Page 48

The guys are already here when I arrive, of course they are. The rain hasn’t let up all evening, so we all ended up driving, even though we live barely two minutes apart.

I grab the wrapped gift from the passenger seat, step out into the drizzle, and jog toward Theo’s front steps. I’ve showered and changed before coming—no way I’m letting the rain mess that up. Tonight, I’ve gone casual—grey sweatpants, a white T-shirt, a dark navy hoodie, and sneakers. I can’t even remember the last time I dressed this comfortably.

At the door, I press my palm to the scanner. The lock clicks open, and the moment I step inside, I’m hit with chaos.

Music blares through hidden speakers, flashing party lights paint streaks of color across the walls, balloons float near the ceiling, and congratulations banners hang across the archways.

The place is buzzing. People talk over each other, laughter rises above the beat, some are dancing in the living room while others crowd around the kitchen island with drinks in hand.

“You made it,” Sierra greets me the second I step inside, her voice playful, though her eyes roll like an older sister tired of waiting. But she spreads her arms wide.

Chuckling, I bend and hug her briefly, the sweet scent of her perfume catching on my hoodie. “Not my fault you people talk so damn much in those group chats. I had to mute them to keep my sanity.”

That earns me a gentle slap on the arm. I smirk.

“You better unmute them, Ethan,” she warns, half serious, half laughing.

Before I can answer, Nick appears at her side, as always. The guy barely lets her out of his sight for more than two minutes unless he’s pulled away by training or games.

“Good you came, man,” he grins, reaching out to clasp my hand and pulling me into a quick, solid bro-hug. “They were about ready to storm your office and drag you here themselves.”

Then, with an easy, natural motion, he slides his arm around Sierra’s waist and leans down to whisper something in her ear. Whatever it is makes her cheeks flush instantly.

I can’t help but huff a quiet laugh at the sight of her reacting like that. Typical Nick—he always knows how to get under her skin in the best way.

After about ten minutes, I’ve left the gift bag on the kitchen counter and I’m leaning back against it, arms crossed loosely over my chest, watching the chaos unfold in front of me—card games on the coffee table, a karaoke battle in the corner, someone scrolling through game menus on the TV. It’s pure, unfiltered noise. Everyone’s acting like kids.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Thalia murmurs from my right, her voice a soft, teasing whisper.

I don’t turn my head. My gaze stays forward, my tone deliberately measured. “I heard it’s a special occasion. Couldn’t miss it.”

She chuckles softly beside me, the sound threading under my skin, then steps directly in front of me, arms folded across her chest.

I finally glance at her, lifting an eyebrow, an amused smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. But when I take her in, the room seems to change, the air growing tense in a way that’s impossible to ignore.

Fuck. She’s wearing a red dress, one-sleeved, leaving her entire right arm and shoulder bare, her skin catching the glow of the party lights. Embroidered roses bloom across the fabric at the opposite shoulder and across her chest.

Her hair is pulled high into a ponytail, exposing the line of her neck. Matching red sandals wrap around her feet, her makeup more dramatic than the day she decided to play real-life Barbie and throw my control off balance.

“I see you decided not to be Ethan the CEO tonight,” she says, laughing sweetly, her eyes flicking—just barely—down my body before returning to mine. “Can’t decide if you’re more approachable dressed like this… or hotter.” She winks.

I laugh, genuinely, the sound rougher than I expect, unfamiliar even to my ear.

“Happy birthday, Thalia,” I say, holding her gaze.

She angles her head gently, a small, dangerous smile curling her lips as she steps closer. Her voice drops into a whisper meant only for me. “I think the birthday girl’s supposed to get a gift. Since you clearly didn’t bring me one, can I pick what I want?”

The shift in her tone is immediate, electric. The tension that always sits between us deepens, becoming almost tangible.

I smile, reach back, and pick up the bag from the counter. The paper rustles softly in my hand.

Leaning in near her ear, I murmur, “Looks like I already chose your gift.”

She blinks, taken aback, then takes a small step back and exhales a slow breath. “God, nothing I plan ever works on you,” she mutters, half-annoyed, half-amused.

Taking the bag, she peeks inside, closes it again, then looks back at me.

“You’re not gonna look at it?” I ask, genuinely curious.