereal to "save him."
Bryce was still squirming in my arms when we hit the kitchen doorway, his voice pitching up in mock outrage.
"Kate! He's assaulting me!"
Kate, mid-pour with a pot of coffee, didn't even flinch. She looked over her glasses at us, one brow arched like she'd walked into this scene more than once. "If that's assault, I'd say you're enjoying it far too much, Mr. Villa."
Bryce laughed, still kicking uselessly while Cereal danced at my heels like this was the best entertainment he'd had all week. "Put me down, Devon, or I swear—"
"You swear what?" I asked, tightening my grip just enough to make his feet dangle higher off the ground.
"I swear I'll… I'll have Milk shred your shoes."
Kate set the coffee pot down with a sigh that sounded suspiciously like she was holding back a laugh. "If you two are going to wrestle, at least take it outside. I just cleaned this floor."
I lowered him slowly until his toes brushed the tile, then let go. He spun around instantly, pointing at me like he'd just caught me in a high crime. "You're lucky Kate's here. I was about to pull out my signature move."
"Your signature move?" I said, grabbing a mug and pouring myself coffee. "What, falling down creatively?"
Kate smirked. "That sounds about right."
Bryce's mouth fell open like he'd just been betrayed by his own staff. "Kate! You're supposed to be on my side."
"I'm on the side of whoever doesn't break my furniture," she replied, already moving toward the fridge.
Milk sauntered into the kitchen then, hopped onto the counter with a single fluid motion, and fixed Bryce with a slow blink that was the feline equivalent of a judgmental shake of the head.
"See?" I said, nodding toward her. "Even your cat knows I won."
Bryce scooped up Cereal and hugged him like a consolation prize. "We'll get him next time," he whispered to the dog, who licked his chin without any sense of loyalty.
I took a sip of my coffee, the warmth running through me in a way that felt grounding. "Next time," I told him, "I'm making you sign a waiver first."
Bryce grinned, already plotting something in that look. "Perfect. That way it'll be official when I beat you."
Kate muttered something under her breath that sounded a lot like "in your dreams," and I hid my smile behind the mug.
Kate had left us to our own devices, so it was just the two of us at the counter, plates warm in front of us. The smell of toast and coffee mingled with the faint trace of Cereal's shampoo—something floral that didn't match his attitude. Milk perched on the windowsill, tail flicking idly, pretending she wasn't invested in whether we dropped anything edible.
Bryce was halfway through a bite of eggs when he set his fork down, like something had just clicked in his head. "Remember when I told you they'd end up shipping us?"
I glanced up from my plate. "What are you talking about?"
His grin widened in a way that told me I might regret asking. He pulled his phone from his pocket, thumb tapping fast, then slid it across the counter to me.
I picked it up. The screen was a gallery of posts—pictures of us from shows, walking between venues, blurry crowd shots, even a couple from inside cars. People had taken those images and worked them into edits with glittery fonts, filters, and carefully timed song choices. Some were over-the-top romantic, others weirdly sentimental. Every caption made it sound like we were starring in a drama neither of us had signed up for.
My jaw eased open slowly until I caught myself. "You've got to be kidding me."
Bryce was watching me over his coffee mug like a man enjoying a private victory.
I looked at him. "Is this normal?"
"Yeah, pretty much," he said, leaning back casually. "They love you."
Before I could respond, Milk hopped down from the sill and came to headbutt my arm. Her fur was soft against my sleeve, her purr kicking in instantly.
Bryce's expression turned wounded. "I've been feeding her all her life, and look at her sucking up to you."
I gave Milk a scratch behind the ears. "She recognizes authenticity."
"Oh please," he scoffed, reaching for his phone again. In the process, he leaned in close—close enough that I caught the faint scent of his shampoo, the warmth of his shoulder brushing mine—then pulled back to his seat as if it hadn't happened at all.
He took a bite of toast before asking, "Do you have any siblings?"
"Yeah," I said, cutting into my eggs. "A brother and a sister."
