Page 97 of Broken Blades

"The Pour House. Teammates invited us."

She blinked. "A bar?"

"You don't have to come."

The words tasted like lies. Because I wanted her to come. Wanted her beside me in that dark, crowded space where lines blurred easier and pretending felt less like work. Wanted to keep her close just a little longer.

She studied my face, searching for something I refused to show her. Then nodded. "Okay."

One word.

It shouldn't have felt like victory.

But it did.

The Pour House hit us with noise and heat the second we stepped inside. Bass thumped through the floorboards. Neon beer signs bathed everything in red and blue. Bodies packed the space—laughing, shouting, spilling drinks.

Chastity stopped just inside the door, clutching her coat like a lifeline.

I leaned down, mouth close to her ear, so she'd hear me over the chaos. "Stay close."

She nodded without hesitation. Moved into my side like it was reflex now. Natural. Her shoulder brushed my ribs and stayed there.

I hated how right it felt.

Rowan waved us over to a corner booth. Logan was already ordering—loud, gesturing wildly at the bartender. I guided Chastity through the crowd with a hand at her lower back, feeling the tension in her spine ease the closer we got to the table.

She slid into the booth. I sat beside her. Not across. Beside.

Logan returned with a tray of drinks and slid something pink and ridiculous in front of Chastity. Sugar crystals sparkled on the rim.

She picked it up, curious, and took a careful sip.

Her cheeks flushed almost immediately. Soft pink spreading from her neck to her face like wildfire.

I stared. "You're kidding."

She blinked at me, eyes already slightly unfocused. "What?"

"You're a lightweight."

Her mouth formed this small, defiant pout. Actually pouted at me like I'd insulted her honor. "I'm fun."

Something dangerous twisted in my chest. Heat and possession and amusement I had no business feeling. "You're trouble."

She lifted the glass again, took another longer sip, deliberately holding my gaze. Challenging me.

I should stop her. Should slide that drink away and order her water. Should remember she was here because I'd forced her into this arrangement, not because she wanted to be pressed against my side in a dive bar getting tipsy off sugar and vodka.

I didn't move. Just watched her take another sip. Watched the flush deepen. Watched her shoulders relax, and her smile come easier. Watched her become someone who didn't have to perform or prove or protect herself. And told myself I'd only let her have one more.

Just one.

The lie tasted bitter even before I swallowed it. The music thumped harder. Bass vibrated through the sticky floor and up into my bones. Lights flashed—red, blue, strobing white that made the crowd blur into motion and shadow.

I was reaching for my beer when her hand wrapped around my wrist.

I looked down.