Page 3 of California Wild

She still fucking wrecked him.

Jesse felt it before it even happened.

That shift in the air. The tightening in his chest.

Because she was looking.

Not at the mic, not at the crowd.

At him.

Her gaze swept the venue—steady, calculating, wild.

Then it stopped.

Right on him.

A flicker of green fire cutting through the stage lights. One second. Maybe less. But it landed hard. Locked onto his.

The world paused. No sound. No breath. Just that look.

That fucking look.

Then she turned away, launching back into the chorus like nothing had happened.

But it had.

Because Jesse couldn’t move.

The floor buzzed beneath his boots, and that half-second of recognition burned through him like live current. That tiny hesitation. That maybe.

Next to him, Isaac let out a low, amused breath. “Shit. She saw you.”

Jesse didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because now his brain wouldn’t stop.

Did she recognize him right away? Did she know he was here the whole time? Did she care?

And the worst part—the part that made him want to crawl out of his own skin—was the question that slipped in right behind it.

Could they be a thing again?

And fuck—did he want them to be?

He didn’t let himself answer.

Not now. Not with the music still vibrating in his bones, not with her voice still echoing in his head.

The show ended an hour later, but Jesse still hadn’t exhaled. The crowd thinned around them, the lighting in The Black Coast shifting from stage glare to dim bar haze. People hung around, grabbing beers, drifting toward the merch booth where the band was signing autographs and taking selfies.

Isaac stretched his tattooed arms above his head, half-smirking. “Alright, let’s go.”

Jesse blinked. “Go where?”

Isaac shot him a look like he couldn’t possibly be this dense. “The booth. To meet the band. To meet her. To say hey, remember me—”

“No fucking way.” Jesse’s voice came out low. Final.

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