He’s laughing, talking to some of his teammates that I still haven’t learned the names of. He’s smiling like he doesn’t have a single secret in the world. Like he didn’t have me pressed against a wall hours ago, whispering things that made my stomach flip and my brain shut down.
God, he’s good at this.
That easy charm, and that casual, harmless “who, me?” energy.
Maybe that’s his thing. Maybe he makes girls feel things—intense, dizzying, electric things—and then walks away like it didn’t matter. Because maybe, to him, it doesn’t. Maybe he forgets the moment it happens. He seems like the kind of guy who can ruin you and then offer you a beer.
I blink down at my phone, thumb tapping the screen to check for the hundredth time. Nothing. No text from Ghost. He usually replies fast. Always. Even if it’s just a dumb meme or a picture. But for the past two hours? Nothing.
Voices rise around me as a few players start handing out food. My nose is still buried in my phone, looking at the last message I sent to Ghost, when I feel the unmistakable presence of Jace behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck rise each time he’s near, like my body knows it before I do.
Just as I start to lift my head, his large hand appears in front of me, setting a plate down gently. The burger is steaming, the bun is toasted, and there’s cheese spilling over the edge.
“Dinner is served,” he says low, voice all heat and mischief and his breath near my ear.
My heartbeat kicks up, and I lock my phone immediately, hiding my chat with Ghost. I don’t even know why I’m worried about him seeing it. This is stupid.
“You can give this one to Dom,” I say, pushing the plate to the right. “I’m going to make mine without pickles.”
There’s a pause before he reaches out and pushes the plate back toward me, the veins on his forearm popping out like ropes.
“I didn’t put any pickles in yours.”
I can hear the smug little smile in his voice, even if I won’t look up to see it. Then he leans a fraction closer.
“You’re welcome,” he murmurs before walking away.
I stare at the burger for a full ten seconds, then back at him. He’s walking back to the grill, casual and relaxed.
“Hey.” Dom flops into the chair beside me, stealing a fry off my plate.
“Thanks,” I say, nodding at the burger. “For telling Jace I don’t like pickles.”
“You don’t like pickles?” Dom pauses mid-chew and frowns.
I stare at him, and he stares back. My eyes flick up to Jace, the question looping in my head like a broken record.
How the hell did he know?
After dinner, the energy shifts. Music’s louder, with enough bass to dislodge my internal organs. Shirts are off. There’s alcohol, laughter, a hockey team trying to prove they can dance when they very clearly cannot, and two girls doing body shots off one of their wingers. Someone else is definitely making out on one of the patio loungers. Girls giggle and scream as two men carry them into the ocean in the distance.
I sit at the edge of the long table, twisting my napkin in my lap, scanning the crowd. Jace walked into the house five minutes ago, and he hasn’t come back.
It bothers me that I even noticed he was gone—especially when it took me long enough to realize my own brother is missing too. I don’t want to know what he’s doing.
I check my phone again. Still nothing. Ghost hasn’t messaged back. Not a meme, not even a thumbs-up to the photo I sent hours ago.
I push away from the table and slip through the open doors into the house. It’s cooler inside and much quieter.
I head straight to the fridge to grab the jug of lemonade. But there’s already a woman standing near the fridge, taking two glasses out of the cupboard.
I recognize her immediately. She’s the blonde from the store in Ozona who was talking to Jace, touched his arm, and tilted her head like she was about to purr. She’s barefoot now, wearing a bodycon sundress, hair down and glossy.
She grabs a bottle of wine from the shelf and turns just as I do.
“Oh,” she says, blinking at me. Then her lips curve. “You’re Dom’s little sister, right?”
“Right,” I mutter under my breath. That’s all I am here, apparently.
