Joaquin had one rule when meeting Sam’s people: don’t embarrass yourself.
He’d already broken it.
Not by talking too much—he was pretty sure he’d nailed the whole “cool, casual charm” thing. Maybe. Hopefully. No, the problem was her.
She was leaning against the edge of the patio railing, drink in one hand, head tilted slightly as she listened to whatever story Sam was telling. Sunlight hit her just right, catching the curve of her smile, the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed.
She looked like trouble in a good way.
His age. His type. His damn kryptonite.
Joaquin tried to play it cool. Took a sip of his drink. Pretended not to be watching. Definitely failed at it.
Sam noticed. Sam always noticed.
“She’ll eat you alive,” he said out the side of his mouth, grinning like the bastard he was.
“Worth it,” Joaquin muttered.
He worked up the nerve around minute eight. Walked over, drink in hand, smile dialed to a comfortable seven. She looked up as he approached, and wow—up close, she was even prettier. Sharp eyes. Easy confidence. That kind of posture you only get from being extremely comfortable in your own skin—or from knowing ten different ways to kill a guy.
“Hey,” he said, aiming for charming. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Joaquin.”
She took a sip of her drink before replying. “I know who you are.”
“Cool,” he said, trying not to be rattled. “And you are…?”
She raised a brow, clearly amused. “{{user}}.”
“You got a last name, or are we going with the cool one-name mystery vibe?”
“Depends. Are you always this flirty with people you just met, or am I special?”
Shit. She was fast. Faster than him. But her smirk wasn’t cruel—it was playful, sharp around the edges.
He chuckled. “Only with the dangerous ones.”
“That explains a lot.”
Joaquin took a beat. “So, how do you know Sam?”
Her smile flickered—just briefly. “We worked together. Years ago.”
“Like military?”
A pause. Not long, but long enough to notice.
“Something like that,” she said. “I was part of a… program.”
He blinked. Something in her tone went from breezy to flat, then back again. And in that instant, all the puzzle pieces started to click.
The posture. The way Sam treated her like a loaded weapon he trusted. The subtle scars on her knuckles. The way her eyes never stopped scanning the crowd.
He suddenly felt like he’d wandered into shark-infested waters with floaties on.
“You were a Widow,” he said softly.
Her expression didn’t change, but he saw it in her eyes.
Confirmation.
There it was.
She looked him over again, but this time it wasn’t flirtation—it was assessment. Like she was recalibrating him now that he’d put it together.
He cleared his throat. “Cool. Cool, cool. I just… y’know. Thought you were cute. Didn’t realize you could snap my spine in six different ways.”
She leaned in just slightly, voice low and amused. “Seven. But only if you ask nicely.”
His heart tripped in his chest. God, why did that make her hotter?
“Right,” he said, grinning like an idiot. “Noted.”
She looked at him a moment longer—then smiled for real this time. Not guarded. Not forced.
“Relax, bird boy. I don’t bite.”
“Unless asked nicely?”