"Jettana, leave it beeeee."
"Warriors, this way! Take your drink!"
Yes.
My name is Jettana.
"Your friend didn't come?"
"Duang went to Chiang Mai with his boyfriend."
"Damn, those love warriors."
I'm not like that. I don't believe in love. I have faith in something that always seems to punch me in the face and call me an idiot.
I'm Jettana, and I'm not much of a lover.
Or maybe… I've never really loved anyone the way Dad loved Mom, the way Duang loves Qin, or the way you love someone—whether it's one-sided, a friendship, or someone else's partner. I never have.
"So, what's the plan tonight? Got a deal with anyone?"
"Tonight, I play the fisherman. If you give a man a fish, he eats for a day. But if you teach him to fish, he eats for a lifetime."
"That's my boy."
"Cheers!"
I lifted my glass and grinned. Sometimes, the taste of beer or whiskey isn't as satisfying as the atmosphere itself. I might look like a reckless person, but if you ask me, I don't really throw myself into that label. I'm addicted to the vibe—the conversations with new people, the loud noises, the live
music, the crowds. And casual sex, like ordering food. You crave something, you get it. If you have enough appeal, you can take the campus star home with you.
Come on, what year is it? One-night stands aren't strange anymore. As long as you protect yourself and don't lose control, it's just life. Maybe it's because I was raised in a Western way. My father passed away when I was two. I met my mother in Las Vegas. I was born there but grew up in Thailand. She moved back after marrying my stepfather, a full-blooded American, when I was fifteen. English was my first language. But not many people know that, and it doesn't matter much in my life. Even though I have an American passport, my face is undeniably Thai—because my real dad was Thai, obviously.
"Table Nine has arrived."
"Which one's the bad-luck one?"
"The short guy in the blue shirt, shoulder-length hair. Is he your type?"
"Tonight, no pastels. Jettana wants something sharp."
If this were a coming-of-age movie, today would be the moment that changes the character's life forever. Before the storm intensifies, the sky calms. Before the rain falls, we get careless and forget our umbrellas. Before we suffer, we grin wide and ask ourselves over and over, How could
life get any better than this? And then he walks in, carrying the sweet scent of Africa Ice Jack cigarettes. His legs, wrapped in skinny jeans, look surreal—like something out of a dream. But it's not just his outfit, his limited-edition Dr. Martens, or his Cruella de Vil-inspired hair from 101 Dalmatians that make him stand out.
It's him.
He's different.
Unrepeatable.
"Mom, look at that beauty."
"Shit… it's really him."
I'm not surprised that everyone calls him beautiful—even though he's a man. If people were works of art, he'd be the masterpiece.
As someone with an eye for design, I couldn't help but notice the way he tilted that cheap drink, transforming it into a hundred-thousand-baht bottle of champagne. The way he crossed his legs and smiled at his friend's conversation. I think he knows how to command attention.
No—he knows it well.
"Jet! He's smiling at you."
"Don't just sit there, idiot!"
I've been on the receiving end of inviting smiles hundreds of times. But not like this. —Not like this.
I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure, but my blood was boiling just from the way his shimmering gaze declared to the entire bar that he was second to no one.
He was the one.
The reigning champion.
The type of person who wins their first game, plays music effortlessly, paints beautifully, and aces organic chemistry after a single glance at the textbook.
"Are you going or what?"
"My guy, what are you waiting for?"
But is this really a good idea? Everyone knows you don't play with fire.
"He doesn't do repeats, so don't worry about any unfinished business afterward."
"Jet, if you land him, you can die happy."
"That serious, Prem?"
"Yeah, dumbass. Think about it—out of 365 days a year, how many times do you meet someone this stunning?" But I'm not water. I'm not fire.
"Fuck it."
The adrenaline surged.
"Now that's what I'm talking about!"
"My boy's a warrior, not a lover."
I shrugged, muttering fuck it in my head once more as I grabbed my drink and strolled over, flashing him the same playful grin I always did when approaching someone.
Except this time, it wasn't the same.
Nothing could compare to him.
Nothing even came close.
"Hi."
"Hi."
His friends immediately reacted, teasing as he spoke first. I slid onto the barstool beside him. It had to be Byredo Gypsy Water—the fragrance he was wearing. That scent
started working its magic on me, luring me into a trance as I studied his face up close.
They say that some works of art need to be viewed from a distance to be truly appreciated.
But that rule didn't apply to him.
His features were flawless. His eyes showed no fear, no hesitation. He was pure confidence.
"What's your name?"
I thought his Thai was… adorable. No need to say it—I could tell right away. Thai wasn't his first language. Maybe he'd never even lived in this awful country. Maybe he was from somewhere much farther away—so far that no one would ever expect it.
"My name is Mar. Well… it should be Mars."
Far, just like his name.
"But I don't like the pronunciation—don't you agree?"
He tilted his head as he asked, while my brain tried to process the strange balance of childlike innocence and mature confidence in him. For the first time, I couldn't read someone the way I usually did. His body language was that of an adult, but his choice of words felt almost playful, almost youthful.
He asked again. Beautiful, Mar. Whatever.
