She tips her chin toward the adjacent booth.
I shrug. "Not my type. I don’t do athletes.” The man isn't my type because I don't have a type. I don't date. I don't collect men. I don't go out wearing white mini dresses. But my body reacts anyway with a low awareness. A tightening low in my belly. An interest I resent.
Tate nudges me. "The grumpy one keeps looking over here at you."
"He's not looking at me," I tell them.
Hazel grins. "He is. He's definitely looking at you."
I shake my head, ignoring them, and try to forget about the giant whose eyes I can feel on my neck.
Of course, it doesn’t take long for the booths to mingle because that's what happens when Polly is present. Someone knows someone. Someone introduces someone. Suddenly there are men standing near our table, laughing and leaning in to hear because the music is too loud.
Hazel is charming. Tate is bold. Polly is in her element.
The grumpy man remains where he is until he doesn't. He stands, the movement deliberate, unhurried. Tall enough that for a second, the space seems to tighten around him. He walks closer and stops at the edge of our booth. His gaze flicks over me once, a sweep that feels clinical, then back to Polly. Of course, he’s not interested in me. Something in my stomach sinks.
Polly beams at him. "Hi! I'm Polly."
He doesn't smile. "Your friend looks uncomfortable.”
My spine goes straight. Is he talking about me?
Polly looks at me. "Are you?"
"No," I lie automatically.
The man's gaze returns to me, steady, unblinking. Not flirtatious. More concerned. He leans in slightly so I can hear him over the music. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here.” There’s no judgment in his voice, just observation. Maybe even sympathy.
Heat crawls up my neck. He’s not wrong, but it still feels exposing. I know I don’t belong here, not when I have three supermodel besties. A blind man can see that.
“So do you. You look like you'd rather be at a dentist appointment."
His mouth twitches, amused by my comment. “Fair point, I would.”
Something about his honesty makes me relax a fraction.
"My friends dragged me here," he adds quietly. "Yours?"
"Same."
"Thought so." He nods like we're in on the same joke. "Kindred spirits."
Silence stretches between us, but it’s comfortable.
Polly tries to include him in the conversation by asking him questions that he answers politely but briefly. But I notice he doesn't leave. He stays near our booth. Near me. Not crowding. Just ... present.
The man doesn't try to impress me. He doesn't lean in too close like most men do at clubs, he doesn't make a show of being here. He just exists near me.
And for the first time tonight, I stop tugging on my dress and let myself … be. Enjoying the company of this man, who has intrigued me.
2
JOELLE
The night blurs at the edges. We talk, laugh, drink like none of us have flights in the morning. The grumpy man loosens up after a couple of drinks, but he isn’t loud or overbearing. When he does speak, it's to say something practical or dry. He’s funny in a dry, awkward way that’s unexpectedly cute. And I like the fact that he stays with me all night. Not crowding or pressuring me but making it known that he’s interested. I’m terrible at flirting, so I could be totally off base. There is the odd touch here and there, but nothing overtly obvious.
Every time he shifts, I'm aware of it. The breadth of his shoulders. The way his forearms flex when he picks up his drink. The deep rumble of his voice when he speaks. When Hazel suggests dancing, I decline. It’s not for me and I am not drunk enough for it to become me. When Polly disappears to the bathroom, Tate gets pulled into a conversation with one of the men from the other booth. I end up standing with the giant at the edge of the VIP area, looking out over the dance floor.
