Page 2 of Verdict

Not just a line—a flashing red boundary with my irrationally overprotective brother’s name stamped all over it. Walker had made his feelings about Cohen and me painfully clear years ago, usually after a beer or two, and always with the same threat that involved breaking his face.

The truth was, Cohen had always been dangerous for me. Not because he was reckless, arrogant, or the Aviators’ most notorious flirt. But because he saw me. Cohen didn’t look at me like I was just Walker James’ little sister.

Would it be a terrible idea to leave with him?

Probably.

Did I care?

Not tonight.

This felt so unlike me, so unlike anything I’d ever done… and honestly, that made me kind of want to do it more. I wanted to get out of my head for once and do what felt good instead of what was right. I usually went into a situation knowing what I was getting into, how it would play out. Prepared. Always.

But with Cohen… I felt out of control and completely unprepared. He had a way of throwing me off balance.

I pushed my internal battle aside. “One more tequila shot for the road?” I offered.

I spun away, his hand settling at the small of my back. I ignored the shiver that raced down my spine and ordered two shots.

Once we had our shots in hand, I lifted mine in a toast. “To your World Series win.”

Cohen grinned. “To tonight… to us.” He threw me a wink that shot straight through me and settled between my thighs.

Dammit—this was definitely a terrible idea.

I stepped into Cohen’s sprawling penthouse, floor-to-ceiling windows revealing the city lights and Lady Bird Lake beyond. He crossed the room, grabbed a remote, and switched on the fireplace. The crackling fire illuminated the modern space with a soft glow.

I drifted further into the room, my heels echoing softly across the hardwood floors. The place was ridiculous—vaulted ceilings, sleek furniture, a kitchen that looked like it belonged in a magazine. Through the windows, Austin stretched out below us. The lake shimmered with reflections from the bridge and high-rises, the whole city alive with celebration.

“Impressive,” I said, glancing over my shoulder.

Cohen shrugged like it was nothing. “Perks of the job.”

I turned back toward the view, pressing my palms against the cool glass. For a second, I almost forgot he was behind me.

Almost.

I could feel his attention like a physical thing. Heavy and focused. When I finally turned around, he was watching me like he already knew how this would end. The look in his eyes made my pulse jump. Maybe this was a terrible idea. Maybe tomorrow morning, Walker would murder both of us. But tonight, the city was celebrating, the tequila and champagne still buzzing in my veins, and Cohen Jordan was looking at me like he’d been waiting years to get me alone.

And maybe he had—I know I had.

This was a hookup, yes, but it didn’t feel like it. It felt more… intense. I was completely locked in and unable to pretend this didn’t faze me. This was years of suppressed attraction finally snapping.

“Is this how you seduce all the ladies?” I teased as I absentmindedly picked up his Aviators hat from the counter and placed it on my head.

His eyes darkened. "Careful. You know that saying…"

My gaze flicked around the space—deep brown leather, soft cream accents—before returning to him. "What saying?"

"Wear the hat, ride the ballplayer."

"It's cowboy," I deadpanned.

He shrugged. "Same rules apply."

I laughed as I slipped the hat from my head and set it back on the counter. I turned toward him. “Isn’t that why I’m here?”

He didn't answer. Instead, he stalked toward me, and my heart lodged somewhere in my throat. I didn’t know why I was so nervous. I wanted this. I wanted him.