I took a long sip, welcoming the burn. “That obvious, huh?”
“Obvious? Bro, you literally sighed her name during your lunch break today. I thought you were having a stroke.”
The bar was filling up with the after-work crowd, a mix of suits and casual wear. Danny’s eyes tracked a blonde in a business suit who walked past our table. I couldn’t summon any interest in our usual people-watching game.
“I miss her,” I admitted, running my finger around the rim of my glass. “It’s been four days, and it feels like four fucking months.”
Danny leaned back, studying me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “You got it bad, don’t you?” There was no mockery in his voice, just genuine surprise.
“We’ve been texting non-stop,” I said, the corner of my mouth lifting into a smile I couldn’t suppress. “And Face Timing every night.”
“Oh, yeah?” Danny waggled his brows suggestively. “What kind of FaceTiming? Are we talking innocent goodnights or the kind that ends with shirts off?”
The memory from two nights ago comes back. Beth, propped up on her pillows, wearing some ridiculously flimsy piece of black lace that left little to the imagination, her hair a wild tumble of red around her shoulders. What had started as an innocent check-in had quickly escalated into something far more intimate, a raw connection that crackled through the phone screen. A possessive heat coiled low in my gut.
“That’s between me and Beth,” I said, my voice dropping to a lower, firmer register. But the slight smirk I couldn’t hide must have given me away.
“FaceTime sex! I knew it!” Danny crowed, slapping the table and drawing annoyed glances from a nearby couple. “Our little Sean is growing up. Getting the full visual experience, huh?” He perked up, leaning in with a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. “So? What was she wearing? Or was she just all out there on display for you?”
My smile vanished instantly. I leaned forward, leveling a look at him that was anything but playful. “Danny.” My tone was quiet, but it cut through his frat-boy enthusiasm like a knife. “Drop it. What Beth wears—or doesn’t wear—is for my benefit. Not for your imagination. We’re not talking about her like that.” I held his gaze. “End of discussion.”
Danny’s grin faltered, and he had the good sense to look slightly chastened. He raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Alright, alright. Understood. Subject dropped.” He cleared his throat. “All I’m saying is, you’ve clearly got it bad. Maybe you should send her something. Let her know you’re thinking about her.”
“Like what?”
“Flowers? Women love that romantic shit.”
My jaw clenched involuntarily. “Someone already sent her flowers. Anonymously.”
“What the hell? When?”
“Right before I left for Philly.” I drained my whisky, the memory souring my mood further. “She thought they were from me at first. Made things pretty awkward when I had to tell her they weren’t.”
“Any clue who sent ‘em?” Danny asked, his eyes narrowing like he was already plotting to track down the mystery sender and have a not-so-friendly chat.
I had my suspicions. “Probably that Garrett asshole she works with,” I growled, my fingers tightening around the empty whisky glass like I wished it were his throat instead.
“That gala prick that was with her the day we first saw Beth?”
“Yeah. He’s been sniffing around her like a dog in heat since the first fucking day. Making up bullshit reasons to be in her space, watching her with those beady little eyes when hethinks nobody’s looking.” The thought of Garrett with his perfect hair and his fancy suits made me grind my teeth. “He keeps dangling this gala committee position in front of her, but never actually lets her do any meaningful work.”
Danny frowned. “Damn, bro. You think he’s trying to…you know, get her?”
“I think that slick bastard wants to fuck her six ways from Sunday. Probably jerks off to the thought of it every night in his penthouse apartment with his Italian sheets.” I signaled to the bartender for another round. “And that overdressed jackass will be there with her at the gala while I’m stuck here in fucking Philly.” I slammed my glass down harder than I meant to.
“So don’t fucking send flowers,” Danny conceded, throwing his hands up like he’d just suggested I adopt a pet alligator instead of making a simple romantic gesture. “How about jewelry? Women go crazy for that shiny shit, bro.”
“Nah,” I said finally. “I’ll think of something.”
“What about a fruit basket?” Danny suggested, his face completely serious until I looked at him incredulously. Then he burst out laughing.
“Yeah, right, dickhead. Like fruit says, ‘I’m thinking about you and missing you with every fucking breath I take.’”
“Hey, don’t knock it. Nothing says, ‘I care,’ like a pineapple.”
We were both laughing when Danny’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting to something more serious.
“I gotta take this,” he said, already sliding out of the booth. “I have to keep the money flow coming in.”
