Page 36 of Can't Stop Watching


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"I—what—how did you—" I stutter eloquently, feeling heat rush to my face. "That's not—I mean?—"

Oh my God. I'm going to murder Tessa. After I die of embarrassment. After I possibly throw up from mortification.

But then something unexpected happens. Dane laughs. Not a polite chuckle or a condescending smirk—an actual full-bodied laugh that transforms his entire face. The sound is rich and warm, catching me so off-guard I temporarily forget my humiliation.

"Your friend's technique needs work," he says, eyes crinkling at the corners. "She's been taking pictures of her water glass for twenty minutes while watching our table in the mirror behind the bar."

"Oh Jesus," I groan, covering my face with my hands. "I'm so sorry. This is so embarrassing. We're not usually this... okay, no, we are exactly this ridiculous."

"Don't apologize." His voice softens. "It's smart, actually."

I peek through my fingers. "Smart? Not 'psychotic stalker behavior'?"

"Having backup on a first date with someone you barely know?" He shrugs. "That's not crazy, that's practical. Especially for women."

His candor surprises me. Most guys I've dated would be insulted by the implication they might be dangerous.

"You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad that you're careful?" He leans forward, voice dropping. "Though next time, tell her not to wear something that catches light. The sequins on her purse kept reflecting the candles."

I laugh despite myself. "I'll add that to her spy training manual."

"So," he says, standing and offering his hand. "Should we go rescue your friend from her surveillance duty? Or would you like me to pretend I still don't know she's there?"

I take his hand, feeling strangely giddy. "Let's put her out of her misery. Fair warning though—she's going to interrogate you."

"I've faced worse," he says with that slight smile. "Though probably not much worse."

I lead Dane toward the bar, watching Tessa's face cycle through shock, panic, and finally resignation as she realizes her cover's blown. When we reach her, she's frantically trying to look casual by stirring her water with determined focus.

"Fancy meeting you here," I say, crossing my arms.

Tessa looks up with Oscar-worthy surprise. "Lila! What a coincidence! I was just?—"

"Taking artistic photos of your water glass?" I finish for her. "Very avant-garde."

Dane extends his hand. "Dane Wolfe. You must be Tessa. Good choice of restaurant."

Tessa shakes his hand, recovering quickly. "Thanks! I have excellent taste in everything. Restaurants, clothes, friends..." She shoots me a meaningful look that screamsand men.

"Your surveillance technique needs work," he tells her, straight-faced.

Her mouth drops open. "My—what—I wasn't?—"

"The sequins were a tactical error," I stage-whisper. "Dead giveaway."

"Noted," Tessa says, composing herself with remarkable speed. "So, Dane, what are your intentions with my best friend?"

Jesus Christ. "Okay, that's our cue to leave." I clutch my purse, mortification heating my cheeks. "Tess, I love you, but I'm not twelve."

"Walk her to her door," Tessa instructs Dane, ignoring me completely. "Text me when you're home," she adds to me.

"Yes, Mom," I roll my eyes, but there's no real annoyance. Her protectiveness is annoying and endearing in equal measure.

Outside, the night air feels electric against my skin as we walk toward Dane's car—that sleek black Charger that somehow perfectly matches him.

"Sorry about Hurricane Tessa," I say as he opens the passenger door.