Page 82 of Baby Surprise for my Brother's Best Friend

I lean against the far wall of the bar, pretending to scroll through my phone, pretending not to notice the way Alessio commands the room. But I see everything. How he laughs a little too loud, flashes that practiced smirk, and slides cocktails across the counter like he was born behind that bar.

He’s magnetic. Effortless. In his element.

And the women? They flock to him like he’s the main attraction.

One even tosses her hair and fingers her straw like she’s auditioning for a porn shoot.

He grins, polite but playful, and it’s like a knife sliding between my ribs.

My gut clenches. My jaw tightens.

I hate how I notice every touch, every lingering look.

It’s not that I don’t trust him.

It’s that I do.

And that terrifies me…because I know what happens when I start to care this much.

"Wow.” Halie slides into the booth beside me with a drink in one hand and a smirk in the other. “You look like a woman two seconds away from launching a Molotov cocktail at a blonde in a backless dress."

I arch a brow. “Subtlety has never been your thing, huh?”

She shrugs. “Neither had the patience. So, are we going to pretend you’re not mentally murdering every woman who flirts with him?”

“I’m not jealous,” I mutter, eyes glued to Alessio as he tosses a lime wedge into a shaker like a showman.

“Mmhmm.” She sips her drink. “Then why do you look like a panther ready to pounce?”

I sigh. “We slept together. Again.”

She lets out a low whistle. “Twice makes it a pattern. Three times makes it feelings.”

“It was stress relief,” I lie. Badly.

Halie grins. “Is that what we’re calling toe-curling orgasms now?”

I roll my eyes. “It’s not serious.”

“Oh, babe.” She leans in, dropping her voice. “Then why does your heart look like it’s bartending in a black T-shirt and giving out smiles like party favors?”

I snort. “That’s dramatic. Even for you.”

“Dramatic? Please. You’re one flirtation away from challenging some girl to a duel.”

I laugh despite myself, then glance back toward Alessio. Just in time to catch him looking at me.

Yeah. I’m in trouble.

Before I can say anything else, a shadow falls across the table.

A man slides into the seat across from us, tall, broad-shouldered, and carved from cold marble. He’s dressed in tailored black, the kind of suit that whispers money and danger.

Instinctively, I stiffen.

Nikolai.

There’s coiled tension in him, something dangerous wrapped in elegance.

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