I took a long drink of water just to buy myself a few seconds. “Pass.”
“Come on,” Adam said, hopping the fence with his usual flair — like rules were just polite suggestions. “You’ve been burning holes in the turf since sunrise. What’s your deal, man?”
“Nothing,” I said. Too fast. Too sharp.
He smirked. “Right. And I’m the Pope.”
I didn’t respond. The truth was, Adam had a knack for seeing through people — probably why everyone either liked him instantly or wanted to strangle him. Usually both.
He tilted his head. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain nonprofit director, would it?”
I stiffened. “What?”
“Ellery James,” he said, like it was a casual observation. “You’ve been less of an ass since you started there. I figured either community service worked, or she did.”
I glared at him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Sure. But you just stopped glaring at me long enough to defend her, so… point proven.”
“Adam,” I said warningly.
“Relax, man.” He slung an arm over my shoulder, ignoring how I tensed. “I’m just saying, maybe she’s good for you. Someone’s gotta balance out your rage-to-smile ratio.”
I knocked his arm off. “You done?”
He chuckled. “Not even close. But fine, I’ll save the rest for tonight. You’re coming, by the way.”
“I said I’m not.”
He grinned like he’d already won. “Cool, so I’ll tell Derek you’ll be there around nine.”
I scowled, watching him jog off toward the locker rooms, his laughter echoing across the field.
“Asshole,” I muttered under my breath.
He wasn’t wrong, though. I was brooding. And that pissed me off even more.
I looked out over the pitch again, the faint morning fog rising off the grass, the sun finally breaking through.
Brooding wasn’t the right word, though.
Thinking. That was what it was.
Thinking about a woman who never stopped moving, who worked until her hands shook, who smiled like it hurt but did it, anyway.
Yeah. Thinking.
Which, somehow, was worse.
The bass hit before I even stepped inside — heavy, low, and pulsing through the floor like a heartbeat. The club had that sleek, industrial vibe Grand Rapids was obsessed with: exposed brick, black steel, dim lights, and people who looked like they belonged in some designer ad.
Adam led the way, of course, grinning like he owned the place. I followed behind him, already questioning my life choices.
Derek spotted us first — lounging in a leather booth like a king holding court. His blond hair caught the light, and the smirk on his face was pure danger: charming, dangerous, and impossible to ignore. Beside him sat Logan, half his drink untouched, eyes scanning the room like he was cataloguing threats instead of clubgoers.
As soon as we reached the booth, Derek stood and spread his arms like he was introducing a celebrity. “Beckett Mason, ladies and gentlemen — proof miracles happen.”
Adam clapped him on the back, laughing. “He’s only here because I told him there’d be violence if he didn’t.”
