I spot themimmediately—three of my buddies, already half a round in. I raise my glass in their direction, earning a cheer. By the time I reach the table, the guys are already shuffling down the bench to make space.
“Jesse,” Mason calls, grinning. “Thought you got lost.”
“You know me,” I grin, clapping Carter on the shoulder. “I just like to make an entrance.”
“Always late and always full of shit,” Luca jokes. “Good to see you, man.”
I take the open seat next to Carter, sliding in beside two girls who are chatting over flights of IPA at the end of the table. It’s a tight squeeze and my shoulder brushes against the woman nearest me. She glances up, and for a second, the noise around us blurs. I haven’t seen her before—no chance I’d forget a face like hers. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s new to Deep Cove. How do I know? I know everyone.
“Sorry, space seems to be a hot commodity tonight,” I say, leaning into the gorgeous blonde wearing a hot as fuck halter top, just close enough to be heard over the music.
She glances at me, and there’s a flicker of surprise. Recognition, maybe? And then it’s gone. It was the kind of look people give when they’ve seen your face somewhere before but can’t quite place it. It’s something I’ve gotten used to, working for a brand that plasters my photo across social media sites. Still, something about the way her gaze sharpened felt different.
“You’re fine,” she says, tone slightly clipped. “I can try to move over.”
“I’m good either way. I’ve survived tighter squeezes.”
Mason, of course, hears that. “Yeah, you have,” he says, chuckling over the rim of his beer glass.
The friend laughs, but it dies on her lips when she meets the gaze of the blonde next to me. I glance over at her again and she doesn’t look amused.
But damn, she’sbeautiful.
It’s the kind of beautiful that sneaks up on you, and then suddenly, it’s all you can see. Her skin is smooth, and sun-kissed in a way that makes me think she spends a lot of time outdoors. Her hair is dark blonde, long and glossy, pulled back off her face. She has these sharp, striking features—high cheekbones and a defined jawline, a straight, delicate nose with just enough of a slope to make it disarmingly feminine. But it’s her mouth that has me captivated. Her lips are pillowy and full, with the faintest dip in her top lip. They look impossibly soft, and they part slightly when she breathes, just enough to reveal a glimpse of perfectly straight white teeth.
There’s something about her that feels polished and composed—the way she’s perched on her stool, spine straight, posture perfect. I can already tell there is a quiet stubbornness about her, the kind of self-control that makes me wonder what it would take to break it.
My thoughts are interrupted when Luca elbows my side, smirking. “Alright, gentlemen, let’s talk about what really happened at that investor dinner last week.”
Carter groans. “Oh, here we go.”
“No, no—this is good,” Mason cuts in. “It’s not every day Jesse tells a man worth two hundred million that he ‘vibes corporate transparency.’”
“It was a solid point,” I say. “In context.”
“There was no context,” Luca says, laughing. “You were three bourbons in.”
“Four,” Mason corrects.
I shrug, unapologetic. “He agreed with me.”
“He called you a ‘refreshing risk,’” Carter says. “Which is billionaire code for a liability.”
“At least I made an impression,” I say with a grin. “You guys should take notes.”
“You’ve had some memorable moments, I’ll give you that,” Luca laughs.
I’ve known Luca and Mason since we were kids in middle school, so they know all of my most infamous stories—they were there for most of them. Carter and I met at the gym several years ago. He’s a personal trainer and the guy has muscles that make gym posters look underachieving.
“A refreshing risk,” Mason repeats. “That’s going on your business card.”
“Along with ‘Professional Shit Disturber’ and ‘Part Time Firefighter,’” Luca adds, taking a pull of his beer.
“But only if he starts the fire first,” Carter says, cracking up.
“You set a kitchen on fireone time,and you never hear the end of it,” I deadpan.
The table breaks into easy laughter again, and the noise fills the space around us—music, chatter, glasses clinking. Beside me, New Girl and her friend whose name I overheard as Lottie, are mid-conversation but every now and then, I catch the blonde glancing our way. She’s trying not to be obvious, but I can feel it—her attention on us, slipping toward me.
