he trailed a fingertip down Shane’s arm from his elbow to his wrist. Shane flinched, and stared at him with wide, questioning eyes. “What?” he asked. Kiss me, Ilya wanted to say. Kiss me and hold me in front of all these people. Pull me onstage and do it. I don’t care anymore. Please. I’m dying. “Nothing,” Ilya said, and stepped away. “Nothing.”
