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He is too. He’s got these glass-edged cheekbones, plus a strong clean-shaven jaw, curved lips set in a stern line that I imagine softens to perfect kissableness when the timing’s right, and lovely arched brows just peeking over the top of the mask that covers the rest of his visage. In the shadow of his hat, I can’t discern the color of his eyes.

“I’m . . . what?” He’s a man of few words, I take it. That’s cool. I can do the grunt work of this conversation.

“You want to get out of here?” I nudge up closer. Not quite close enough to separate his scent from the congealed mass of perfumes and colognes choking the atmosphere, or to feel the warmth of him, but close enough to be a little more than companionable. “Start a more fun party?”

His brows twitch ever so minutely behind that mask.

“No, thank you.” He shifts his feet, but doesn’t step away, which I count as a win. He’s definitely interested in me on some level.

Keep pushing, Jax. “Oh, shit. You came here with someone. A girl—woman, actually. Older woman. She was a fox, like bravo to you for landing that tail. She could come with us; I’m down for pretty much anything.”

It takes actual effort not to laugh at the way his features slacken with shock. Clearly, he’s not used to people speaking to him like this; originality points for Jax!

“No? Well, that’s okay. I mean, disappointing, but—”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

I cough out a surprised chuckle, but the words strike something, like a memory but more visceral. Can memories be visceral? He doesn’t have the accent—in fact, he’s very precisely accentless American English—but . . . I dunno. He still brings me back to that night that I don’t let myself think about.

It’s a vibe thing.

Maybe that’s what makes my tone soften when I ask, “You’re not one of the rich fools, are you?”

It’s not the question I really want answered. And it’s coming dangerously close to stealing my attention from the people I actually came here to answer questions about—like the Silverback in the corner, still plundering the depths of his nasal canals.

“What gave me away?” Blondie’s voice returns to its cold, emotionless cadence—reminds me of my step-brother-in-law, Kas, when he’s in what my step-bro Ellias calls soldier mode. Still, the way his shoulders settle against the glass, he feels more relaxed than he was a moment before. His eyes flit past me for half a second. Looking for his partner? Or just keeping tabs on his surroundings.

Has he also noticed Silverback?

“The fedora.” I flick a finger toward the brim but don’t touch. “TJ Maxx, right?”

Those eyes are back on me. I think they’re . . . grey? Shit. “Yeah, actually.”

“It’s cute.” I dare to nudge a hair closer, even though he’s definitely got soldier-mode vibes going. “Like, really cute. Just, not Gucci or whatever. You know? But that’s okay. Well, unless you’re a cop and don’t wanna stick out like a sore thumb. But otherwise, it’s cool.”

His brow arches out from under his mask again, but he keeps the cold tone. “Are you here to offer me fashion tips?”

“No, actually.” I tilt so I’ve got one shoulder propped on the glass, my full body turned into him. “I just came here to get a better look at those shoulders”—and yes, Jax the fucking maniac does, in fact, reach out to give that rounded boulder a poke—“Damn, those are real. Shit. Are we sure about the ménage à trois?”

“Oh, my God.” Does the faintest hint of disbelief unravel in his cold cadence?

I grin, unleashing the complete and unfettered power of the dimple. “Not quite a god. But definitely good in bed. Top and bottom. And on my knees.”

“Are you doing this on purpose?” he asks, full-on two-brow disbelief now. “Or is this just how you are?”

I laugh. Oh man, I’m really fucking with this guy, and it’s utterly delightful. Haven’t had this much fun since—“How I am, actually. My brain goes so fast, I gotta unload some of it, make room for the new stuff that wants to come in. I’m not sure what would happen if I didn’t. Overheat? Computer fire? I annoy the fuck out of myself most of the time. And most people. I’m betting you want to strangle me already.”

“Well, maybe not . . .” his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Not strangle, per se . . .”

“I did think that seemed a little kinky for you.” I’m full-on grinning now, not the practiced one, not the sly one, but . . . a smile. Legit, actual, genuine smile, to go along with the bubbly fun inside me. And the look on his face, hot damn! “But I appreciate the effort. I like you. I’m Jack, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Jack.”

“This is typically the part where you offer your name?”

His head tilts, as does one of his brows. “But I’m a cop, remember? Do you want my real name or a fake name?”

“Oh, I really like you.” I’m grinning like an idiot now, almost forgot why I’m actually here—you know, robbing, Nick, low-key revenge, all that jazz. Would I rather stay here and play with this new toy? Honestly, kinda.