Chapter 3 #2
Something told me that might take a minute, but I was entirely willing to wait.
We pulled up outside Gutters, the engine cutting out just as the sun dipped low enough to turn the street to gold.
I cut the engine and stepped out, the air warm but lighter than downtown.
Cal came around the back, stretching like he’d just escaped a long press conference, while Mars opened her door more carefully.
She stepped down in her heels, steady despite the slight tilt of the curb, the concrete catching the sharp, intentional click of her stride.
She adjusted her blazer once, letting it hang open.
Her jeans fit exactly how they were supposed to, thick thighs, small waist, a compact five-two frame that somehow carried a presence much bigger than her height.
There was a subtle, natural sway in her step.
It was just the way her body moved when she wasn’t thinking about being watched.
And she wasn’t.
That’s what made it worse.
She walked ahead of us toward the entrance like she’d been here a hundred times.
No hesitation.
No checking to see who was looking.
Her curls shifted against her shoulders as she pushed the door open, glancing back once to make sure we were behind her.
I didn’t realize I’d slowed down until Cal nudged my shoulder.
“You coming?”
“Yeah,” I said, clearing my throat and following them inside.
We didn’t need menus.
Cal rattled off the order with practiced ease.
“Three Gutters specials.
Extra fries.
Onion rings.
Wings.
And whatever she’s drinking,” he added, nodding toward Mars.
She didn’t argue, leaning back against her stool like this was standard procedure.
I watched her while the owner shouted the order toward the kitchen.
She was relaxed here.
More than she’d been at the studio.
More than in the elevator.
This was her territory.
The food came out fast and loud, plates sliding onto the table.
Fries were piled high under rising steam, and the burgers were wrapped tight in paper already darkening with grease.
The smell alone made me realize I was starving.
Mars unwrapped her burger, holding my gaze as if daring me to go first.
I picked up mine and took a bite.
The flavor hit immediately, juicy, perfectly seasoned, the kind of burger that makes you nod before you even swallow.
“Oh,” I said before I could stop myself.
“Yeah.
This is serious.”
Cal grinned.
“Told you.”
Mars looked at me over her food, smug but subtle, before taking a bite of her own.
No cutting it in half.
No checking her angles.
No wiping her hands every three seconds.
I’ve eaten all over Houston, but this was easily the best burger I’d ever had.
I kept catching myself looking at her.
Most people performed even when they ate, managing how they looked while chewing.
She didn’t.
It shouldn’t have been attractive, but it was, because it meant she wasn’t pretending.
She wasn’t here to impress me, and for some reason, that made me like her even more.
The door opened again halfway through our second round of fries.
I looked up out of habit.
The woman who walked in looked like she belonged anywhere she stepped.
Tall, slim, with big curls piled high like structure was optional tonight.
She scanned the room once, quick and efficient, before her eyes landed on Mars.
The shift in Mars was immediate.
Her shoulders softened, her mouth curving into an effortless smile.
Home.
The woman crossed the room and leaned down, wrapping her arms around Mars in a hug that felt lived-in.
“Hey, knucklehead,” she said to Cal, pushing his head lightly.
“Leave some food for me, greedy.”
Cal grabbed her around the waist like it was second nature and planted a greasy kiss on her forehead.
“Ew,” she said, but she didn’t pull away fast enough to mean it.
I leaned back slightly, watching.
That wasn’t a new flirtation.
That was history.
She slid into the booth and finally noticed me, her eyes doing a quick, unimpressed assessment.
She extended her hand.
“Nia.”
“Jalen.”
Her grip was firm.
“Good recovery last quarter,” she said casually.
I blinked, surprised, then smiled.
“Appreciate that.”
She nodded like that was enough and reached for a handful of fries.
No fawning.
Just normal.
I glanced at Cal and caught him watching her when she wasn’t looking.
I saw the grin, the way his shoulders angled toward her without him realizing it, the way he kept finding reasons to touch her elbow.
Yeah.
He liked her.
Mars and Nia couldn’t have been more different.
Nia was kinetic, outward, and loudly warm.
Mars was contained, controlled, and warm only if she decided you’d earned it.
And yet, they fit perfectly.
The music shifted, and the table loosened with it.
Mars leaned back, one arm draped over the stool behind her, her head tilted slightly as she listened to Cal tell some ridiculous college story.
Gutters got louder as the night went on, not packed, just warmer.
The bass grew heavier, forcing people to lean closer when they talked.
The table that started orderly slowly turned into scattered fries and half-finished beers.
I noticed the exact moment Mars’s laugh changed.
It wasn’t sloppy, just softer around the edges.
A little freer.
Her words started stretching slightly at the end of sentences, and she leaned into the table instead of sitting upright.
Cal and Nia were completely gone in their own orbit by that point, shoulder to shoulder, arguing about something meaningless and grinning while they did it.
Mars watched them for a second, shook her head lightly, and slipped her blazer off, draping it over the back of her stool.
The fitted tank top underneath caught me off guard.
It wasn’t flashy, just simple with clean lines, but it hugged her curves in a way that made it impossible to look away.
She crossed one leg over the other, the fabric settling perfectly against her compact frame.
I looked away deliberately, clearing my throat as she reached for her beer.
“So,” she said, tilting her head, her eyes bright with amusement.
“You play any other sports?”
I smiled.
“Just about everything.”
“Cocky.”
“Confident.”
She studied me for a second, weighing my answer, before nodding toward the dartboard across the bar.
“I bet I could beat you in darts.”
I raised a brow.
“You don’t even know if I’m any good.”
“I don’t need to.”
That did something to me.
When we stood up, I followed her across the floor, catching the natural, unbothered sway of her hips.
We grabbed our darts, and she surprised me immediately.
Her first throw landed clean, dead center.
I blinked.
“You're a hustler.”
She grinned, throwing again and hitting her mark.
“No, I just think you underestimated me.”
She turned toward me slowly, a victorious little smile tugging at her lips.
Everything about her was turning me on—even losing.
By the time we finished the round, she’d beaten me by a narrow margin.
“So,” she said, stepping closer.
Her voice had dropped, turning softer and slower.
“What do I get for winning?”