Nicholas holds up his wrist. “Want my watch too?”
“Smartwatch?” Nova crinkles her nose. “No thanks.”
Koen and Sylus chuckle as Nicholas mumbles defensively, “I like to track my fitness stats.”
“All right then.” Levi grins, clearly enjoying the exchange. “What’s your favorite?”
Nova doesn’t hesitate. “Rolex.”
I laugh softly, shaking my head.
“Not a Rolex, but apparently good enough since you swiped it once,” Koen pulls off his vintage Patek Philippe, which is worth more than a fucking Rolex, and tosses it to me.
I put it on Nova’s wrist before I take her hand in mine. “Traditional wristband watches are another level. It’s all about manipulating attention. Broad distractions won’t cut it. You need finesse.”
I slowly trace the edge of the watch. “You split their focus, talk to them, touch them, give them something to fixate on, or?—”
“Or…” Nova interrupts, her smirk widening into a playful challenge. “You just skip the fuss and use your thumb.”
“True, but that’s riskier.” I meet her gaze, a grin tugging at my lips. “The mark could look down at any moment.”
“Not if you’re good.” Her voice drops to a teasing lilt. “Or if you’ve got your tits in their face.”
The room erupts with laughter, but my focus stays locked on her, the way her smirk plays at the corners of her lips, daring me.
Fuck, I love this girl.
With a single fluid motion, I use my thumb as she suggested, and I release her wrist, Koen’s watch now spinning effortlessly between my fingers.
“You’re incredible, Ace,” Nova murmurs, the words hitting me harder than they should.
“Understatement of the century,” Sylus chimes in from somewhere behind her, but I barely register it.
Nova’s eyes never leave mine. “Told you he’s the best.”
Her pride in me is a weight and a gift all at once, settling in my chest and chasing away the years of feeling like a ghost, a half-formed version of myself.
With her looking at me that way, as though I’m more than my scars and my mistakes, I don’t simply feel alive again.
I feel whole.
And maybe even brave enough to become the man she already thinks I am.
TWENTY-ONE
Ace’s touch lingers like an aftershock, the effortless display of skill still buzzing under my skin. The weight of it trails after me as we move back to the couch to eat, my mind still trying to catch up, still reeling from the way he tilts my world on its axis without even trying.
Good Lookin’ jumps up into Ace’s lap, a soft brush of warmth against my thigh.
The little traitor.
But as I reach out and stroke her fur, a scent fills my nose, and my focus shifts. The citrusy notes of bergamot wrap around me, clinging to Nicholas’s shirt like a phantom hug. The fabric brushes against my skin with every tiny shift I make, but it’s his scent that gets me.
Every inhale is him.
And then there’s the man himself, sitting across the room, chest bare and looking like he walked out of a goddamn fever dream. Nicholas Harrington is fine. Too fine. The kind that makes your chest clench and your mind race with thoughts you shouldn’t be having. He’s talking with Koen, his voice low, sending a shiver down my spine, and I forget to breathe.
Then, the guilt crashes in.
