Coming in, one by one and in pairs, they were heads over the rest of us. All eyes in the club went to them. A few mouths dropped. Some frowned, confused. Others scrambled for their phones and a frenzy began as they walked underneath the DJ booth bridge and toward us.

Lauren nudged me, her head dipping toward what seemed like a throne room looking out over the entire club. It was like a huge black box sticking out from the wall, with one side open and stairs leading up to it. I couldn’t see all the way in, but I knew similar black leather couches likely lined the inside of it.

A team of servers, clad in the same clothing as Lauren, led the way. Three of them carried bottles with sparklers coming out of them. A few others brought up the rear with more alcohol. It was all a show, but damn, it worked.

I named the guys as they filed past us, walking up the stairs and taking their deserved seats over the club. Terry Bartlonguesen. Matthew Crusky. Beau Michems. Carzoni.

I recognized Aiden. Lestroy had his arm around him, and Aiden was laughing.

Some wore sharp business suits. Others were just dressed up, with pants to impress and custom-tailored shirts.

One by one they came. Almost the entire team was here.

I waited, the lump in my throat doubling as each player went past, not sparing us a look. We were within eyesight, but not in their way. Our booth was set back against the wall, whereas theirs was front and center, meant to be noticed, meant to be worshiped.

A few more trailed in.

Then, I felt a new frenzy begin on the nightclub pathway. People were migrating over from the dance floor, and I knew.

More people came running back, their phones raised, so at first I didn’t see them. The lights were blinding against the dark and neon colors inside the club. Then a small clearing opened, and I could see both Juan and Reese…and Stan?

Fucking Stan.

I started growling. He was another Keith the Boss to me, but the effect was momentary because once I saw Reese, I couldn’t look away.

Tingles shot through me.

A buzz started low, simmering and building the closer he got. And at the same time, the lump in my throat moved down, choking me until I pushed it down to fall with a thud to the bottom of my stomach.

My mouth dried.

He looked so good.

Faded jeans, a black shirt, the silver-tinted sunglasses, and a Thunder ball cap pulled low over his head, I’d never seen Reese more a celebrity than just now. His head was down, and there was a girl on his arm. I almost fell back when I saw her.

God.

Her little hands clung to his arm. She was hurrying to keep up.

Juan and Stan were talking, moving at a more sedate pace toward the private box. Reese edged ahead of them, an urgency in his gait, as if he just wanted to get away. The girl teetered behind on her heels. It was like he’d forgotten she was there.

She wore a bikini top with a ripped jeans miniskirt that barely covered her ass. As she stretched to catch up with Reese, I caught a glimpse of something lacy underneath. Her hair was blown out and her makeup was heavy.

Skank.

Okay. In fairness to her, she might not have been one. You never knew—but then she stuck her hand in one of Reese’s back pockets. She was definitely a skank.

Pretty sure I was showing my front teeth as I growled. It was savage. I was scaring even myself.

“Down, girl.” Trent pulled me to sit. He laughed in my ear, sitting next to me. “The girl’s not with him. He doesn’t even really know she’s there.”

Yeah.

He was up the stairs, looking for a seat.

Trent was right.

Maybe.

Probably.

Reese looked like he really didn’t know she was there, and then he sat down on the far end of the box, facing our direction—and she climbed right onto his lap.

I started to surge to my feet.

Trent clamped a hand on my arm, holding me in place. “Stop. Stop. She doesn’t mean anything.”

I knew that. She was a fucking one-use girl, but that didn’t matter.

Reese was mine.

I leaned back against the seat. “I can’t do this. I can’t sit here and watch him get mauled.”

“Well…” Trent kept his hand on my arm. “I don’t think you can get to him right now, so you’re going to have to. Try not to watch?”

A gurgling laugh erupted from me. Yeah, right.

He patted my arm. “Or focus on what you want to say? You’re here now. He’s here. Lauren’s done working for the night, so she’s hanging out with us. We’ll keep an eye out for you. If he goes to the bathroom, you can move in.”

