Page 23 of Wanna Bet?

“Not everyday a hot regular meets me at the park.” She said it with a smile before snatching the joint back and taking another hit.

“You think I’m hot?” Jace asked, almost surprised. Which was ridiculous.

Myah rolled her eyes and stubbed the joint out on the log beside her, “Please, Mr. Abercrombie meets Hot Topic.”

Jace released a chuckle that was much deeper and playful then any other she had heard.

Myah studied him more carefully then. He wasn’t performing or trying to impress her or angling for attention. He was just there, just honest, just present.

Her chest tightened and guilt stirred again, sharper this time. Because he didn’t know. He didn’t know about the bet, about the teasing, about how this had started as a game she was supposed to win. He thought this was real.

Her throat felt dry.

“So,” she said quickly, her voice lighter than she felt, “are you always this agreeable or am I special?”

His gaze flicked toward her. “You’re loud.”

She snorted. “That’s not an answer.”

“It is,” he said. “I don’t usually do loud. But you’re…” He hesitated, searching for a word, his brow creasing slightly. “Not exhausting loud. More like–” He gestured vaguely, like he could see it but couldn’t quite hold it.

She raised a brow. “Careful. You’re about to say something poetic and ruin your whole mysterious vibe.”

His mouth curved faintly. “More like sunlight loud.”

Her brain short-circuited.

Sunlight loud. Who said things like that?

Her chest fluttered in a way that felt suspiciously like feelings, which was absolutely unacceptable.

Red flag. Red flag. Red flag.

She grabbed a nearby stick and carved lines into the dirt in front of them just so she had something to do with her hands besides react.

“You’re weird,” she said hoarsely.

“Yeah,” he agreed easily. No denial. No embarrassment. Just acceptance.

They sat in companionable quiet while the sounds of the park softened around them, like someone had gently turned down the volume on the world. Myah felt the familiar slow looseness settling into her muscles, tension unwinding thread by thread.

Beside her, Jace shifted and propped himself on one arm, looking more relaxed already. His shoulders had dropped, his posture less guarded, his mouth no longer held tight like it expected interruption.

She watched it happen. Watched him open up. It felt sacred somehow, like witnessing something private she hadn’t earned access to.

“So,” she said softly, “tell me something real about you.”

His eyes flicked to hers, cautious and curious. “What counts as real?”

“Not customer-service answers,” she said. “Not small talk. Something you don’t tell people at counters.”

He studied her for a long moment, and the silence stretched so long she almost rushed to fill it.

Then he said quietly, “My parents are dead.”

The air left her lungs in a slow, stunned exhale. Not because of what he said, but because of how simply he said it. No dramatics or performance. Just fact.

She blinked. “Oh.”