Page 44 of The Defender

I turned my head, breaking the spell. The little fires blinked out, and cool air rushed into my lungs once more.

A silent beat passed before Vincent slid off the table. “I’m going to get us some water.” Was it me, or did his voice sound slightly strained? “I’ll be right back.”

“Sounds good.”

He disappeared into the main arcade, and I finally allowed myself to fully exhale.

I checked my phone for new messages. I had texts from Scarlett and Carina congratulating me on the job offer, which I responded to with a quick thank-you. Then, before I could stop myself, I clicked into Instagram and looked up Vincent’s private, personal profile. We were mutuals, but we never interacted in the app. Maybe there was something there that would help me win the bet.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t super active. His last upload was a photo from Paris taken months ago. There was nothing that gave me any new insight into who he was, what he liked, or how I could seduce him into kissing me first.

“Do you need a pool partner?”

I hastily closed out of the app and looked up.Not Vincent.I should’ve known from the voice alone, but I was so startled by the unexpected question that it took my brain a minute to catch up.

The newcomer looked like he was around my age. Auburn hair, hazel eyes, crooked smile. Cute.

“I’m already playing with someone,” I said apologetically. “He’s getting a drink, but he’s…” His accent suddenly clicked. I straightened, a thrill of recognition shooting through me. “Wait. Are you from the States?”

“Yep. La Jolla, born and raised.”

“No way! I’m from La Mesa.” La Jolla and La Mesa were both part of San Diego County.

“No shit? We’re practically neighbors.” His face lit up. “I’m Mason.”

“Brooklyn.” I grinned, my initial reserve falling away.

There were plenty of Americans in London, but I hadn’t met anyone from my hometown until now. There was something about running into a fellow San Diegan abroad that created an instant bond.

Mason and I struck up an easy conversation. He was a year older than me, worked in corporate marketing, and had moved to London a month ago. He lived nearby and was exploring the neighborhood when he’d stumbled upon the arcade.

“I got my ass kicked by a teenager atNBA Jam, so I figured I’d try my hand at pool,” he said sheepishly. “But if you already have a partner, I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding. If we find a fourth person, maybe we can play doubles.”

I wasn’t sure how Vincent would feel about that, but—actually, wherewasVincent anyway? It didn’t take that long to get water.

Mason smiled down at me. He really was handsome. I should’ve been flirting up a storm, but I couldn’t stop my thoughts from wandering toward a certain footballer.

“I’d love that,” he said. “I?—”

“Love what?”

Deep. Smooth. Velvet edged with the tiniest hint of irritation.

My heartbeat quickened for a split second.

I turned and nearly walked straight into Vincent’s chest. He was standing so close I could see the faint twitch in his jaw as he eyed Mason with barely veiled suspicion.

“We were saying how we could play doubles.” I took one of the two water bottles from his hands. “This is Mason, by the way. Mason, this is Vincent.”

“Do you two know each other?” Vincent’s tone was light, but the near-imperceptible edge sharpened.

“We just met,” I said. “But it turns out we both grew up in the San Diego area. Isn’t that crazy?”

“So crazy.”

I narrowed my eyes at his flat response. Vincent’s default when meeting new people was guarded friendliness. Where was this hostility coming from?