But her body didn't care. Her skin was still oversensitive, every point of contact registering like a live wire. She could feel the pleasant ache settling in—muscles she'd forgotten she had making themselves known. The glow hadn't faded yet. She felt warm and used and satisfied in a way that made her want to melt into the booth and never move.
The men were talking. She wasn’t tracking the words, only the low rumble of voices around her and the weight of attention that never quite left.
She could still feel them—the phantom weight of Arthur steady behind her, the warmth where Jiro’s forehead had pressed to hers, a pleasant ache settling into muscles she'd used in ways she hadn't known they could move.
I fit there. Between them. In that impossible space.
She was settling into it. Caleb’s arm solid around her. Liam steady at her other side. Killian watching from across the table. Mateo sliding a fresh drink toward her without comment. The charged air of the booth wrapping around her like she could stay here forever.
Then she shivered again. Different this time. Like when you're sunbathing and a cloud blocks the sun and suddenly the warmth is gone and you're just cold.
She looked up.
And there he was.
Chad.
TWENTY
Velvet Rope Justice
April
He looked like his day had aged him five years in eight hours. His tie hung askew, and his shirt was a wrinkled mess. His hair, normally styled with the obsessive care people reserved for newborns or rare pottery, stuck up in ways no product could reproduce. And then his eyes found their booth. His face cycled through roughly seven emotions in two seconds: surprise, relief, anger, desperation, entitlement, and something that might've been hope—if hope had a restraining order against common sense.
He started toward them.
“Oh no,” April said.
“Oh yes,” Jax replied, his phone was already out.
April shot him a look.
Jax didn’t even glance away from the screen.
“Don’t mind me. This isn’t for Twitter. Maybe the group chat.”
Chad walked straight to the VIP area, acting as if velvet ropes, security, and the very obviousPRIVATEsigns were merely decorative.
He ducked under the rope with the confidence of a man who’d never heard no and assumed that meant yes. His gaze swept the horseshoe booth, moving from the emerald silk of April’s dress to the seven men surrounding her like a tailored security detail.
He reached for a drink as if he belonged there.
Liam's hand shot out and slapped Chad's hand away.
Chad jerked back like he'd been shocked. "You can't—" he started.
Jax wheezed.
Chad turned to him, then swept his gaze across the rest of the table, looking for someone who’d back him up. His eyes landed on Jiro, and his entire demeanor changed.
“Jiro,” Chad said, his voice suddenly bright and eager. “Man. That song. It was incredible.”
Jiro looked at Chad with the blank attention one might give stray lint. Chad took the silence as encouragement.
“I know April pretty well. I could give you some material. Like—there’s this thing she does when she’s nervous—”
“Stop,” April said.
