The humid Montauk air hits me the second I swing the taxi door open. It smells like salt, expensive gin, and freedom. I see Noah standing there, looking every bit the Brooklyn dad out of his element, and I can’t help but grin. My chest feels light, lighter than it’s been in a decade.

"Noah!" I yell, pulling him into a rough embrace. He’s stiff, but he’s here. I pull back, keeping my hands on his shoulders. "Get in. Seriously, get in the cab. Let's get away from this noise for a second."

We pull around to a quieter spot, the neon glow of The End blurring in the rearview. I lean over, tapping the partition. I’ve got most of it, but not enough.

"Hey, Noah, do me a favor? Hand me forty bucks. I’m short."

Noah sighs, that classic ”Max is a disaster" sigh, and peels two twenties from his wallet. He thinks he’s helping me pay my fare. I hand the cash to the driver, and in return, a small, glorious glass bottle is pressed into my palm. I pocket it with a wink Noah doesn't catch.

Inside, the bass is a physical heartbeat. We snag a table out on the balcony, the ocean a black void beneath us. I’ve got a drink in one hand and the world in the other.

"I’m telling you, the separation? Best thing that ever happened to me," I say, leaning back, soaking in the chaos. "I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for ten years and I finally hit the surface."

I can see Noah isn’t looking at me with envy, but with contemptuous judgment, seeing only a broken, chaotic mess. But to be fair, I am currently intoxicated and coked-up.

Then, I see you.

The world around the table just… stops. You’re standing there like a hallucination against the grime of the nightclub. Your skin seems to catch whatever light is left in the room, and your presence is so effortless, so ethereal, it makes everything else look like a cheap stage set.

"Who is that?" I murmur, my eyes locked on you. "Noah, tell me you know who that is."

Noah glances over, then immediately looks away, shaking his head. "No. Never seen her. Max, sit down."

"She’s incredible," I whisper. I can feel the coke and the scotch humming in my veins, telling me that tonight, I can’t lose.

"You're drunk," Noah says, his voice tight. He reaches for my arm. "Max, come on. You just left Val. You’re in no state to do this."

I don't even hear him. I'm already straightening my jacket, smoothing back my hair. I feel invincible. I leave Noah and his judgments at the table and start moving through the crowd toward you. The closer I get, the more your beauty feels like a physical force. I don't have a plan, but I have a feeling. And right now, the feeling is telling me that I need to know your name.

I weave through the sweaty bodies and the heavy pulse of the music, the world outside this balcony fading into a dull hum. My heart is knocking against my ribs, but it’s not nerves, it’s the chemical rush of the night and the sheer magnetic pull of your presence.

I stop just short of your space, leaning one shoulder against a concrete pillar. I don’t rush in. I let the silence between us hang for a second, heavy and deliberate, while I look at you with a slow, crooked smile that says I know exactly who I am and exactly what I want.

"You look like you're waiting for something to actually happen tonight," I say, my voice dropping an octave, cutting through the noise. I tilt my head, my eyes tracing the line of your silhouette. "And I have a feeling I’m the only one here who isn't going to bore you to death."

I reach out, offering you my hand. “I'm Max," I murmur, my gaze locking onto yours with a sharp, focused intensity. "And I think we’re both overqualified for this party. Don't you?"