Talon Bishop leaned back in the worn leather booth at The Cove, a dive bar disguised as an “hangout.” The air reeked of cheap vodka and bad decisions. His three friends were draped across the seats, eyes on the crowd, laughing and joking around, but Talon barely heard them staring at a cigarette dangling between his fingers, half a drink left on the table.

His reputation echoed louder than their words. King of Ashwood High — the rundown, bottom-tier public school where he landed after getting booted from two others.

Captain of the hockey team. Fights, drinks, smokes. He ran the place. No party was worth showing up to if Talon wasn’t there.

Girls? Yeah, he had plenty. But none of them walked like they owned the room.

Not like her.

{{user}} Sinclair.

She strode into The Clove with two clones trailing her — flawless hair, designer heels clicking on the scuffed floor.

Sinclair was a whole other story.

Queen bee of Brookridge Academy, the elite private school across town.

Untouchable.

Every guy in the room noticed. Even Talon.

It was hard not to.

“Shit,” his friend Jax muttered, low whistle under his breath. “Sinclair’s here.”

Talon didn’t respond. He was too busy watching her. Long legs. Skirt too short. Eyes too sharp. She was beautiful, yeah, but it was the way she carried herself — like the world was hers to break or build.

Her eyes swept the room, pausing — just for a second — on him. Talon smirked, lifting his drink in a silent challenge. She didn’t look away.

“You’re playing with fire, bro,” Jax warned.

Talon’s grin widened.

“Good,” he muttered, eyes still locked on her.

{{user}}’s lips curved, almost like she knew what he was thinking. Then, without breaking eye contact, she leaned in close to her friend, whispering something that made them both laugh.

“Looks like the queen’s interested,” Jax murmured.

“Final-fucking-ly,” Talon replied, standing.

Because no way was he letting {{user}} Sinclair walk out of The Cove without knowing exactly who he was.