"Do you want my nickname, my real name, or my stage name?"
"Wow, that's a lot," he laughed, his eyes crinkling.
"Humor is sexy."
I shrugged, pretending not to be fazed by him—or the sheer, see-through shirt under his designer leather jacket.
"Just your nickname, then."
"Too bad. I've never told anyone before."
"Really? Never told anyone?"
"So… what do your friends call you?"
My heart pounded as I held his gaze under the dim bar lights. The bartender slid two Gin Slings between us. I struggled to stay composed, but I managed—barely. I couldn't deny it. I'd never been this drawn to anyone before. Not once.
"Jet."
I licked my lips.
"Interesting," he murmured—just as his gaze flickered down to my mouth.
"Can I guess your nickname?"
"Sure."
I leaned back, amused. There was no way he'd guess it right. Not the first time. Not the hundredth. No one ever had.
"Your face makes you seem like a… Jamie."
Shit.
I cursed internally, but I knew my expression had given me away.
"Oh," he smirked, "you are Jamie :)"
I inhaled sharply. The alcohol I'd just swallowed burned its way down, heating my whole body. Maybe it was the way he said Oh—so effortlessly seductive. Or maybe it
was how he propped his chin on his hand, looking at me like I was some sort of intriguing puzzle.
At that moment, I knew. He was that kind of person. The kind who wins on their first try.
The kind who never loses—never surrenders to anything.
"Jamie…"
My name is Jettana. My nickname is Jamie.
A fusion of my real father's and my mother's names—James and Amy. There were only a handful of people in this world who called me by that name.
Even back in kindergarten, elementary school, high school—everyone called me Jettana and just assumed my nickname was Jet. And it had never been a big deal. Not until he knew it.
"What do you want from me?"
He had figured it out with just a few seconds of eye contact.
"They all call you beautiful."
"I'm seventeen."
I laughed like a man with nothing to lose. If I didn't call him beautiful, what else could I possibly call him? He was that stunning. It wasn't even up for debate. The word beautiful could apply to anything—but no one deserved it more than he did.
"You are."
He smiled faintly, murmuring a soft thank you before taking a sip of his drink. The cool outdoor breeze played with the strands of his strangely colored hair, making everything about him feel slower, almost surreal. Every movement he made seemed to captivate the entire bar. Not just anyone called him beautiful. But everyone wanted to make him theirs.
Tonight.
But tonight—
"Is that all you want from me?"
"Just to call me beautiful?"
"Well, what do you think? I'm not exactly the type to play coy."
"Say it."
"I want you tonight."
It was the most straightforward request I had ever made. He tapped his glass against the bar, flashing me a boyish smile before turning to his friends.
"I'm heading out."
He pulled several bills from his long wallet, placed them neatly on the counter, and rose from his seat. Then, with a voice that made my skin prickle, he looked at me and said—
"Well, you have me tonight. :)"
—
His body was warm. His skin was pale, impossibly smooth—reflecting light like a perfectly sculpted ceramic piece, fired and glazed to perfection. And his voice… I had never heard anything like it before. If it had a color, I wouldn't have been able to name it. I wouldn't have known which shades had blended together to create it. There would never be another person like him. The silence whispered that truth to me over and over again.
"Jamie… ah—"
That was when I heard Låpsley's music playing in my head—Right when I sank deeper into him.
A hypnotic electronic beat, looping through my mind, even though no one had actually turned it on. I thought of that guy—the one who talked big but never lied. The one who
was probably curled up with his boyfriend somewhere in Chiang Mai right now—
Leaving people like me to go insane over sex so good it almost made me want to cry.
We fit together like perfect puzzle pieces—
Like tectonic plates shifting apart, only to snap back into place. Or something even deeper—something instinctive, something primal— driving me to the brink of madness.
No matter how hard I thrust into him, he only pulled me in tighter— Meeting my desperation with equal force.
"I-Is that all you've got?"
He had a sharp tongue.
In bed… he had a damn sharp tongue. I bit down hard on the soft skin of his neck, betting it would leave a mark.
But both he and I knew—it wasn't meant as a claim of ownership. It was a reminder. A reminder of just how reckless he was. Right now. Right here. On this bed. Beneath me.
I eased him down gently, even though just looking into those stunning eyes of his had already left my chest aching.
How the hell could someone be beautiful all over like this?
"There's more to me than you think."
I sucked in a breath, running a hand through my sweat-damp hair, while he licked his full lips, his star-like eyes fixed on me like I was his favorite meal.
He told me that after the door to the only available room in the closest five-star hotel clicked shut behind us—right before we kissed, the automatic lock sealing our fate.
At that moment, I knew. Just in that moment
"Then fuck me harder, Jamie."
That he was the most intoxicating obsession of my life. His kiss was more dizzying than drinking straight vodka. Touching him felt like reaching for that distant planet—The fourth one from the Sun.
A planet of rust-red sand and violent storms, where the magnetic field had long since vanished into oblivion.
"Mars, remember when I said you were like the rain?"
That planet we all dreamed of escaping to—
But would never reach.
"Not the sweet sound after the drought."
Never.
"But the pain of it, hard on my back in a storm."