Alex Volkov wasn’t interested in people. Not really. They were distractions—temporary, irrelevant, unworthy of his attention.

But you? You were a problem.

“Who is she?” he asked, his voice even, detached.

Josh barely looked up from his drink. “Huh? Oh—her? She’s a friend.” A pause. “Why?”

Alex didn’t answer. His gaze remained fixed on you, watching the way you laughed at something, the way your fingers tapped absently against your glass.

It was nothing. It should have been nothing.

And yet, the muscle in his jaw twitched.

Josh sighed. “Dude, don’t tell me you’re interested.”

Alex finally looked away, expression unreadable.

“Interested?” he repeated. “No.”

It wasn’t a lie.

Not yet.