“Thank you for not hiding your truth with me. I respect that.”
We round the corner and the sound hits first—laughter, music, the unmistakable thump of bass spilling into the streets. Holly’s is lit up like a scene from a movie. Streamers hang from the awning, fog machines cloud the sidewalk, and people in everything from cheap wigs to couture-level costumes flow in and out of Holly’s like it’s the hottest spot in town. Holly turns her place into party central for every major holiday, and Halloween is practically her Super Bowl.
Tatum is in the middle of a small crowd, sipping something pink and commanding attention like she was born to do it. I catch a glimpse of Marlow with Declan at the far end of the patio, surrounded by a few other Strikers players, drinks in hand, all laughing like they’re in on a secret. I want to charge over andask her where the hell she’s been and why she didn’t come to the team party, but I know better than to start something in front of everyone. I’ll text her later.
“Looks like Holly’s hosting the after party,” Darren observes, nodding toward the crowd.
“Want to stop in?” I ask, suddenly not in a rush to head home and risk wandering up to Grant’s penthouse and offering myself to him.
“Sure. But before we do—” His voice dips, slower now. Serious. And I can already feel the shift coming.
“Yes?”
“There are a lot of people from work over there. And you know how the guys can be.”
I let out a short laugh. “Don’t I know it.”
“So, if you want this between us to just be a one-time thing, or if you’d rather keep it friendly, I’m okay with that. I just—look, I don’t want to be the guy catching heat from the team for falling into something that’s not even real.”
Is he really trying to define this after one date?
“Darren,” I say evenly. “We are friends. What we are beyond that is undecided. I don’t know you well enough yet to say what this is or what it could be. So if you’re asking me to spare your pride by keeping this quiet around the guys, fine. We’ll keep things professional until we figure it out.”
He nods, like it’s not exactly what he wanted to hear but it settles something inside him. But I still see something else—the hesitation in his eyes, the flicker of disappointment that settlesbehind his easy smile. It’s the moment he realizes I’m not the type to fall in line just because the vibe is good for one night. I’m not a quick claim. Not some box to check off.
I don’t care how long I grew up wanting to be desired, I won’t settle.
I’m nothing to be taken off the market. Not without a damn good reason. And if there’s ever a time for Coach Jones to learn that, it’s now.
Also, our boss had his fingers inside me not more than an hour ago and I’m still trying to process my explosive orgasm.
“Well then, Eslin Saunders,” Darren says, flashing that polished smile and perfect white teeth. “I’d love to be your friend.”
His tone is light, but there’s something in his eyes that doesn’t match. A quiet challenge. Maybe even a warning.
I smile back. “Good. Let’s start there.”
Chapter thirty-seven
PB + Nightcaps
Eslin
Holly’s smells like roasted espresso, sugar, and the faint tang of sass that follows its owner everywhere. I’m nursing a holiday coffee on a Sunday morning before a workout, watching the steam curl up like it’s trying to hypnotize me intonotthinking about my crazy life.
It’s been a few weeks since Halloween, and I’ve gone on two more dates with Coach Jones. He’s…nice.Cultured. Easy in a way most of the American men I’ve dated aren’t. No games. No second-guessing. Honest. Intentional. Almost as intentional as Grant is about making it painfully clear he hates that I’m dating him.
Grant’s been keeping tabs on me through Marlow, somehow finding out when my dates are, thencoincidentallyshowing up on the sidewalk with Rocky every single time I’m about to leave. Like he can’t help but plant himself in my path, reminding me exactlywho he is and where he stands, even though he knows he can’t have me.
What he doesn’t realize is, he doesn’t have to do a damn thing to stay in my orbit. He’s been living there since the night we met.
“So, tell me all the things. All the drama.” Holly skips any pretense of small talk and jumps straight into what she’s become for me—a caffeine-dealing counselor, keeper of my secrets, and occasional bad influence.
I groan. “Everything is a mess. I hate my life.”
She leans in, eyes sparkling. “Tell me more.”
“Me and Marlow are getting closer—like little-sister close. Her father is practically stalking me now that he knows I’m dating the soccer coach, and did I tell you about Halloween when he—”