“Like the spring,” Luca says with mock seriousness, and we all burst into laughter.
“Yes, Luca.” I roll my eyes. “Meet theSpring Fling Sisters.” Then I point. “And this is my sister, Anna, and my best friend, Bri.”
The girls wave shyly, because honestly, who wouldn’t be a little flustered? Four of the league’s hottest players just crashed our night out.
“Well,” Luca says, holding out his hand to June, “I feel like dancing. Want to join me?”
June hesitates, then smiles and lets him lead her onto the floor. April’s jaw drops, and I laugh at the look on her face.
Thiago puffs his chest out next. “Marianna,” he says, voice smooth and low, “¿quieres bailar, hermosa?” (Would you like to dance, beautiful?)
Anna arches a brow, then smirks. “You know what? Why not?”
Thiago grins, their fingers intertwining as he hauls her toward the dance floor. They disappear into the crowd, swallowed by flashing lights and the sway of bodies moving to the rhythm.
Before I can even catch my breath, Bruno steps forward and flashes Bri a charming smile. “May I have this dance?” he asks, offering his hand like a gentleman straight out of an old movie.
Bri giggles, eyes sparkling. “You may,” she says, slipping her hand into his.
They flow into the music, spinning their way toward the center of the floor.
Noah watches them go, then sighs dramatically. “I’m Australian,” he says dryly. “I have no idea how to salsa.”
April hooks her arm through May’s. “She’ll teach you!” she says, shoving her sister toward him.
May glares daggers, but Noah only grins. “Guess I’m in good hands, then.”
“Have fun!” April calls after her, giggling.
I shake my head, laughing. “Look at them go.”
They’re all gorgeous, bodies moving like they were made for this. Thiago spins Anna, June laughs against Luca’s chest, and even May is loosening up with Noah. There’s somethingintoxicating about watching people fall into step with each other, like the universe is quietly pairing souls off one song at a time.
“Want another drink?” I ask, trying to ignore the strange flutter in my chest.
“That’d be great,” April says, dragging her phone from her pocket. “Do you mind grabbing it? I want to call Max real quick.”
“Of course. Margarita?”
“With salt,” she says.
“You got it.”
The club is pulsing as I make my way toward the bar. Every step is a wave of sound—horns, drums, bass so deep it thrums through my bones. The air smells of lime, rum, and sweat—joy itself.
Flashes of color dance across the walls—neon pinks, fiery golds, and ocean blues. Couples swirl past, laughter spilling between songs. I slip between them, murmuring excuse-mes.
Someone laughs nearby, a glass shatters, and before I can look up, a hand grazes the small of my back, firm and familiar.
The music fades, or maybe my brain just forgets to hear it.
I turn sharply and my breath catches.
Stormy-gray eyes. A smile that shouldn’t exist in this heat but somehow burns hotter than the room.
Rogue, is here.
“What are you doing here?” I manage, my breath catching.
