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There’s a moment of silence between us, but it’s not uncomfortable or strained. Even though Ezra, Yenn, and Alicia are still in the room, finishing up the takedown without me having to ask, it feels like there’s just the two of us here.

It feels…right.

But then his phone chirps, breaking the moment. Storm pulls it from his back pocket as it continues to ring, and he frownswhen he looks down at the screen. We’re close enough I’m able to see the caller’s identity before he silences the call, turning the screen black.

A professional headshot of the delicate, dark-haired woman he was with yesterday flashes on the screen.

Girlfriend. He has a girlfriend.Storm Sandoval is not available.

“I guess you’d better be going,” I say, and my voice is colder than I anticipate. His frown deepens.

“I was hoping we could?—”

Just then, my phone alarm goes off, and I have never been more grateful for technology. I rush to the other side of the room to where I stowed my bag beneath the snack table. Pulling it out, I grimace as I silence the ringer.

“Gotta jet,” I say, looking at my phone as if it holds the answer to the meaning of life so I can avoid looking at Storm as he approaches. “Ez, Yenn, can you guys finish closing up?” I flick a glance at my best friends, and Yenn places a hand on her hip.

“It’s not like we aren’t damn near done, anyway,” she drawls. I look around the room, still avoiding Storm.

Oh. Right. They’ve reset the chairs and broken down all but one table.

“Thank you. Owe you bunches!” I rush to say, slinging my bag across my body and making a beeline for the door.

I clear the doorway and damn near sprint to the stairs before I hear Storm’s deep voice behind me.

“Shae,” he says, catching up to me easily. Damn him for not even being winded.

“I’ve really gotta go, Storm,” I say, holding on to my bag so hard my knuckles burn. Looking at him, I accept I’m out of my element. Storm is a force, scrambling my good sense and making me want things.

Want things I should not want—andthings I don’t have time for.

“Get coffee with me,” he says, and dread fills my stomach because my inner Sasha Fierce is screamingYes!

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say, looking off in the vicinity of his right shoulder.

“Why not?” he murmurs, coming another step closer.

I inhale but stop myself, because his cologne skews my synapses.

“Storm—” I’m saved from trying to come up with another excuse when his phone rings again. He makes a short grunting sound as he pulls it out of his pocket.

This time, I see the brunette’s name over her picture.

Bambi.

What the fuck kind of name is Bambi?

Storm rejects the call, opening his mouth as if he’s ready to debate me about the merits of going out with him for coffee when the ringer starts up again.

This time, he looks at the screen and says, “Shit.”

Girlfriend. He has a girlfriend.

“Don’t move,” he says as he swipes his thumb over the screen.

Damn me for wanting to obey.

“What do you need?” he barks into his cell, turning to give me his profile. His tone takes me aback, and I take a literal step away from him. But then his voice changes, and he says, “Hey. Slow down and breathe, okay?”