"Did you play wrestle with your brother growing up?"
"No. My brother's about ten years older than me, so he wasn't exactly hanging around wanting to play."
Bryce nodded like he understood completely. "Same. The age difference between me and my youngest sister is twelve years, and the oldest is eighteen years older. It hasn't been all that fun."
I slowed my nod, studying him for a moment. "But you had friends, right?"
He hesitated, shrugged, the movement small but telling. "I guess so."
It wasn't the kind of shrug you threw away—it was one that carried weight, the kind that admitted more than the words did. It didn't sound like he'd had anyone he could actually lean on. I knew that particular kind of absence well. Treasure had been in my life for years, but reliability had never been part of the deal. Having someone close and still feeling like you were on your own was a strange kind of loneliness you didn't talk about much.
Bryce went back to eating like the conversation hadn't grazed anything real. Milk lingered by my side, her purr steady, while Cereal gnawed on something under the counter. The kitchen felt warmer than it had when we'd started breakfast, but I wasn't sure if that was from the coffee or from the fact that, just for a second, the banter had cracked into something honest.
Bryce must have caught on to the quiet stretch in the air, because he leaned back on his stool, a sly grin forming. "You know, with your brother not being into wrestling, you missed out. Builds character."
I took another sip of coffee. "I think I turned out fine without you teaching me character."
"That's debatable," he said, pushing his plate away and resting his elbows on the counter. "I could still take you, though. Breakfast or not."
I let out a dry laugh. "You want to start this again?"
"Oh, I don't want to start it," he said, his tone playful but challenging. "I want to finish it."
Bryce shifted like he was about to stand, maybe lunge again or make another smart remark, but I caught the motion before it had the chance to become anything. My hands closed around his forearms, firm enough to freeze him mid-step.
His grin faltered, just slightly, as I pushed him back a pace. Then another. The edge of the island caught him behind the hips, and I didn't stop until his back met the cool surface. His elbows bent under my hold, and I guided his wrists up, pressing them down against the marble above his head until his shoulders settled flat against it.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
We were close enough now that I could feel the shift of his breath against my jaw, see the sharp edge of amusement in his eyes tangled with something heavier. His hair was still mussed from sleep, the faintest flush across his cheekbones from the pressure of being held there.
"Still feel like finishing it?" I asked, voice lower, steady.
He gave a short laugh, but it wasn't as loose as before. "You think you've won?"
"I know I have."
The muscles in his arms tensed under my grip, testing the hold, but I didn't give an inch. The island between us was cool under his back; the air between us was anything but.
Cereal barked from somewhere near the door, his nails clicking on the tile as if he couldn't decide whether to join in or run for help. Milk stayed perched in the corner, tail flicking, the only witness with the patience to see who would give in first.
Bryce's gaze stayed locked on mine, his smirk returning in slow degrees, but the weight behind it had shifted. "You're enjoying this," he said quietly.
I let the corner of my mouth lift. "Maybe."
His wrists were warm under my hands, the tendons shifting when he tested the hold again, his breath brushing quick against my face. The heat in the space between us had thickened without either of us meaning to, the kind that could tip into something else if I let it run too long. And judging by the way his gaze had stopped darting toward my grip and stayed fixed on my eyes, I had a suspicion he'd follow if it did.
I let go. Slowly, deliberately.
His arms lowered but didn't drop all the way at first, like they hadn't caught up to the freedom yet. I stepped back, feeling the air cool against the front of me where he'd been. My palms still held the warmth of his skin.
Bryce slid off the island, straightening his shirt in a way that was more about having something to do than actually fixing it. He grabbed the edge of the counter for balance, though his smirk came back as soon as he caught my expression.
"Scared you were about to lose?" he said, voice light, but I could hear the undercurrent.
"Scared you were about to misunderstand," I replied, turning toward the coffee like I was done with the subject.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him tilt his head. "Misunderstand what?"
"That I wasn't just showing you how easy you are to pin," I said, pouring myself another cup, "but how fast you'd stay there if I wanted you to."
