The sound cut through the music, bright and familiar. He turned, searching, until he spotted an elegant woman weaving through the crowd. Her gown sparkled in silver-blue, the fabric gathered in one hand so she wouldn’t trip as she hurried toward him.
For a moment, he didn’t recognize her; she was just another flawless face in a sea of them, until she drew close enough for the shape of her smile to click into place.
“Bea?” he breathed, half in disbelief.
Bea swept toward him in a shimmer of satin and perfume, her grin as wide as ever. She bent instinctively to hug him, but Quinn jumped to his feet before she could manage it in her fitted gown. They collided halfway, laughing as her arms wrapped around him.
“I’m so happy to see you,” she said, pulling back to kiss his cheek.
They exchanged quick kisses, one on each side, before their hands found each other and lingered. Quinn was smiling so hard that his face was already aching, but hewasglad to have her there.
“Eren asked me to come, and I can’t turn down free food,” he said. “And I suppose this will earn me more WAG points?”
Her grin was as mischievous as the light in her eyes. “You have no idea. By the end of the season, you’ll be running the whole group chat.”
She released his hand and waved someone over. A tall man in a tailored black suit began weaving through the tables toward them, his shoulders broad enough to part the crowd. He looked every bit the athlete; built and confident, but with a calmness in his expression that softened his size.
“This is my trophy—I mean—husband, Logan Bradshaw.”
Logan had clearly heard her, judging by the amused shake of his head. “That’s how she introduces me to everyone,” he said, offering a handshake. His grip was firm but not overbearing. “I hope she’s not scaring you off already.”
“Not at all,” said Quinn, gesturing vaguely to the glittering room around them. “She’s the only one here I’mnotscared of.”
Logan laughed, a genuine, easy sound that cut through the polished murmur of the crowd. “That’s a vibe. This whole scene’s not my style either, but I’m here to support Cap—and keep this one out of trouble.”
Bea covered her mouth, trying and failing to hide a grin. “I havenotolerance for alcohol,” she admitted, voice muffled behind her hand.
Logan nodded, like he was well-acquainted with his wife’s tolerance level. “That’s putting it mildly. Anyway, it’s good to see you here, Quinn. The guys have been worried about Callahan. It’s nice knowing he’s got family around when he’s not with us.”
Before he could respond, more people began to drift closer; tall, suited men with the same effortless confidence. The air seemed to shrink around him, the chatter swelling to a blur of laughter, camera flashes, and clinking glasses.
Bea must have noticed the flicker of discomfort cross his face because she pointed toward the next table. “We’re right over there,” she said. “But give me your number, and I’ll text you. These things get so freaking boring.”
Grateful, Quinn fished out his phone and exchanged numbers with her. The small act, her hand brushing his, and the glow of her screen reflecting off her polished nails, made him feel grounded again. Less like an outsider.
“I’ll check in,” she promised, squeezing his hand before letting go. “And don’t let anyone corner you into small talk. Just look mysterious. It drives them crazy.”
Quinn snorted, waving as she and Logan disappeared into the crowd. He sank back into his seat, the cushions swallowing him as he tooka long sip of champagne. The bubbles fizzed pleasantly down his throat, and he smiled when Bea’s first text popped up almost immediately:
Bea: Guess who showed up wearing the ugliest dress known to man?
He huffed out a laugh, thumbs flying as he started typing a reply, oblivious to the subtle shift in noise around him. The crowd near his table rippled with low chatter, chairs scraping as new arrivals settled in. He barely noticed the movement beside him until the air charged with something warmer and heavier, as if someone had stepped too close.
Quinn took another sip, trying to suppress a grin at whatever gossip Bea had sent next. The newcomer beside him said nothing at first, but then, a familiar voice—low, dry, and unmistakably amused—broke the silence.
“We meet again, stalker.”
Quinn froze mid-breath, his head snapping toward the sound.
The man he’d spent all evening hoping not to see, was sitting right beside him, looking far too at ease for Quinn’s heart rate to be doing what it was.
August Snow.
Chapter 10
August
If someone asked August what he was doing, he would say that he had no fucking clue. He could blame it on the sip of champagne for making him bold, but the simple answer was that he saw his stalker and took the chair beside him because he was a fucking moron.