Lauren leaned over Trent, her boobs almost coming out of her corset top. “Completely. A few of my girls here know about the situation, and they’re all in to help set this up. Knowing someone who’s dating Reese Forster is a story no one wants to miss out on—what we can tell the grandbabies one day when Reese is in the hall of fame.” She raised her glass in the air. “And if anything, it’s an adventure.”

An adventure. Right. It was my goddamn heart.

But they were right. I had no other options here. I mean, I could send him a text…

Fuuuck.

I was doing it before I even fully comprehended I’d made the decision to do it.

Me: What should I wear if I were going to go to a nightclub?

Me: A fucking bikini top? Maybe just a bra around my crotch? Or only a thong?

It was go-time now. I unleashed it all.

I was typing the next as I watched him pull out his phone. He frowned at it, reading.

Me: Or maybe just sunglasses? The silver kind.

His mouth pressed down in a firm line, but he edged the girl off his lap, waving her away. One of the other guys snapped her up, and she went happily to his lap. Juan and Stan were settled in the box by now. Both gave Reese a look, but when he leaned forward and started to type, they moved to the other side of the booth where the others were. Reese remained sitting off on his own.

A part of me was glad to see that. Good. Stay like that, because you’re all mine.

Oh, yes. My inner crazy stalker fangirl was back, but now she was possessive. I was all sorts of possessive.

I wasn’t walking this time.

A bitter taste soured my mouth as I kicked myself.

Me: I never should’ve walked. I’m sorry. But…

Me: What are your thoughts on second chances? Providing it’s not to an alcoholic brother who uses your name for stuff he doesn’t deserve?

My phone buzzed back.

Reese: Where are you?

I grinned, slinking down in our box. He wasn’t even looking around the club.

Reese: Are you in Chicago?

Me: What about ex fucking? Positions on that? Pun intended.

Reese: Where the fuck are you?

Me: Pun intended?

Me: I’m just saying yes for you. Good one.

Me: Answer my questions.

My body had heated up. A throb started between my legs, and I moved in my seat. I didn’t know what the end result would be, but I knew the chances of meeting up and having a quick fuck were extremely high. Whether he’d still want to talk to me afterwards was another matter.

I held off, watching him stare at the phone. He wasn’t responding, but he wasn’t putting the phone away.

Me: Answer me and I’ll answer you.

He shook his head, but returned to typing.

Reese: Fuck. You.

Ouch.

Still.

Me: So you’re saying there’s a chance?

A slight grin from him. He typed again.

Reese: Where are you? I’ll come to you.

Me: So you can ‘fuck. me.’??

Reese: Yes.

A whole burst of shivers moved down my spine, setting every cell on vibrate. I groaned, biting my lip.

Me: What are your thoughts on a girl who was so messed up she could barely look at herself in the mirror?

Me: Who hated herself so much because she was leaving behind someone who could no longer be next to her because a disease was eating him away, slowly, every goddamn day? What are your thoughts on that girl?

Me: Who still cries at the thought of losing the guy she thought she was going to marry one day? But knows he’ll never come back and she still has to go through that grieving process?

Me: Who isn’t in love with him, but knows she’ll always care for him because she respected him that much, respected the relationship she thought she would have with him? Because he was actually a really great guy before the fucking disease TOOK HIM AWAY FROM HER?!

Me: She never got a say. He didn’t.

Me: They were happy one day, then poof, he couldn’t remember her the next for a few minutes. How’s that right? How’s that something we’re supposed to just take? Move on with life?

Me: Well. It doesn’t happen. There are feelings and thoughts and dreams and lives that are plucked away from us and we HAVE NO FUCKING SAY IN THE MATTER!

Me: Sorry. Calmer now.

Me: Still glad we became friends?

Me: Still glad we had sex?

Me: Still glad you put up with me enough so we were more than friends, more than fuck friends?

Me: What are your thoughts on a girl who was so filled with shame that it took her an entire year to start living again? To hope to live again? To want to live again?

Reese: Where.

Me: Or about a girl who realized because she hadn’t dealt with her baggage, she might’ve royally fucked up her chances at being with another guy who could make her happy? Who could make her live again?