I woke up alone.
Which, don't get me wrong, isn't unusual. The space beside me smelled faintly of perfume and cheap lipstick, evidence of last night's entertainment. Two girls, names I barely remembered. One had a laugh that cracked like glass, the other wouldn't stop running her fingers through my hair like she wanted to braid it. Cute, but exhausting.
They were gone before sunrise. No note, no goodbye, no lingering attachment—and that suited me perfectly. Less explaining, less drama, less "where do we go from here?" The answer was always nowhere.
Still… as I stared at the ceiling, I realized they hadn't been the first thing on my mind when I woke.
Café girl.
That girl had invaded my thoughts like a damn song stuck on repeat. Her sharp tongue. The way she didn't bite at the bait of my charm. The way her eyes practically rolled me into the ground without lifting a finger. I hated how I couldn't shake her off.
"Pathetic," I muttered to myself as I threw the covers aside and got up. Me, Cole St. James, who had girls lined up and begging for attention, lying here replaying a five-minute exchange with some stranger who clearly wanted nothing to do with me.
Shower. Gym. Reset. That was the plan.
The gym was my church, and Jax was my unwilling congregation. He was already on the bench press when I walked in, his arms pumping like pistons.
"You look like hell," he said, without missing a rep.
"Thanks, bro. Love the support." I smirked, grabbing the weights beside him. "Rough night."
He racked the bar and sat up, wiping sweat off his brow. "Rough night or busy night?"
I grinned. "Both."
His eyebrow arched in that judgmental way only Jax could pull off. "You and those two girls again?"
I didn't bother hiding it. "Yep. Back to back. Like running drills."
"You're ridiculous."
"Don't be jealous." I dropped down for push-ups. "It's almost boring at this point. Too easy. Where's the challenge? Where's the thrill? Feels like playing a video game with cheat codes."
Jax shook his head. "You sound dead inside, man."
"Dead inside but satisfied," I shot back. "Besides, they loved it. I was practically doing them a public service."
"Sure," he muttered. "Community hero."
After a solid hour of punishing ourselves with weights, we hit the showers and cleaned up. My body felt lighter, but my head… not so much. Café girl was still there, uninvited, camped out in my skull like she paid rent.
We hopped into my car, windows down, music blasting. The world was sharp and sunny, one of those mornings where the air feels like it's daring you to do something reckless.
We were headed toward Theo's place when I saw her.
Not the morning-after girl who slipped out of my place without her shoes, not the ones I had tangled up together just hours ago, and definitely not the bottle-blonde at the bar giving me "take me home" eyes.
No.
Her.
The world slowed down. No joke—it was like one of those movie scenes where everything else fades into background noise.
Across the street, outside the same café from a few days ago, sitting with her hair pulled back and a book in hand—Café girl.
I hit the brakes so hard Jax nearly flew into the dashboard.
"Jesus, Cole!" he barked, gripping the handle. "You trying to kill us?"
I ignored him. My eyes were locked on her, sipping coffee like she had no idea she'd already wrecked all my days since our last encounter. The way she sits—back straight, legs crossed like she's cutting the world off—she's daring someone to try. She wants someone to break through, she just doesn't know it yet.
And lucky for her, I'm in the business of breaking through.
Jax followed my gaze and groaned. "Oh no. Not her again."
"Yes," I said, grinning. "Her again."
"Cole, let it go. She's not—"
"She's not impressed with me. Exactly." My grin widened. "Which makes her perfect."
Before he could argue, I threw the car in park and hopped out. Jax swore behind me, but I was already crossing the street, laser-focused on the girl who'd told me off like I was nothing.
I cross the cafe like I own it. That's half the game—acting like the universe shifts just because I decided to stand up. Girls eat that up. I can feel the stares on me already, the not-so-subtle nudges between friends, the fluttering lashes. It's autopilot at this point.
But when I get closer, she doesn't even look up. Just turns a page.
Ballsy.
I like that.
I stop at her table and tilt my head, flashing the lazy smile that's gotten me everything from phone numbers to hotel keys in under thirty seconds.
"Book must be good if it's competing with me," I said, sliding into the seat across from her without an invitation.
Her eyes flicked up, unimpressed as ever. "You."
"Me," I said, leaning back like I owned the place. "I was just driving by, minding my business, when the universe decided to bless me with another glimpse of you. Who am I to ignore fate?"
"Fate?" She arched a brow. "More like bad luck."
Ouch. Direct hit. God, I like her.
"Bad luck?" I pretended to clutch my chest. "And here I thought we had a connection."
She set her book down slowly. "You don't even know my name."
"Correction." I leaned forward. "I don't know your name yet. But give me time, princess. I'm a quick learner."
She smirked faintly, the first crack in her armor. "And what exactly do you think you're going to learn?"
"Everything," I said easily. "What makes you laugh. What pisses you off. Your favorite drink order, so I can surprise you with it when you're having a rough day."
"Wow." She tilted her head. "You've rehearsed that, haven't you?"
"Maybe." I shrugged. "Doesn't make it less true."
Her eyes lingered on me, sharp and calculating, like she was trying to solve a puzzle. Then she said, "I don't do casual flings."
And just like that, the table between us shifted.
I leaned back, grin still plastered on my face, but something in me jolted at her words. She said it so firmly, like a line drawn in permanent ink.
"No casual flings," I repeated. "So you're more of a… what? Long walks on the beach, meet-the-parents type?"
"I'm more of a genuine connections type," she said. "I like real conversations. People who care about more than what they can get out of someone for one night."
I whistled low. "That's a tall order these days."
"Not really. Just takes patience."
Her gaze pinned me, and I felt that rare sensation I hardly ever did—like she was seeing right through me. Past the grin, past the cocky one-liners, past the mask I wore for everyone else.
It was uncomfortable. And addicting.
I laughed it off, leaning forward again. "Good thing patience is my middle name."
"Somehow, I doubt that."
She went back to her coffee, clearly dismissing me, but her words kept ringing in my ears. Genuine connections.
I couldn't remember the last time anyone had said that to me.