Kate tips her head, one boot planted wide, hands resting on her hips like she owns the bar and every heartbeat in it. “Careful,” she says. “You sound like a man with an agenda.”
“I am.”
“And what exactly is it?”
I step in closer, pulling her into me. I make sure she feels the heat coming off me. “You.”
For a second, she doesn’t say anything. She just looks at me—really looks—and I swear something shifts between us. Like gravity. Like fate. Like we’re standing too close to a fire and both wondering who’s going to jump first.
Finally, she smiles. It’s not sweet. Not shy.
Something slow and dangerous curls at the edge of her mouth. “Well,” she says, “I hope you brought a backup plan. Because I don’t come easy.”
I lean in just enough to feel her breath against mine. “I didn’t come here for easy.”
She doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
We’re caught there—somewhere between tension and invitation, dare and promise. And I know, deep in my bones, this isn’t going to be a one-night thing. This is something else. Something real.
I just have to survive her first.
Before I can say another word—before I can close the inch between us and find out if she tastes like bourbon and trouble—someone slams into me from the side.
“Finn!” Blake’s voice crashes through the haze like a slap. “There you are, you slippery bastard. We’re doing shots—team rule, everyone for the third round.”
I blink, my jaw tightens, caught somewhere between a growl and a laugh. Kal has one arm around my shoulders before I can stop him, already dragging me back toward the bar like he hasn’t just sucker-punched the best moment of my entire goddamn year.
She raises an eyebrow, amused and infuriatingly unbothered. “Well, Fin, it looks like your backup plan found you.”
“Give me sixty seconds,” I call over Blake’s shoulder, but she’s already turning back to her friend, her lips curling around her straw like she’s won something. I never wanted to be a straw so badly.
The thing is, I’m not mad she’s leaving.
Because that look in her eyes? That wasn’t agoodbye—it was atry harder.
I’m not one to back down from a challenge.
Because she’s not a game, she’s not a trophy. She’s a goddamn perfect storm—and I’ve been playing with fire long enough to know when I want to get burned.
7
KATE
NOT MY TYPE (UNTIL HE IS)
“Can I commit to maybe/Danceon that shaky line?/I ain't ready for forever/But I can't leave you behind.” Kate Riggs
I came out tonight to blow off steam, not fall into lust at first sight. I’m not looking to get all wrapped up in a man. No, that would be the end of my career. I know how that goes. It’s the woman who always sacrifices her career. For some reason, we often end up on the bottom, and it’s not the missionary position.
I’m still riding the high from the show—one outfit change, one standing ovation, and a dance break that nearly snapped my heel. My voice is gone, and my feet are killing me. I smell like perfume and effort.
But I’m glowing. And I know it.
We hitthatspot, the place where performers go after hours. There are no tourists. No fans. Just music, strong drinks, and people who know how to look good under low lights. I’m halfway through my second margarita, still laughing at something Shay said, when I feel it.
The music seems slower, and my vision, well, it can’t be trusted. It’s that tingling you feel when you know someone’s watching you.
