Conversations

In a quiet alcove just off the main hallway — a space lit by golden sconces and draped in Ashbourne wealth — the Resin Grove football seniors had carved out their own little corner of the party.

Max Lui leaned back against a marble column, nursing a drink with the practiced ease of a guy who was always in control. Darius Clay sat nearby on a velvet settee, his legs stretched out like he owned the floor. Zeke Bellamy stood with arms crossed, scanning the crowd like he was still reading formations. Seth Romano leaned casually against a bookshelf, thumbing through a copy of The Art of War like it was a joke. Nico Vega hovered near the doorway, headphones around his neck, half-listening to the conversation, half-tuning out the noise.

“So,” Darius said, spinning his glass with a grin, “tell me again how your boy ran the wrong route on third and ten?”

Max chuckled. “He thought we were going deep. I was signaling a quick slant, but he decided to freelance.”

“You’re too nice,” Zeke said, shaking his head. “If a dude costs me a drive, I’m in his face.”

“He's a junior, I’m not trying to kill the kid's confidence,” Max replied.

“Kill it now or lose state later,” Zeke muttered, ever the defensive general.

Darius leaned in. “Man, let’s just say — if I was that wide open in the end zone and didn’t get the ball, someone’s getting benched and blocked.”

Seth smirked, flipping the book closed. “This is why I’m glad I’m the kicker. Y’all fight over inches. I just stroll out, take three steps, and boom — three points.”

“And then walk back like it’s nothing,” Nico said, finally speaking. “Gotta respect that.”

“Facts,” Max agreed. “Seth’s the only one who doesn’t scream when Coach yells.”

“I don’t scream,” Zeke grunted.

“You write poetry,” Darius shot back, eyes twinkling.

Zeke’s silence was admission enough. Then Nico’s head turned, just slightly — and the conversation stalled.

Walking down the corridor, was Alyssa Carrington. Her blonde waves were tucked behind one ear, the other side left to frame her cheek like it had been sculpted for a perfume ad. She was laughing at something someone said as she passed, her lips curved in that effortless, half-knowing smile.

Every guy in the group turned.

“Well, damn,” Darius said under his breath.

Seth looked over his shoulder. “Carrington’s got that... 'you know you’re about to regret thinking about me' energy tonight.”

Max gave a low whistle. “That’s Basil & Crumb royalty right there.”

“She doesn’t even need to try,” Nico muttered, a little stunned. “She just is.”

Zeke, who hadn’t blinked, finally murmured, “Y’all ever seen someone walk like they already knew the answer to every question in the room?”

“I’m about to forget the playbook,” Darius said, then added with a smirk, “Alyssa out here committing war crimes in heels.”

Alyssa caught them looking as she passed, of course — her gaze pausing, lips curving a fraction more as her eyes landed briefly on Max, then Darius, then — just for fun — Seth.

She winked.

Darius grabbed Max’s arm. “Did she—?”

“She winked, bro,” Seth confirmed, sounding faintly doomed.

Zeke exhaled like he’d just missed a tackle. “God help the next guy who tries to impress her.”

Max took a sip from his cup. “God help us if she already picked one.”

In one of the Ashbourne mansion’s many lavish sitting rooms — the one with mirrored walls and a chandelier that looked like it belonged in Versailles — the cheerleaders had claimed their corner of the party. Perfume lingered in the air like fog, and the cushions were already littered with heels kicked off for comfort.

Vivi Ashbourne sat on the chaise, radiant in emerald silk, sipping something bubbly and pretending not to notice the effect she had on the room.

To her left, Daniela Reyes perched on the armrest, idly scrolling through her phone while Sara — ever the louder twin — lounged dramatically on the rug with a throw pillow under her elbows. A few other cheerleaders circled nearby, chatting and touching up lip gloss between sentences.

“Okay,” one of the girls said, eyes sweeping the gilded room, “Vivi, you have to admit this place looks like a movie set tonight.”

Daniela nodded. “Your house is literally giving royal gala.”

“You mean it always doesn’t?” Sara teased.

Vivi smirked. “Daddy added the ice sculptures. I told him they were overkill. He said, and I quote, ‘Vivienne, subtlety is for poor people.’”

The girls burst into laughter.

“God, I want your problems,” one of them sighed, adjusting her diamond hair clip.

Just then, Alyssa Carrington strolled in, all effortless charm and highlighter in the right places. She wore a soft blush pink dress with a slit just high enough to raise a few heart rates. Her sunlit hair was pinned loosely, catching the chandelier light like spun gold.

“There she is,” Vivi said, raising her glass. “Late to the party, but dramatic as ever.”

“Fashionably late, actually,” Alyssa replied with a sly grin. “And clearly worth the wait.”

Sara wolf-whistled. “Girl, you look hot.”

“You should see yourselves,” Alyssa countered. “The whole room turned into a runway the second y’all walked in. Vivi, that dress? Are we stealing hearts or entire bloodlines tonight?”

Vivi twirled the stem of her glass. “Why not both?”

The girls giggled, the conversation naturally shifting into fashion talk — brands, nails, shoe disasters, the usual.

“Okay but Alyssa,” Daniela cut in, eyes gleaming with mischief, “be honest — who’s the best-dressed guy tonight?”