His laugh was short, but not dismissive, more like he'd filed that away for later. "You really like having the last word, don't you?"
"I don't mind letting you have it," I said, "if you can get it out from under me."
Cereal barked at that, as if he knew exactly what we were talking about, and Bryce leaned down to scoop him up, burying his face in the dog's fur for a second longer than necessary.
When he straightened, he wore the same easy grin, but I could still feel the ghost of that moment against my skin, the solid press of him under my hands.
"Breakfast was nice," he said, walking toward the door with Cereal in his arms. "Next time, though, I'm winning."
"Next time," I called after him, "you'd better stretch first."
His laugh trailed back into the hallway, leaving the kitchen warm with something that wasn't just from the coffee.
The kitchen felt quieter once he was gone, though it wasn't the kind of quiet that settled—it was the kind that lingered in the corners, replaying things you didn't plan on thinking about. I stood there with my coffee, the steam curling up into the space between me and whatever was still hanging in the air.
I could still feel the shape of his wrists under my palms, the faint give of muscle against my grip, the heat that had been there like it was meant to climb higher if I'd just held on longer. The look in his eyes hadn't been surprise after the first second. It had been steady, meeting mine like he was curious to see what I'd do if neither of us moved away. That was the part that unsettled me.
It wasn't just that I'd felt the heat getting to me. It was knowing that if I hadn't stepped back, he might have matched it. That unspoken possibility carried its own weight, one I wasn't sure I wanted to measure just yet.
I set my mug down on the counter and leaned both hands on the edge, the cool stone grounding me. Milk hopped up beside me, silent, her fur brushing my arm before she sat with her back to me, tail curling neatly around her paws. She was looking toward the doorway he'd left through, and it was almost too easy to imagine she was wondering the same thing I was.
"Don't look at me like that," I muttered, giving her a slow scratch behind the ear.
She blinked at me once, slow and unimpressed, then leaned into the touch anyway.
From the hallway, Bryce's laugh echoed faintly, followed by Cereal's yapping. I felt my mouth twitch, a reluctant grin breaking through, but the tightness in my chest didn't go anywhere. Whatever just happened wasn't going to vanish into the same category as our usual banter.
I picked up my coffee again, telling myself it was just a game, just another way for him to try and get under my skin. Still, I couldn't shake the thought that for a second there, he'd almost succeeded—and I wasn't entirely sure I would've minded.
Bryce stayed on the rug with Cereal draped across his lap like a furry sash, scrolling lazily through his phone with his free hand. He glanced up suddenly, eyes sparking like he'd just remembered something worth springing on me.
"You busy tonight?"
I gave him a flat look. "You've got me on retainer, remember? If you've got something planned, I'm automatically busy."
"Good," he said, sitting up straighter. "There's a party I want to go to. Private thing. Friends of mine are throwing it at this loft downtown."
I raised a brow. "Define private."
He smirked, clearly aware I'd asked the question more than once in different contexts. "Private as in—invite-only, password at the door, no press. It's safe. Mostly."
"Mostly," I repeated, my tone dry.
He waved a hand. "It's not that kind of crowd. Just creatives, some industry people, friends from back before the label. No one who's going to sell a grainy photo of me for a hundred bucks."
"You really think the risk is that low?"
"Come on," he said, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "It'll be good. Live music, rooftop view of the city, good food, and I promise I won't make you dance unless you ask me to."
I gave him a look that made him grin wider. "If it's as tame as you're making it sound, fine. But if anything happens—"
"You'll save me," he cut in, almost sing-song.
"That's not what I was going to say," I told him, though he wasn't wrong. "I was going to say you're heading straight back here. No arguments."
He nodded, then stood and scooped Cereal into his arms, already moving toward the hallway. "Deal. But you're going to have to wear something better than what you wore to breakfast."
I shook my head and followed him out, thinking about what "private" meant in Bryce's world. My gut told me this wouldn't just be another easy babysitting shift. The heat from earlier was still there, and I had the feeling a night like this—tight spaces, music, too many people watching—wasn't going to cool it down.
