When I imagined the life Elijah and I would build after graduation, it certainly never included a symphony of colorful insults hurled at a hapless referee through the din of a crowded bar.

“C’mon, man!” Bart’s towering frame loomed over us, his fists clenched tight as if ready to square off with the tiny officials flickering on the TV. “Get your head out of the clouds so I can knock that arrogant smirk right off your face!”

His words echoed around the room, bouncing off the walls thick with rowdy laughter and the clatter of glasses. The boisterous crowd formed a roaring tide of noise that crashed relentlessly against my eardrums.

“Dude!” Elijah cut through the chaos with that firm edge in his voice I was starting to recognize as serious. “Sit down. It’s just seven yards — we’ll bounce back from this.”

I focused on the only calm point in our cramped booth: Elijah’s sharp blue eyes, sparkling with an assured calm that was as magnetic as ever.

He was downright breathtaking — as if some Disney prince had shed his animated form for Armani suits and a killer smile that still held the boyish charm that first captivated me.

His arm slid around my waist, pulling me close against the smooth fabric of his shirt. The crooked grin that tugged at his lips, the dimple that played at his cheek — it was the same smile that had stolen my breath the night we met. Elijah’s dark blonde curls framed his athletic build perfectly.

“And for God’s sake, put your shirt down, you wild beast!” Grady complained from the corner, waving a greasy, half-eaten chicken wing like a makeshift baton. “Your Hulk muscles are freaking people out.”

Bart muttered a disgruntled grunt and slumped onto the wooden bench, but I was too busy enjoying the mischievous glint lighting up Elijah’s eyes to care about the rest of the banter.

There was a wicked gleam in his expression, the kind that suggested he was picturing me in that scandalous thong I’d worn beneath my figure-hugging dress — and nothing else. The thought sent a delicious shiver trailing down my spine, reaching that delicate strip of lace nestled just so.

“Things aren’t looking great,” Elijah murmured, his gaze still locked on me. “But since you’re here, maybe ease up on the colorful language tonight?”

“What do you want me to do?” Bart retorted, draining a swig of beer with the ease of a seasoned athlete. His broad shoulders still spoke of college days spent dominating the field. “It’s the season kickoff, Eli. Yelling at the TV is basically a sacred tradition.”

“He’s got a point,” Gray interjected from the shadows of our little enclave, his smirk dripping with sarcasm. “UW football is basically a religion. You don’t mess with fraternity rituals.”

The unbreakable brotherhood of a fraternity pledge class — it was a language I could never quite master, no matter how much I tried.

“Don’t worry, babe,” I said, laughter a little too bright and forced to mask my discomfort. This night meant everything to Elijah — to all of them, really. “I’m just one of the guys tonight. Besides, the referee’s calls are crazier than Elon Musk’s Twitter tenure, right?”

Gray’s eyes narrowed, the silver ring on his brow catching the bar’s dim light as he shook his head. “You’re trying way too hard. It’s kind of pathetic.”

“Would you look at this tom-fuckery?” Grady muttered, voice dripping with disdain.

“Grady’s spot-on. Yours? Desperate at best,” Gray sneered, his eyes burning with contempt. “Aren’t you supposed to be a copywriter, Isla?”

I nuzzled my face against the scruff lining Elijah’s chin to drown out Gray’s biting remarks. He was Elijah’s childhood best friend — a fact Gray never let me forget.

They’d been inseparable since their Peewee League days — Elijah a gifted shortstop, Gray the pitcher with a rocket arm that made local headlines. They’d gone to the University of Washington together, pledging Delta Chi alongside Bart and Grady.

Gray was probably the only person who knew Elijah better than I did, and he wore that knowledge like a weapon.

Usually, Elijah shielded me from Gray’s barbs, but tonight his attention was divided — distracted by the slow, teasing strokes of my fingernails tracing circles on his thigh beneath the table. The relentless noise of college football flashing on every screen only heightened his tension.

Suddenly, Elijah’s lips found mine, stealing me into a kiss laced with heat and promise. I melted into him, humming softly, intoxicated by the creamy vanilla and sandalwood notes of the cologne I’d gifted him last Christmas. It was the scent of warm gingerbread mingled with pine and champagne, a cozy memory wrapped in firelight and soft skin.

He pulled away, eyes sparkling with mischief, just as the bar erupted in another round of frantic yells at the screen.

“Can you believe the crap coming out of this referee’s mouth?” Bart shouted, throwing his arms up like a man battling invisible demons. “I’ve seen horses drop less than this guy!”

Bart might be a small business owner with a heart the size of Seattle, but tonight he was every bit the passionate sports fanatic.

“Dude, there’s a lady here,” Elijah reminded him, though his smile betrayed his amusement.

“A lady?” Gray snorted, voice low enough to blend into the general clamor. “When did Isla become a lady?”

His glare cut through me like ice, but I refused to dignify the insult with a response. Feeding his ego was like throwing gasoline on a grease fire.

I’d tolerated Gray’s arrogance longer than I’d known Elijah. If it weren’t for my college roommate’s hopeless crush on Gray, I might never have met my boyfriend.

Gray was that enigmatic, tortured artist type — sharp, rebellious, with a reputation as a relentless womanizer that grated on my nerves. We’d shared Fine Arts classes, and I’d watched him trample through hearts like they were stepping stones.

I pasted on a polite smile, my personal shield against the storm.

Suddenly, the bar exploded into a frenzy of cheers and boos, the crowd’s energy spilling over as the game took a wild turn. But my attention was pulled back like a magnet as Gray’s piercing gaze locked onto me.

His expression twisted — was it disgust? Pain? I never could tell with him. It felt like being caught in the glare of a high-beam headlight, frozen and exposed.

The golden flecks in his jade eyes flared, setting my cheeks ablaze with a blush that spread hot and fierce down my neck.

I looked away quickly, heart pounding in the sudden quiet that swallowed the moment between us.

Elijah reached for my hand, grounding me, his voice low and steady. “Ignore him. You know he’s just trying to get under our skin.”

I squeezed his fingers back, grateful for the safe harbor he offered amid the storm of fraternity antics and old rivalries.

The game blared on, but for a moment, all I could focus on was Elijah — the warmth of his presence, the steady beat of his heart against mine, and the tangled, complicated web that connected us all.

Tonight was just the beginning.