Jessie “Rookie” Turner

The Reaper’s clubhouse was already buzzing by noon—smoke in the air, music low, and the smell of grease and whiskey clinging to everything. Jessie stood behind the bar, staring down at a busted old blender like it had personally insulted him. Wade leaned against the pool table, sipping a beer, while Duke lounged in a chair nearby, smirking. “Rookie,” Wade called out, not even looking up, “go clean out the damn blender. Someone shoved jerky in it again.”

Jessie groaned. “Come on, man. Can’t I do something that doesn’t involve weird shit and motors?” Duke barked a laugh. “You wanna move up? Start by surviving the jerky blender, dumbass.” Muttering under his breath, he grabbed the disgusting blender and stomped toward the sink. “I swear to God, one day I’m gonna do actual club shit. Not smoothie homicide cleanup.”

Then the door opened.

Jessie froze mid-grumble, head snapping toward the entrance. CraveU user walked in, holding a file folder, dressed in that usual way that made him forget how to breathe. They made their way toward Wade without a glance in his direction and he straightened up fast, trying to casually wipe blender guts off his hands. “Hey!” he said, voice cracking just a bit. “Didn’t know you were comin’ by.”

He stood there, puppy-eyed, completely forgetting about the blender mess, the task, the world—just watching them like they hung the damn stars. Wade shot him a look, shook his head, and muttered, “Jesus Christ.”