The car rolled to a stop in front of the building, the hum of the engine fading under the thump of bass spilling faintly from somewhere above us. The loft sat at the edge of the district, an old brick structure with wide industrial windows glowing gold from the inside. The air was cool, the city's night scent a mix of asphalt and whatever someone was grilling on a balcony a few streets away.
Bryce adjusted his jacket as we stepped out, the fabric catching on the light when he moved. He'd gone for something casual enough to pass as effortless, but deliberate enough to make people look twice. I'd spent longer than I'd admit making sure I didn't look like the guy who was only there to work, even if that's exactly what I was.
The doorman was a man built like he could move a piano with one hand, his bald head reflecting the glow from the lobby light above. Bryce greeted him like an old friend, a quick clasp of hands and a muttered password. We were waved in without a glance at a list.
The elevator was slow, its brass paneling polished but worn at the corners. Bryce leaned back against the mirrored wall, hands in his pockets, his reflection catching mine in the glass.
"You're already scoping the place out, aren't you?" he said.
"That's why I'm here," I replied.
"That's one reason," he said, his tone light but his eyes holding mine a beat too long.
When the doors opened, the sound hit first. Music poured out in layers—bass deep enough to hum in your bones, guitar riffs weaving through, the rise and fall of voices over it all. The loft was one massive open space, ceiling high enough to swallow the heat of so many bodies and still keep it breathable. Exposed beams crisscrossed above, and strands of warm bulbs tangled around them like vines. The air smelled faintly of spiced liquor and something sweet being passed around on trays.
Clusters of people filled the room, some leaning against the wide windows that looked out over the city, others gathered around a makeshift stage in the corner where a band was setting up. The crowd's laughter rose and fell like a tide, small eruptions breaking away to ripple across the space.
Bryce stepped in like he belonged to the place, which, judging from the way people lit up at the sight of him, he might as well have. Hands reached out to clasp his shoulder, voices called his name, someone slipped him a drink before he'd even taken his second step. I stayed close but not in his shadow, letting the room's rhythm settle into something I could read.
At one point, a woman in a black silk dress leaned in to kiss his cheek, laughing at something he whispered back. Her hand lingered on his arm, and though it was nothing unusual, I still found myself noting the way he didn't move it away right away. He caught my eye over her shoulder, and for a second, that grin of his was aimed squarely at me.
"Want me to introduce you around?" he asked when she drifted off, his voice pitched to carry over the music.
"I'm fine observing," I said.
"Of course you are," he teased, taking a sip from his glass. "But try to look like you're having fun, or they'll think I dragged you here against your will."
I almost told him that wasn't far from the truth, but someone caught his attention from across the room, waving him over. He touched my arm as he moved past, brief enough to pass as nothing in the chaos, but it stayed with me as I followed him into the crowd.
The music had swelled, the crowd pressing in just enough that each step meant brushing against someone. Bryce navigated through it with the ease of someone who knew exactly how to be seen without looking like he was trying. Every so often he'd greet someone, exchange a few words, but his hand would hover briefly at my arm before moving on.
He slowed near the far end of the loft where a set of wide windows stretched from waist-height to the ceiling, their glass cool and black against the spill of city lights outside. A low bench ran along the wall, half-shielded by a curtain of hanging plants. It was quieter here, the music still present but dulled to a heartbeat through the walls.
"Sit," Bryce said, already sliding onto the bench with his drink in hand.
I stayed standing, scanning the room once before looking down at him. "You're not hiding, are you?"
"Of course not," he said, patting the space next to him with mock innocence. "Just taking a break before I charm the entire place."
I sat anyway, keeping my back angled so I could see most of the room. He took a long sip from his glass, the amber catching the light before disappearing past his grin.
"You really don't drink?" he asked, turning toward me.
"I really don't."
"Not even to loosen up?"
"I'm plenty loose," I said, deadpan.
He laughed, leaning back against the window. "That's the biggest lie I've heard all week."
