She turns back to her friends, dismissing me like I'm a random guy asking for her number outside a gas station.
Not the usual response.
A couple of her friends laugh, half-shocked, half-gleeful, like they've never seen someone poke the king in the chest.
I keep the grin but tilt my head. "So that's a no to dancing?"
"That's a no to everything," Maya replies smoothly, her voice calm, sharp. "I'd never waste myself on someone like you."
Her friends actually gasp. One of them chokes on her drink. Another says, "Maya!" like she just violated the Geneva Conventions.
And me? I feel the words land right in my chest. Sharp. Direct. Brutal.
Nobody talks to me like that. Nobody.
I should walk away. Any other girl? I'd be gone already, arms around someone else before the bass dropped again. Not that it usually happens.
But her?
Instead of stinging, it thrills me.
I don't move.
"Maybe you're right," I say, rocking back on my heels. "Maybe I'm a waste."
She lifts a brow like she didn't expect me to agree.
I lean in anyway, close enough for her perfume to tease me, and let my mouth find her ear so she gets every syllable. "And maybe you'll think about me when you're brushing your teeth tomorrow and hate that you are."
Her eyes don't flinch, but I see it-the tiniest spike. The spark I clocked the first time. She takes another sip of her drink, eyes cutting over me like I'm background noise.
"Not likely," she says, but her voice doesn't have fangs anymore.
I smile and step back, palms up, surrendering like a gentleman thief. "Enjoy your night, Maya."
I leave her with her girls and thread my way back to the booth, pulse steady, jaw tight, the bass moving through my bones like a second heart.
My grin doesn't slip, but something inside me twists.
By the time I slide back to the VIP booth, Jax is already laughing.
"Let me guess," he says, draping an arm over the back of the couch. "She shot you down harder than an SAT curveball."
Theo's pouring shots, smirking. "Bro, your face says everything."
"Relax," I say, snatching a shot before Theo can hog them. "She's just playing hard to get."
"Hard to get?" Jax barks out a laugh. "She's playing *not interested,*" he says, grinning. "There's a difference."
Theo clinks his glass against mine. "Ouch. Seems like you just got a *hell no*."
I toss the liquor back, fire hitting my throat, and slam the glass on the table. "You think she means that? Please. Give me a week. She'll fold."
Jax leans in, eyes dancing with amusement. "You serious?"
"Dead serious."
Theo whistles low. "Alright, I'll bite. You're saying you can actually pull her? Maya? The untouchable one?"
I grin, lounging back and throwing my arm across the seat like a king on a cheap throne. "I'm saying-no girl is untouchable. She's just waiting for a better invitation."
Jax snorts. "This is rich. Alright, I'm in. Prove it."
Theo whistles. "So what's the plan, maestro?"
"Rooftop," I say. "No noise, no audience, no chorus of friends doing color commentary. She thinks I'm a caricature. I'll let her meet the person."
Jax cackles. "You mean you?"
"Don't be rude. I have layers."
"Like an onion," Theo says. "Or an ogre."
"Shut up."
Jax slaps the table. "If she pushes you off the roof, I call dibs on your vinyl."
Theo lifts his glass. "To the doomed."
I smile like I've never heard the word.
---
A little whispered word to one of Theo's people, and suddenly Maya's getting a message-someone wants to see her upstairs. Urgent. Important.
The rooftop door swings open with a metallic cough, and the city swims up to meet her-black sky punctured by a thousand lights, wind cutting clean, the hum down below a steady, distant ocean.
Maya steps out slow, arms crossed, suspicion dialed to eleven. "Seriously?"
I push off the railing and spread my hands. "Best view in the building. I'd be a bad person if I kept it to myself."
She lets the door fall shut with a soft thud. "So the 'it's important' part was... what? Your ego?"
"Absolutely," I say. "Urgent medical condition. Needs constant attention."
Her mouth twitches and she kills it. "You don't know how to take no for an answer, do you?"
"Not when no sounds like maybe," I say, and gesture to the ledge. "Truce. Five minutes. If you hate it, you can go back downstairs and roast me in front of your friends again."
"Roast is a strong word," she says, walking to the edge. "I was being... efficient."
"Efficient is a strong word," I counter, falling in two steps behind her.
