Her lips twitch. “That’s what all guys say right before asking if we’ve matched on Tinder.”
I laugh again, surprised at how quick it comes.
“Do I look like I need Tinder?” I say, flashing her a grin.
“You look like you’re going to forget my name the moment you hear it.”
“Not unless you make me say it again and again,” I counter.
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the corner of her mouth pulling.
God, I want to see her smile.
“You need a refill?” I glance down at her drink.
“Mine’s good.” She holds up the glass.
“Mine will be better.”
She snorts. “I don’t drink with strangers.”
“I won’t be a stranger for long,” I say, plucking her drink from her hand.
There’s a beat, just long enough for her to tilt her head and aim those almond-shaped eyes right at me.
“I wouldn’t be making me drinks if I were you,” she murmurs, but her eyes gleam with something I can’t quite understand.
My brows furrow for half a second because what the fuck does that mean?
“Lucky for me, you’re not.” I give her one last smile and head toward the outdoor bar, slipping through the crowd, feeling the weight of her stare against the back of my neck.
It’s not until I reach the bottle that I realize my smile hasn’t faded—not even a little. But by the time I turn around with her glass in my hand, one of our rookies has already sidled up to her.
Her smile is polite and uninterested as he keeps talking to her, but it still hits wrong.
I don’t even know what I’m feeling.
Annoyed? Sure.
Possessive? Probably.
Unreasonably territorial over a girl I met ten minutes ago and flirted with like a fucking caveman?
Yeah. That too.
I hear Dom stepping up beside me with the driest sigh I’ve ever heard.
“Seems like he didn’t read my message in the team group chat.”
What?
I glance over, frowning.
Dom lifts his beer, nodding toward the rookie who’s still trying to win the girl over with whatever weak-ass line he’s throwing.
“Luckily, she can take care of herself,” he chuckles. “But if someone touches my sister, I’ll break their fucking hands.”
I blink.
