Page 15 of Game Over

“Damn right, we are.” She grabs my hand. “Let’s go show the world.”

We giggle all the way down to the Uber. Our driver probably regrets his life choices as we belt out Taylor Swift songs from the backseat. The city lights blur past, and I feel invincible with Jenna.

The bass from the club thumps through the air as we step out of the car, already swaying to the beat. The line isn’t long, and the bouncer waves us through with a wink.

The club pulses with energy as Jenna and I weave through the crowd toward the bar. She flags down the bartender with practiced ease while I lean against the counter, still riding the buzz from our pre-game session.

“Two tequila sunrises!” Jenna shouts over the music. “And two shots of Patron!”

“Living dangerously tonight?” I bump her hip with mine.

“After that Rogue bullshit? We’re going all out.”

The bartender slides our drinks over. I lift my shot glass, clinking it against Jenna’s. “To real-life adventures.”

“And to men who actually show up.” She winks.

We down our shots, and I chase them with a sip of my cocktail. The sweetness cuts through the burn, but then the hairs on my neck stand up.

I scan the crowd, trying to be subtle about it. The dance floor writhes with bodies, and the bar area is packed with people trying to get drinks. And then I see him.

He’s leaning against a pillar near the VIP section, a glass of what looks like whiskey in his hand. Dark hair falls across his forehead, and even in the club’s shifting lights, I can see his eyes—ice blue and intense, locked right on me. Tattoos cover his arms, disappearing under a fitted black t-shirt that shows off every muscle.

My breath catches. The man doesn’t look away when I catch him staring. His lips curve into a knowing smile that makes my stomach flip.

That smile sends a warning signal flashing through my brain. It’s too confident, too knowing… like he’s been waiting for me. I think of the hacked Alexa earlier, Rogue’s constant excuses, and every true crime podcast I’ve ever listened to. Red flags everywhere, like a freaking circus.

But then he raises his glass slightly in my direction, and my body responds with a flush of heat that has nothing to do with the tequila.

“Holy shit,” Jenna hisses, following my gaze. “That man is eating you alive with his eyes.”

I take another sip of my drink, larger this time, trying to drown the warring voices in my head. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“Go talk to him!”

“What? No!” But I can’t stop stealing glances. There’s a familiarity about him, but I don’t know why. “I’m not sure, Jen. He’s setting off my creep radar.” The way he’s staring is oddly intense. Definitely creepy.

“Yeah, but in a hot way or a ‘call the police’ way?” She studies him critically. “Because those are two very different vibes.”

I laugh, but it comes out as nervous. “I honestly can’t tell. That’s the problem.”

His eyes seem so familiar, but I can’t place them. The rational part of my brain that double-checks my locks at night and carries pepper spray is screaming caution. But another part, still tingling from my hacker situation earlier, is drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

“If he’s interested, he can come to us,” I decide, deliberately turning my back to him. “I’m not chasing some random guy, no matter how hot he is.”

Jenna raises her eyebrows, impressed. “Look at you, setting boundaries. I’m so proud.”

But even as I try to focus on our conversation, I feel his gaze burning into my back. My skin prickles with awareness. I take another large sip of my drink, hoping the alcohol will dull the magnetic pull I feel toward him.

It doesn’t work.

Jenna’s eyes widen. “He’s coming over!”

I hear someone approach, and before I can prepare myself, he’s right in front of me, extending his hand in silent invitation.

Up close, he’s even more striking. Those blue eyes hold an intensity that makes my breath catch. The tattoos covering his arms aren’t random designs—they’re intricate, meaningful pieces that tell a story I suddenly need to know. His hand stays extended in invitation, patient but commanding.

Two distinct voices war in my head:

---