Chapter Six
From: Project Win
Hey, Myah! Looking forward to this afternoon. Should I bring dried oats? For the birds I mean.
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Myah told herself she wasn’t checking the path again, which was exactly why she checked it anyway.
Greenwood Park stretched out around her in that deceptively peaceful way parks had when the weather finally settled into something kind.
The sunlight was warm without being aggressive, the breeze soft enough that it didn't disrupt Myah’s perfectly curled hair.
Children shrieked somewhere near the swings with the unfiltered joy only kids could produce, a dog barked in sharp offended bursts as if the world had personally wronged it and someone’s music drifted faintly from a portable speaker, the bass thumping like a distant, second heartbeat beneath everything else.
The sounds layered together into a living backdrop, but none of it quieted the restless noise inside her head.
She sat perched on the very edge of the bench she had chosen fifteen minutes earlier, elbows braced on the knees of her ripped skinny jeans, fingers laced so tightly together that the skin across her knuckles had blanched pale.
One of her legs bounced with nervous energy, stilled when she noticed it, and then started again anyway.
Myah wicked at her nails that she had gotten last week on a whim. She didn't usually spend so much money on trivial things, but her dads phone call sent her into somewhat of a rage mania. Still, she admired the fine detail of the painted stars and allowed her mind to drift.
He’s not coming.
The thought slipped in quietly, smoothly. Like it had always belonged there, like it was simply the most reasonable conclusion.
He’s going to ghost you. Obviously. Why wouldn’t he? You barely know him. He saw you at your most annoying. He probably went home, thought about it, and realized you’re a lot. Too much. A joke he entertained for five minutes and then–
Myah inhaled slowly through her nose, drawing in the smell of sun-warmed grass, asphalt from the nearby path, and the faint watery scent drifting from the bay beyond the trees.
She counted to four the way she sometimes forced herself to when her thoughts started sprinting. She held her breath. Counted again.
He said he’d come.
People say things all the time.
Her jaw tightened at that, her teeth pressing together hard enough that her temples ached.
Two days ago she had watched him walk up to Good Times like a promise she didn’t think she deserved, and the memory still felt strange and fragile in her chest. He had stood there in that shy-defiant way of his, shoulders squared as if he expected someone to laugh but had shown up anyway.
She had almost dropped the cup she was holding when she realized it was actually him.
He’d actually come.
That alone had knocked something loose inside her ribcage, something she had spent a long time keeping nailed down.
They had talked–awkwardly at first, their words bumping into each other like strangers in a narrow hallway, and then easier in that rare way conversations sometimes shifted when both people were trying not to care too much.
He had given her his number with a shrug that looked casual but felt practiced, like he had rehearsed the indifference.
She had texted him later that night before she could talk herself out of it.
Myah didn't date often, but a bet was a bet and she’d rather go on a hundred awkward dates than lose a bet. Myah looked down at her phone and unlocked it, going over their texts.
Their messages hadn’t been long, but they had been enough.
Small things. Dumb things. A complaint he sent about a rude customer.
A meme she responded with at two in the morning.
A picture he’d taken of a record sleeve because he said it reminded him of her “vibe,” which she still hadn’t decided was an insult or a compliment.
The thing that stuck with her though–the thing she hadn’t admitted out loud even to herself–was how quickly he replied.
Too quickly.
Like he was waiting.
Like he wanted to.
And now she was sitting on a park bench with a joint tucked inside the tiny zipper pocket of her bag, her heart beating like she’d swallowed a hummingbird, wondering if she had imagined all of it. She didn't know if he even smoked, but she knew it would calm her nerves.
Her eyes drifted back to the path again despite herself. Still empty.
You knew it.
Her stomach dipped sharply, that familiar sinking sensation she hated because it always came with the same old script. This was stupid. She shouldn’t have suggested this. She shouldn’t have–
Movement caught her attention at the curve of the paved trail.
Her brain didn’t register him immediately; it just registered shape and motion, tall and dark-shirted and walking with hands in his pockets. Then the sunlight shifted and caught the clean edge of his jaw.
Her pulse stuttered.
Jace.
Relief slammed into her so hard it almost hurt, like her ribs had been holding tension they hadn’t warned her about.
He was here. He had actually come.
