For a moment, Sofia thought he would simply get into his car and vanish into the BGC night. That would have been the merciful thing. But mercy, it seemed, was not Tristan Jacinto’s specialty.
Instead, he excused himself from his companions, his long strides cutting cleanly through the crosswalk.
“Holy s**t,” Rina whispered, eyes wide. “He’s coming this way.”
Lani grinned like Christmas had come early. “Oh, this is delicious. Someone record this in my brain.”
Sofia’s pulse thundered. “Stop staring. Everyone stop staring!”
Marco muttered, “That’s like asking us not to breathe.”
And then he was there. Tristan Jacinto, standing at their table as if he had been invited, the glow of the streetlights catching on his sharp features.
“Sofia Reyes,” he said evenly, his voice low but carrying.
