April
It was the least romantic thing anyone had ever offered her and the most intimate.
“I’m not doing that here.”
Jiro's face shifted, sad puppy eyes becoming uncertain. Like he'd offered the only thing he had and didn't know what else to give.
"But I'm really glad you're here." She pushed the phone gently back toward him. "And I like that you asked first."
The phone disappeared into his pocket. He just stood there, like he’d lost his place.
April opened her arms.
Jiro stepped in and folded around her. Not a polite hug, not arms and distance—his whole body. He bent down and she didn't have to reach. His chest against hers, his arms wrapping her back, pulling her in tight. Her body fit against his.
His arms tightened. Like crawling under a pile of laundry fresh from the dryer when you're a kid—warm and heavy and safe in a way that makes you want to stay there forever.
Her shoulders dropped. Her breathing slowed, matched his without her choosing to. His heartbeat was steady against her cheek.
When she pulled back cold air hit her where warmth had been.
"Are we okay?" Jiro asked.
"We're okay."
“Can I stay?”
She smiled. “Yes you can stay.”
He reached for her hand.
April met him halfway. Their fingers laced.
"Come on," she said. "Let's go back."
They walked back to the booth together, and April felt the attention shift as the booth went quiet.
Six men. All watching.
Caleb leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, wearing an expression that suggested he was about to enjoy himself immensely at someone else’s expense. “So,” Caleb said. “Jiro.”
Jiro stopped. Waiting.
“You want in?” Caleb asked.
Jiro’s eyebrow did that small, amused thing. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
But then he looked at her; one last confirmation.
“Being here and belonging are different things.” Caleb’s smile sharpened in a way that probably looked great on camera and absolutely terrible in person. “You want in? Earn it.”
April opened her mouth to say something. Protest, maybe. Point out that this was ridiculous.
Jax cut her off, “It’s only fair, April. We’ve all had to prove ourselves today.”
April looked at Arthur. Arthur didn’t speak. He watched; patient as geology, like he could outwait glaciers if necessary.
Mateo grinned, all teeth. “Dance for her.”
“What?”
“You heard him.” Caleb said. “Dance. Make it count.”
April should have argued. This was hazing. Ridiculous. Possibly illegal in several jurisdictions. But part of her, possibly the same part that’d forgotten what shame was wanted to know what Jiro would do.
Jiro handed April his jacket, then he walked onto the dance floor.
Jiro didn’t do anything halfway. April was learning that in real time, and possibly regretting it, because her brain was trying to file a formal complaint with her hormones about operational limits, but her body had stopped taking meetings.
The music shifted, becoming slower, heavier. A Bass line she felt in her hips before she heard it.
And Jiro moved.
Not the sharp, precise choreography from his videos.
This was something rawer, his body responding to the music like it was a language only he spoke fluently.
Jiro moved like he was answering a question with his hips.
His hands traced down his body; chest, ribs, the sharp cut of his hips when his shirt rode up.
The club noticed. Of course it did. Half the dance floor stopped moving to watch.
But Jiro wasn’t dancing for them.
His eyes found April’s. Held.
And suddenly she understood how someone could undo you with a look. Except Jiro was doing it with his entire body, showing her exactly how he'd move, how he'd touch, how he'd take his time.
Hand sliding up the back of his neck, fingers threading through platinum hair, head falling back enough to expose his throat. He dropped low, thighs flexing, and came back up in one devastating wave that made April's pulse spike.
He turned, showing her the flex of muscle under his shirt, then looked over his shoulder with an expression that was pure heat. Facing her again, hands moving like he was touching someone who wasn't there.
The space between them hummed.
His eyes never left hers.
The song lasted three seconds and three years and also possibly forever, and when it finally ended April had to remember how time worked.
Jiro walked back to the booth. Flushed. Slightly breathless. But steady.
The men were silent. Then Caleb nodded. “Okay. Yeah. You’re in.”
Liam smirked. “Welcome to the pack.”
Mateo handed Jiro an expensive-looking drink. “You’ve earned this.”
Jax held out a name tag.
Pre-engraved. Jiro.
Jiro took it, cheeks going pink. His smile was small and bashful; which felt like a violation of natural law because he’d danced like that and now he was shy about a name tag?
He pinned it to his shirt. April leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Jiro froze for a half-second. Then his smile went a little lopsided.
And just like that, there were seven.
They sat like that, with April’s hand in his under the table, his thumb brushing steady circles along her knuckles. Eventually, April gave his hand a gentle squeeze, a I see you. Still here. Then she stood and moved to sit beside Jax, bumping his shoulder with hers.
"You brought him here, didn't you?"
“Jiro created the problem. I made it worse.” A small tilt of the head and he turned to meet her gaze. “We both owed you. I said my piece. You needed his.”
“Problem identified. Solution implemented.” His fingers tapped once against his phone screen. “I want to solve your problems when I can.”
April leaned in. Rested her head briefly on his shoulder. “Thank you,” she said.
Then Liam stood, glass in hand.
The booth went quiet, that particular hush that meant something was about to happen. Something important. The kind of thing April knew would haunt her later when she was trying to sleep and her brain queued up every major decision she'd made that day.
Liam’s smile was sharp and warm at the same time. He looked at April.
“To chaos,” he said. “To revenge. To Tuesday getting out of hand.”
He paused.
“To the seven pranks of April.”
Glasses lifted.
“To the seven pranks of April.”
April looked around the booth. Seven engraved name tags. Seven men watching her like this was just the beginning.
Let Future April figure it out. Present April was going to enjoy this.