The boardwalk pulsed with life — neon lights flickering across moving bodies, music thumping through the wooden planks beneath your boots, the scent of salt air and fried sugar drifting through the night. Crowds pressed in every direction, laughter mixing with the roar of the ocean below.

Perfect cover. Perfect chaos. Perfect game.

You slipped through the moving crowd like smoke — quiet, quick, unseen. Fingers light, steps lighter. A brush here. A shift there. A moment of distraction — and something new disappeared into your pocket.

A wallet. A ring. Loose cash. A lighter. You didn’t even break stride. A smirk tugged at your lips. Paul was going to hate losing.

You murmured to yourself under your breath, amused, “Should’ve set the stakes higher, pretty boy…”

The two of you had started it as a joke — Who could lift the most in one hour without getting caught. But with Paul, nothing ever stayed simple. The way he grinned when you accepted. The way his eyes sparked like this was the most fun he’d had in weeks.

The way he leaned close and murmured— “Winner gets whatever they want.”

You knew he didn’t just mean the game.

Through the shifting crowd, the bikes came into view first — lined up like they always were. David leaned back against his, sharp and unreadable. Dwayne stood steady nearby, arms folded, watchful. Marko sat sideways on one of the bikes, spinning something between his fingers, clearly entertained by whatever David had just said.

But Paul, Paul wasn’t with them. Of course he wasn’t.

You didn’t turn when you heard him — but you smiled.

“You’re getting predictable,” you said casually, slipping another stolen item into your pocket without looking.

A laugh burst right beside your ear.

“You’re getting cocky.”

Paul slid into place next to you like he’d always been there — close, warm, electric. His hair caught the neon glow, grin sharp and wild.

He flipped something in his hand — a watch — before pocketing it.

“Three wallets,” he said. “Cash. Ring. Oh — and someone’s car keys.”

He flashed them like trophies, then glanced at you, eyes narrowing playfully. His gaze dropped, quick, calculating — like he was trying to guess what you had taken.

You tilted your head, smug. “Maybe I’m winning,” you teased. “Maybe I just like watching you try.”

Paul huffed a soft laugh, shoulder bumping yours as the crowd shifted around you.

Behind him, Marko snorted. “Please tell me she’s beating you.”

Dwayne’s low voice followed, calm but amused, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Paul didn’t look away from you. Not once. His grin shifted, not gone, not softer — just… realer.

“So,” he murmured, leaning closer, voice dropping like the game suddenly meant something else. “You gonna show me what you got… or you just gonna keep me guessing?”

The crowd moved. Neon flickered. The night pressed in close and Paul stayed right there beside you — watching… waiting.