The Giant, startled—and honestly, who can blame him—lurches backward and lands directly on the Christmas tree in the corner.
The tree doesn't just fall. It crashes into the bar's ancient sound system with a sound like the end of days.
Sparks fly.
Actual fucking sparks.
Someone yells, "FIRE!"
There's no actual fire, just sparks, but panic is contagious and logic has left the building.
Everyone starts moving at once.
The Comedian tries to grab the tree and knocks into someone else.
It's a full domino effect. People crashing into each other. Drinks flying. Glass shattering. Pure, beautiful chaos.
I rush out from behind the bar because apparently my survival instincts died in the foam incident.
Someone—The Russian? The Comedian? I can't be sure at this point—crashes into me.
The impact sends me flying backward.
I try to catch myself.
Fail.
Go down.
But I don't hit the floor. I crash directly into someone standing behind me.
And then, we both go down and I land on top of a very solid, very muscular body.
My hands are on someone's chest. His chest is impressive. This is not the time to notice this, but my brain isn't taking requests right now. Our faces are inches apart. My brain takes three full seconds to process what's happening. Then I realize.
It's The Handsome.
Of course it's The Handsome, because my life is a comedy written by a sadist with a vendetta.
The Handsome's hands are on my waist, steadying me. Or maybe he's just as shocked as I am.
Our eyes meet.
His are even bluer up close. Fuck my entire life.
I open my mouth to say something. Anything. An apology. A joke. A confession of my sins.
What comes out is, "Hi."
The Handsome's lips twitch. "Hi yourself."
And that's when I notice the Christmas tree is now actually burning.
CHAPTER 2
ACE
I'M ON MY back.
