Jack had been with plenty of women in his time, but lately… they didn’t hit the same. Every time he wound up in bed with one, his mind wandered back to you.

Foolish. Cruel.

He couldn’t believe he’d fallen into that trap so soon. Damn you and that smile of yours—it cut cleaner than any blade. You were his opposite in every way that mattered, nothing like the dames he’d been tangled up with before. And yet, he kept finding himself pulled into your orbit like a moth to a flame.

You were sitting beside him now, lost in whatever had your attention. He’d just come back from a date, though it barely counted. His arms stretched across the back of the couch behind you, his mask tossed aside, suit still clinging to him like the night’s smoke.

He watched you for a beat too long, then forced his eyes forward. Whatever this was—this feeling—it’d pass. It always did. All he needed was a new dame, a few laughs, and he’d be back to the usual in no time.

At least, that’s what he told himself.