Wind lifts a strand of her hair and she tucks it behind her ear, eyes sweeping the skyline. I've been up here a hundred times. It's always good. Tonight it's better.
"Okay," she says, arms still crossed. "You have five minutes. Use them wisely."
I plant my elbows on the railing and mirror her stance. "Alright. Lightning round. Worst job you ever had."
She side-eyes me. "We're doing small talk?"
"Think of it as a pre-interview," I say. "For the position of being less bored by me."
She sighs like I'm a chore-and then answers. "Ice cream shop in the summer. Sticky floors. Children with moral bankruptcy. A kid bit me once because we ran out of rainbow sprinkles."
I bark out a laugh. "You got mauled by a toddler?"
"Bruised," she says, mouth curving. "Tiny teeth. Tiny, evil teeth."
"Tragic," I say. "I'll start a GoFundMe."
"Please don't."
"Alright," I say. "Worst song you secretly love."
She pretends to think, the city throwing a soft glow across her cheekbones. "If you tell anyone, I'll deny it... 'Call Me Maybe.'"
I clutch my heart. "Elite choice."
"I hate how catchy it is," she says, actually smiling now. "It lives in my head rent-free."
"We could charge it utilities," I offer. "Split the bill."
She laughs-short, real, surprised she let it out. I file the sound away for bad days.
"Okay," she says, tilting toward me. "Your turn. Worst date you've ever been on."
"I don't do dates," I say automatically, then catch myself. "I mean-I have. But they always feel like interviews where the job is to be less of yourself."
"Deep," she deadpans.
"Alright, philosopher," I say, lifting a brow. "Your pettiest dealbreaker."
"Men who say 'I'm a nice guy' like it's a threat," she says without hesitation. "Or guys who think holding eye contact for ten seconds is intimacy."
"That one." I nod. "That one is fair."
She leans her elbows on the railing, chin dipping. "Why are we doing this?"
"Because your five minutes are up," I say, checking an imaginary watch, "and you haven't fled yet."
"I can leave," she says, but she doesn't move.
"True," I say, softer. "You can. But you're not moving, which tells me you want to stay."
Silence settles-a good one. The kind that lets your shoulders drop a notch. I let it ride, then nudge the wheel again.
"Two truths and a lie," I say. "Winner gets bragging rights."
"No stakes?"
"Fine. Loser buys the other coffee tomorrow."
She smirks. "You're assuming there's a tomorrow."
"I'm optimistic." I gesture grandly. "You first."
She taps her lip, then fires: "One: I hate olives. Two: I can drive stick. Three: I cried at the ending of a cartoon when I was twelve."
I squint at her like a detective. "You love olives."
"Incorrect," she says, triumphant. "I despise them."
I narrow my eyes. "You cried at the cartoon?"
"Lied," she answers. "I cried at eight."
I shake my head. "You monster." I point at myself. "My turn. One: I have a scar on my knee from falling off a roof when I was fourteen. Two: I once got detention for running a poker ring behind the bleachers. Three: I'm an excellent cook."
She gives me a *please* look. "You can't cook."
"Ouch," I say, offended for show. "Correct. I'm a disaster. The scar and the poker ring are true."
"Falling off a roof?" she says, amused. "So this is a redemption arc."
"Exactly," I say. "Full circle. Tonight I don't fall."
"Bold," she says. "Don't tempt fate."
"You believe in fate?" I ask.
She considers it. "I believe in consequences."
I smile and lean closer, shoulder to shoulder now. "Same thing, different timeline."
She should pull back. She doesn't.
"Alright," she says after a moment, softer. "Tell me something true that you don't say to everyone."
"Like a confession?" I ask.
"Like a fact," she says. "One that doesn't feel rehearsed."
I lick my bottom lip, taste wind and rooftop dust. "Okay. I hate silence when I'm alone and love it when I'm with people I like."
She studies me, the corners of her mouth doing that twitch again. "That's almost interesting."
"Almost?" I feign injury. "Your turn."
She looks out over the city. "I read the last page of a book first. If it's not worth the ending, I don't bother."
"That's chaos," I say.
"That's efficient," she counters, smiling now. "You'd hate it. You like surprises."
"I like good stories," I say, eyes on her, not the skyline. "And good endings."
Our gazes catch.
The air shifts.