He walked toward her with that same careful stride he always seemed to have, like he didn’t fully trust the ground to stay steady under him.
His hair looked messier than usual, as if he had run his hands through it on the way.
He wore a black T-shirt and worn jeans, a chain hooked to his belt loop glinting whenever the light hit it.
Without the coffee stand counter between them, his shoulders looked broader, his height more obvious, his presence somehow bigger.
He looked–
Myah swallowed.
He looked hot. Not in a polished, magazine-cover way, not in a curated influencer aesthetic kind of way, but in a real way. In a standing in sunlight like he belongs there, way. In a someone you could accidentally stare at too long and forget why you started looking way.
Her brain, traitor that it was, supplied immediately:
You like him.
No. Nope. Absolutely not. This is the bet. Remember the bet.
The reminder didn’t land the way it was supposed to. Instead of grounding her, it twisted something inside her chest. Because he didn’t look like a bet. He looked like someone who had shown up because she asked him to.
He spotted her then, his eyes lighting in a way that made something inside her tilt sideways. A sudden warmth leaked into her chest making her shift a little. If she wasn't thinking correctly, she’d think he looked like he was relieved she existed where he expected her to.
He lifted one hand in a small wave, his tattooed arm flexing above him.
Myah’s heart did something deeply humiliating. She forced her mouth into a smirk before he got close enough to see anything softer, because armor first had always been her rule.
“Took you long enough,” she called out.
Jace huffed a quiet laugh as he stopped in front of her. “I’m five minutes early.”
She blinked, thrown off.
He was.
She had just gotten there ridiculously early because her brain didn’t know how to behave like a normal person when anticipation was involved.
“That’s still late in Myah Time,” she replied smoothly.
“Is Myah Time a real unit,” he asked, “or something you invented so you can bully people?”
“Both.”
His mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile too much.
God, he really is pretty.
She stood and brushed imaginary lint from her jeans so her hands had something to do, because otherwise she might have stared openly. Up close he smelled faintly like laundry detergent and something woodsy and clean, a scent that made her think of fresh air and quiet places.
He glanced at the bench. “So this is the spot?”
“Unless you’re secretly a park critic with strong opinions.”
He shook his head. “No notes.”
His eyes met hers, and something softened in his expression so subtly she almost missed it.
Her stomach flipped.
Abort. Abort feelings.
She reached into her pocket quickly before she could think too hard. “I brought an ice breaker.” She held up the joint between two fingers.
His brows lifted slightly. “You came prepared.”
“I’m always prepared.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It is.”
He laughed then–quiet and genuine, not the polite customer laugh she’d heard at the stand and not the careful one he used when he wasn’t sure he was allowed to react. This one was loose, real, and it hit her square in the ribs.
“C’mon,” she muttered, nodding toward the grassy stretch beyond the path. “Bench is too public, I don’t need a soccer mom yelling at me about corrupting youth.”
They walked a few yards off the trail and settled beneath a wide-armed tree, the shade breaking the sunlight into soft shifting patches across Jace’s face. Myah tried very hard not to stare at the way the light caught in his lashes.
She failed.
He noticed.
Her cheeks warmed.
Fantastic.
She sparked the lighter before she could overthink anything, cupping her hand around the flame until the tip glowed. She inhaled slowly and passed it to him. Their fingers brushed in the exchange, and the contact felt startlingly electric.
She pulled her hand back quickly like she had touched something hot. Thankfully, he didn’t comment on it. He just took a drag, coughed once under his breath, and gave her a sheepish smile.
“Still getting used to that,” he admitted.
Her lips curved. “You don’t smoke much?”
“Not really.”
“You don't have to.” Myah took another drag, “It just calms me.”
He shrugged as he took the joint back and hit it again, this time holding it longer. Myah watched as his lips wrapped around the butt of it. As his tongue wetted his lower lip, he exhaled smoke toward the sky. “You need calming?”
Jace glanced over, a smirk painted on his face. Myah wasn't expecting that. He had been nothing but shy and polite and quiet up until now. His teasing words sent a thrill through her.
“Not everyday a hot regular meets me at the park.” She said it with a smile before snatching the joint back and taking another hit.
“You think I’m hot?” Jace asked, almost surprised. Which was ridiculous.