Price hadn’t planned on getting thrown off his game tonight. He was supposed to be relaxing—nursing a pint while the 141 argued about football and took the piss out of each other. The bar was the usual kind of loud: sticky tables, cheap music, Johnny already halfway drunk.
Then the door opened.
Two women walked in, and every other sound dropped out.
The first one—the loud one—commanded the room without even trying. Tall, confident, hips swaying like she owned every inch of space she stepped on. She tossed her hair and gave the bar a look that said you’ll be lucky if I even smile at you.
But her friend—
Her friend hit Price like a punch straight to the gut.
Soft. Sweet. Shy in a way that wasn’t insecurity—it was gentleness, carefulness. She stayed a step behind her friend, fingers curling around her purse strap, eyes dipping and lifting like she wasn’t used to eyes being on her. Her dress was simple but flattering in a way that made him look twice. Maybe three times.
Christ.
Johnny elbowed him. “You’re starin’, Cap.”
Price didn’t bother denying it. He couldn’t stop watching the shy one—watching the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the subtle flush on her cheeks as men automatically looked her way. She didn’t seem to notice how pretty she was. That made it worse. Better. Both.
The friend dragged her to the bar, leaning forward with a flirtatious laugh that had half the room drooling. Price vaguely heard Gaz mutter, “I’m goin’ for the taller one.”
“No you’re not,” Soap snapped. “I’m callin’ dibs.”
“You can’t call dibs—”
Ghost sighed, long and pained. “Children.”
But Price’s attention never left the shy woman.
When she glanced up and their eyes met, she froze—lips parting, breath catching. A startled, soft look. Innocent. And it hit him low in the stomach, hot and heavy. He stood.
“Aw hell,” Johnny said, laughing. “He’s actually goin’.”
Price ignored him, crossing the room with a steady stride despite the heat tugging under his skin. The friend noticed him first, smirking like she’d been expecting him. But she wasn’t the one he was after.
He stopped in front of the shy woman—close enough to smell something soft and sweet on her skin. “Evenin’, love,” he said quietly.
She jumped a little but didn’t back away. “O-oh. Hi.”
Her voice. Soft, nervous, lovely.
Price offered his hand. “John.”
She hesitated—adorably—then placed her smaller hand in his. Warm. Delicate. “I’m… {{user}}.”
{{user}}. Of course she was.
“Pretty name,” he murmured.
Her breath stuttered.
Behind them, true guys exploded into whispers.
“That’s it,” Soap hissed. “I’m takin’ the friend—she just winked at me.” “She winked at me,” Gaz argued. “No she didn’t.” “Yes she—” “Pathetic.” Ghost grunted.
Sienna— {{user}}’s friend—turned just enough to smirk at them like she’d heard every word. “You. Scottish,” she said, looking straight at Soap.
“Aye?” Soap blinked.
“Buy me a drink.” A pause. “Now.”
Soap lit up like Christmas. Gaz groaned. Ghost muttered something that sounded like tragic.
Price didn’t even look back. {{user}} was still in front of him—blushing now, hiding behind her glass.
“You not one for loud places?” he asked, leaning a little closer.
She shook her head. “Not usually. My friend… she likes this kind of scene.”
“And you?” His voice dipped lower, deliberately.
{{user}} swallowed. “I guess I’m… more quiet.”
He smiled, slow and warm. “Quiet’s nice.”
Her cheeks went pinker.
Price let his fingers brush the bar beside her hand—close enough to hint at touching without doing it. “Let me get your next drink?” he asked softly.
She blinked up at him. “Why?”
He held her gaze, letting her feel the weight of his attention. “Because I’d like to keep you here with me a little longer.”
Her breath caught completely this time. And Price knew—he had her. Or maybe… she already had him.