Dinner rolls on like that with noise, laughter, and overlapping conversations. Dex reenacts a goal celebration so aggressively, the server threatens to cut him off. He slides halfway out of his chair, nearly knocks over a water glass, and insists it’s part of the story arc.
Gregory explains why plus-minus is misunderstood like he’s defending a dissertation, complete with hand gestures and a brief attempt to draw a diagram on a napkin.
Mason tells a story about a rookie prank that ends with a napkin pyramid, a confused hotel manager, and a solemn apology delivered in full gear.
Sloane keeps up. She asks questions that sharpen the punchlines, calls Dex out when he exaggerates, and meets Gregory’s statistics with an amused hum and a thoughtful, “That’s interesting, how did you track that?”
Dex stares at her for a minute, then breaks into a grin. “Okay, I like her. She asks the scary follow-up questions.”
Eli chuckles, lifting his beer in her direction. “That’s a skill. Most people just nod and pretend.”
Mia smiles, eyes warm and approving. “It’s refreshing. And honestly? Brave, walking into this group and holding your own.”
Annabelle nods, studying Sloane with open approval. “She’s got presence,” she says simply. “That kind of confidence usually comes from knowing your value.”
I glance around the table, then back to Sloane. “See? You ask one smart question and they’re all suddenly on their best behavior. Watch out though, it’s probably temporary.”
At some point, she leans forward to pass Annabelle the bread basket. Her knee brushes mine under the table.
It’s unintentional.
We both notice.
Neither of us moves away.
It’s not charged. Okay, maybe it's charged.
And it’s comfortable.
That might be worse.
When the plates are cleared and the guys immediately launch into a loud debate about whether ordering dessert means you’re still hungry or just emotionally committed to cheesecake, Sloane exhales and smiles at me.
“Your team is… a lot,” she says.
“They’re worse if they like you,” I tell her.
She chuckles. “Is that what this is?”
“Yeah,” I say honestly. “You’re surviving. That’s basically an endorsement.”
Dex slings an arm around Colby. “She passed initiation. Someone give her a jersey.”
Mason nods solemnly. “No, scratch that. A pin. Something subtle likeI Survived Dinner With The Outlaws.”
Eli raises his glass toward Sloane. “Congratulations. It’s well deserved.”
***
Outside, the night air is cooler. Quieter. The guys peel off in clusters, still chirping, still laughing, promising to see each other at practice in six hours like that’s reasonable. Dex yells something about brunch that nobody agrees to.
Sloane and I linger on the sidewalk.
“There’s something I wanted to show you,” I say, keeping my tone casual. “Might actually help with your artist. Arena engagement footage with crowd reactions, timing stuff, and logistics of events there. My place is two blocks that way, if it's not too late.”
She studies me. Really looks. Not assessing. Deciding.
Then she nods. “Okay.”
