“You gonna keep staring,” I ask, “or are you going to tell me your name?”
That earns me a grin. Real this time. Dangerous. “Lucky.”
I blink. “That’s a nickname.”
“Yeah.” His thumb shifts slightly, still resting against my wrist. “Lucas Kane. But everyone calls me Lucky.”
I meet his gaze. “Savannah.”
He repeats it like he’s testing how it feels in his mouth. “Savannah.”
Heat blooms, slow and unmistakable.
“So,” Lucky says, eyes never leaving mine, “you betting your team’s got this?”
“Absolutely.”
“Alright.” His brows lift slightly. “Let’s make it interesting.”
“I’m listening.”
“If your team wins,” he says, voice dropping, “you get to pick my next tattoo.”
My breath catches before I can stop it. “You’re serious.”
“Dead.” His gaze flicks back to my sleeve, then returns to my eyes. “Permanent. Inked by someone you choose.”
“And if you win?” I ask, already knowing I’m in trouble.
His fingers curl gently around my wrist, not trapping, just claiming space. “Then I pick yours.”
A thrill races straight down my spine. “You don’t even know what I don’t have yet.”
His smile goes slow. Intent. “I’ve got a pretty good imagination.”
From the booth, Lena whistles loudly. “Savannah!”
“Trivia’s back!” Noah yells.
I step away before I forget how breathing works, but I don’t pull my wrist free until the last possible second.
“You in?” Lucky asks.
I smile, pulse skidding, and nod. “You’re awfully confident for a man about to lose.”
His eyes track me as I back toward my table. “Don’t worry. Either way, I’m walking away with something I want.”
I turn, heart hammering, adrenaline buzzing hot and sharp, and make it back to my booth just in time for the next question. The last two rounds blur together in a haze of shouted answers, frantic scribbling, and me pacing behind the booth like a caged animal. Every time the scores flash, we’re still tied. Neck and neck. No give on either side. I try to focus, but my brain keeps wandering. To ink. To skin. To Lucky sitting for hours under a needle because I beat him fair and square. To what he might pick for me if the universe decides to humble me tonight. The thought only sharpens my edge.
I’m hyperaware now, locked in, competitive in that feral way where losing isn’t an option. Trivia stops being a game and turns into a challenge. I plant my hands on the table, lean forward, and grin like I’ve already decided how this ends.
The trivia hosttaps the mic again, grinning like he knows exactly how feral he’s about to make the room. “Alright, folks,” he says, letting the pause stretch just long enough to hurt. “For the second week in a row, we’ve got ourselves a tie.”The bar erupts in groans and cheers, a mix of disbelief and anticipation. He chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “Which means we’re heading into sudden death. Again. One question. No talking. Write it down and hope you know your stuff.”
The bar quiets in that unnatural way, like everyone’s leaning forward at the same time. Sudden death.
My heart is pounding so hard I swear it’s visible. I’m on my feet without realizing it, one hand braced on the back of the booth. Across the room, the Reapers are standing too. Lucky’s shoulders are squared, pen in hand, focus locked in like this actually matters.
He looks at me. Just once. His gaze is sharp, challenging, almost daring me to blink first. I don’t.
