“I don't need to be pushed.”
Owen gave me a look that said he wasn't buying it, but he didn't push. Instead, he got pulled away by another customer, leaving me alone with my water and my thoughts.
That's when I noticed the guy.
He was sitting three stools down: mid-twenties, an athletic build, dark hair, wearing a button-down that fit well enough to show he worked out. He'd been glancing over periodically, and when our eyes met, he smiled.
My pulse spiked immediately.
He picked up his drink and moved closer, sliding onto the stool next to mine with easy confidence. “You're Jace Hartley, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Thought so. Saw you play tonight. Those goals were sick.” His smile was warm and genuine, and when he extended his hand, I shook it on autopilot. “I'm Connor.”
“Hey.” My voice sounded normal, which was a miracle considering my heart was trying to escape my chest.
“You come here often?”
I'd spent years perfecting the art of deflecting this exact situation with women. But this was different. This was a guy, and he was good-looking, and he was definitely interested, and I had absolutely no idea what to do with any of it.
“Sometimes,” I managed. “A friend of mine owns the place.”
Connor's smile widened. “Lucky friend.” He leaned in slightly. “Can I buy you a drink? Or are you one of those athletes who doesn't drink during the season?”
“I—” My throat was tight. My hands were starting to sweat. Every instinct was screaming at me to shut this down, make an excuse, leave before anyone saw and started asking questions I couldn't answer. “I should probably?—”
“Hartley!” Owen's voice cut through my panic like a knife. He appeared at our section of the bar, wiping down the counter with exaggerated attention. “Your usual?”
I grabbed the lifeline. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Connor looked between us, clearly reading the room. “I'll let you catch up with your friend.” He pulled out his phone. “But if you want company later, I'm around.”
He was offering me his number. Openly. Casually. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Thanks,” I said, not taking the phone, not giving him mine. “I'm good.”
His smile didn't falter, but a shift moved through his eyes. Understanding, maybe. Or disappointment. “No worries. Enjoy your night.”
He moved back to his original spot, and I sat there feeling my heart pound against my ribs like it was trying to break free.
Owen set a glass of ginger ale in front of me. Not alcohol. He knew what I needed. “You okay?”
“Fine.” I took a drink and tried to steady my breathing. “Just tired.”
“He was cute.” Owen's voice was low, just for me. “And very interested.”
“I know.”
“But you panicked.”
“I didn't panic.”
“Jace.” Owen leaned against the bar, his expression gentle but direct. “You can't keep doing this to yourself. Running away every time someone shows interest.”
“I'm not running. I'm being smart.” I took another drink. “You know what would happen if anyone found out. It's not worth the risk.”
“Maybe not yet,” Owen said carefully. “But eventually you're going to have to decide if hiding is worth more than living.”
