Lyla immediately looks away, taking an obnoxiously slow sip of her drink.
Carter clears his throat. “Nothing.”
“Yep. Nothing,” Lyla echoes, her voice just a little too light.
I stare them down for another second, but I’m too damn tired to play detective. So, I let it go.
For now.
The server swings by, dropping off our drinks—beer for Carter and me, something bright pink for Lyla—and we start talking about Pro Day, the draft, the usual. I’m mid-sentence when someone slides into the open seat next to me, the scent of vanilla and way too much perfume hitting me before I even glance over.
She’s blonde, dressed in a tight crop top and ripped jeans, her manicured nails wrapped around a glass of something clear and full of ice.
Her body angles toward me, her shoulder brushing mine, and before I can react, she’s giving me a sugary smile.
“Hey,” she says, tilting her head slightly.
I nod vaguely, already trying to put more space between us. “Hey.”
Carter smirks behind his beer. I ignore him.
“You’re Jaxon Montgomery, right?” she asks, like she already knows the answer.
I sigh internally. “Yeah.”
She giggles—she actually giggles. “So,” she continues, twirling a piece of her hair, “I saw you play this season. You were really impressive.”
I nod again, reaching for my drink. “Thanks. Appreciate it.”
Her eyes flick over me, and I feel it—the way she’s studying me like I’m a damn menu option. “You must be so excited for the draft. I mean, you have to be going first round, right?”
I shrug, taking a sip of my beer. “That’s the hope.”
She hums, leaning in closer, and I can smell her perfume way too strong now. “So, do you?—”
And then, it happens, that feeling at the base of my neck.
It’s like something pulling at me—a string tugging tight in my chest, my body reacting before my brain even processes why.
My pulse kicks up. My shoulders tense.
I know this feeling.
I’ve lived in this feeling.
It’s her.
I don’t even have to see her to know—I just know.
My head turns on instinct, scanning the bar quickly, searching for her in the sea of bodies, but I don’t see Madison anywhere.
The feeling lingers for another second before fading, leaving me unsettled.
The girl next to me touches my arm lightly, pulling my attention back. “You okay?” she asks, tilting her head.
I blink, readjusting my grip on my beer. “Yeah. Just—thought I saw someone.”
Her lips curl into a knowing smile. “Well, whoever it was, they’re missing out.”