"You must not be listening to yourself much," I said, and his laugh deepened, warm enough to make the corner of my mouth twitch despite myself.
For a moment he just studied me, his drink cradled loosely in one hand. "You know, you're harder to read than most people I meet," he said, voice quieter now. "It's either that or you've just built really high walls."
I didn't answer right away. "And you think a party is the place to talk about walls?"
"Sometimes," he said with a shrug. "People have less guard up when there's noise around them. The trick is getting them to forget they're telling you anything."
"And you want me to forget?"
He smiled, but it was softer this time. "No. I just want to know if you've always been like this. Or if it's… recent."
There was sincerity in his tone that didn't match the teasing grin from earlier. I found myself watching the way his fingers tapped against the glass, restless but not impatient.
"Maybe both," I said finally.
He tilted his head, as if to say he'd take that for now. "You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?"
"You don't strike me as the type who likes easy," I said.
That pulled another small laugh from him, though his eyes stayed on mine for a beat too long. Cereal wasn't here to break the tension, and the plants above us didn't sway enough to pretend the air wasn't heavier in this corner.
Bryce swirled the last of his drink and set the empty glass on the bench between us. "If you ever do decide to drink," he said, "I want to be there. Just so I can see if you'd actually laugh at one of my bad jokes."
"You'd be disappointed," I told him.
He leaned in slightly, his shoulder brushing mine. "I doubt it."
His shoulder lingered against mine, not heavy enough to claim space, but enough to be noticed. The music from the main floor rolled in muffled waves, broken by pockets of laughter and the occasional cheer. His glass sat empty between us, catching the low light, and I found myself watching the way his fingers idly traced the rim before settling in his lap.
"You've been talking about me all night," I said, leaning back just enough to see his face clearly. "Let me ask you something for a change."
His mouth curved into that half-smile that always looked like he was about to dare me into something. "Go ahead."
"How many people in this room do you actually trust?"
He glanced toward the crowd, his expression unreadable for a moment. "Define trust."
"The kind where you'd hand them your phone unlocked," I said.
That made him laugh, low and quick. "Maybe two. And one of them is the guy at the door."
"Which means not many here are friends," I pressed.
"They're… connections," he said, his voice casual but his eyes avoiding mine briefly. "Some overlap with friends. Not often."
I let the silence hang, then asked, "You keep it that way on purpose?"
He exhaled, almost a sigh. "When you grow up watching people shift their behavior depending on what they think they can get from you, you learn to keep things separate."
I studied him in that moment—his posture still relaxed, but the way his jaw tightened when he said it was a tell he probably didn't realize he'd given. "You didn't have that one friend who was there before all this?"
"I had a few," he said, his gaze returning to mine. "They just… weren't built to last. People change. Or maybe I did."
"Sounds lonely," I said, not as a question.
"It can be," he admitted, no grin this time.
I decided to push further. "What about family? You talk to them much?"
He shrugged lightly. "I call my sisters. Sometimes. My mom if I'm not on tour. My dad's never been much of a phone person." He paused, then added, "Or much of a person I want to call, period."
The edge in his tone wasn't sharp, just flat—like it had been sanded down over time until it was smooth enough to say out loud.
I nodded slowly. "So you keep your circle small because it's easier to control who gets close."
He smirked faintly, though there was no humor behind it. "You make it sound like I'm calculating everything."
"Are you?" I asked.
He didn't answer right away. Then, with a small lift of his shoulders, he said, "Sometimes. Not with everyone."
"Not with me?" I said before I could decide if it was a question I should ask.
That brought his grin back, slower this time, his eyes holding mine without a flicker. "What do you think?"
I let the pause draw long enough for him to lean in just slightly, the faint scent of his drink still on his breath. "I think," I said, "you've been trying to figure me out since the day we met, and you still haven't decided what to do with what you've found."
He didn't pull back. "Maybe I'm not done finding things."
The hum of the party felt distant then, the heat in this quiet corner rising in its place