Alyssa arched a brow, scanning the room through the open double doors. Her eyes caught on a figure near the bar. She sipped her drink, then murmured, “Blake Hartley cleans up better than I expected.”

Vivi’s smile faltered for a heartbeat. “Ugh. Please.”

“What?” Alyssa replied, half-laughing. “He’s tall, he’s broody, he’s got that whole ‘enemy of the house’ look going on.”

“He’s a Hartley,” Vivi said.

Daniela gave her a look. “Doesn’t mean the boy’s face isn’t doing things.”

“I didn’t say I’d date him,” Alyssa teased, “just that I’d look.”

“Hard same,” Sara added with a grin. “But if we’re being honest? There’s one guy tonight who looks like an actual sin in human form.”

All eyes turned.

“Cruz Delgado,” both twins said at once, dreamy and scandalized.

“Yes,” Alyssa laughed. “That suit is custom. He wore it like it owes him rent.”

Vivi raised a brow but didn’t argue. “Cruz is... decent. For someone who doesn’t speak unless it’s in smirks.”

“I’ll take a smirk if it’s coming from a jawline like that,” Daniela said, leaning back.

“Oh, and did you see Jax earlier?” Sara added. “Black shirt, sleeves rolled, like he just stepped off a yacht full of mistakes.”

“Girl,” Alyssa said, pointing at her, “Jax Monroe is a walking warning label.”

“Yeah,” Daniela agreed. “Like, we love him — but also, no one survives him.”

Vivi scoffed. “He’s been kicked out of more girls’ group chats than I’ve been to galas.”

“And somehow,” Alyssa added with a smirk, “he still gets invited to every party.”

“Because he’s beautiful,” Sara said simply.

“And bad decisions are fun,” Daniela added with a wink.

The girls all burst into laughter again, the sound bright and full of glittering danger.

On the other side of the room, Jax Monroe lounged against the grand piano, golden blond hair tousled like it was part of his brand. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, his grin full-throttle as he sipped something definitely not legal from a cut crystal glass.

“Tell me this,” he said, nodding toward the dance floor, “how come every time we go somewhere, we become the party?”

“Because you refuse to shut up,” Carson Wells replied smoothly, perched on the arm of a velvet chair, one leg crossed with relaxed precision. His blazer was tailored, his drink untouched—he liked to look like he had control even when he didn’t.

Cruz Delgado leaned against a column, arms folded, muscles practically stretching his sleeves. He wasn’t saying much—he rarely did—but his eyes tracked everything. “You bring the noise. We bring the balance.”

Eli Navarro had his sleeves rolled up, laughing under his breath as he flipped a poker chip between his fingers like it was second nature. “More like, you bring chaos, Jax. We just make it look coordinated.”

“I am chaos. Sexy, charming chaos.” Jax gave a mock bow to no one in particular.

Luca Torres sat slouched on a tufted settee, sketchbook on his lap, one earbud in, the other dangling. “You’re not chaos. You’re an event. A weekly headline.”

Jax turned, mock offended. “You saying I’m predictable?”

“I’m saying if you disappeared from a party, girls would start worrying they weren’t hot enough to keep you interested.” Luca didn't even look up from his sketch.

Carson chuckled. “He’s not wrong.”

Jax just grinned wider, undeterred. “Well, I’m flattered. Maybe I should start charging for appearances.”

Before anyone could answer, Carson glanced past the group—toward the other end of the ballroom. “Cheer squad, ten o’clock.”

Eli followed his gaze, smirk forming. “Damn. Look at Carrington tonight.”

Across the room, Alyssa Carrington laughed at something Vivienne Ashbourne said, tossing her sunlit hair over one shoulder. Her dress shimmered every time she moved. The cheerleaders around her sparkled just as bright—but Alyssa had presence.

Jax’s eyes flicked up, tracking her. “She’s got that ‘knows she’s got you’ energy. Dangerous.”

“Too clever for you,” Carson added, swirling his drink.

“Exactly why I’m intrigued,” Jax said with a wink.

Luca hummed. “She plays nice, but her eyes are always calculating. Carrington doesn’t crack—she tests.”

“Whatever she’s doing, it’s working,” Cruz admitted. “She looks incredible.”

“I think she caught you looking,” Eli said, amused.

Jax just raised his glass. “She’s welcome to stare.”

Then Carson’s smirk shifted. “Speaking of watching—Vivi Ashbourne just scoffed at somebody. Probably Blake Hartley. They're talking about him, I bet.”

“Of course they are,” Luca muttered. “Half this room is talking about the other half.”

Eli nodded. “And no one’s being subtle.”

Jax made a low, amused sound. “Let the cheer squad gossip. We’ve got front-row seats to our own drama.”

Luca flipped a page in his sketchbook. “So... who’s the next disaster? Jax, you aiming for another scandal tonight?”

“Scandal?” Jax smiled, wolfish. “No, no. I’m going for legend.”

Carson raised a brow. “You always do.”

Cruz just shook his head with a grin, the chill anchor in a sea of egos. “Let’s just not get banned from another party.”

“No promises,” Jax replied, eyes still drifting across the ballroom toward the glittering girls on the other side.

For now, they stayed where they were—in they’re on little corner.