“You two know each other?” Blondie asks.
“Her name is Morgan, not Maggie,” Michael says. I’d almost forgotten I used mybar namelast night. Not that I go out much, but Tess and Megan both have them, so we came up with one for me as well. And that’s how I introduced myself to Riggs.
“I . . . uh . . . we . . .” I start, not knowing what to say. Looking down instead at my chest, trying to brush away the already absorbed splatters of wine across the light blue material.
“Yes. Well, not intimately,” Riggs says, heat flares in his eyes as though he’s remembering last night. “Er, I mean, well. Long, that is. We haven’t known each other long. We met last night. And oh, god, I’m so sorry.” He takes the cocktail napkin from under his glass and dabs at my chest. The gesture both familiar and awkward.
“Briefly,” I add. “I mean, not brief, it wasn’t brief. It was long. But, uh, yeah, my name is Morgan. Haha.” My face turns hot, I can feel the color traveling from my diaphragm up my chest and face all the way to my hairline. I should be the color of a cooked lobster about now. Or someone who is very sunburned. Or—
“Huh, I don’t know where I got that your name wasMaggie,” Riggs grits his teeth at the last word, glaring at me.
I wave him off. “No biggie, happens all the time. Morgan, Maggie, so close,” I squeak.
“So, you two don’t know each other?” Blondie butts in.
“No,” I say at the same time Riggs says, “Yes.” Then we reverse, sounding like aLaurel and Hardybit.
“Can I speak to you a moment?” Riggs asks.
“Sure,” I say nervously, spreading my arms to show anywhere is good.
He takes my upper arm in his hand and pulls me alongside him. A zing travels down my body to my toes. I look back to Blondie and Michael, not for help, but to see how they are gauging the situation. Both are glaring.
Great.
Riggs doesn’t stop until we are all the way across the room near the exit doors and down the hall that leads to the restroom. He spins me by my arm to face him. “You’reMorgan Anderson?” His face is furious. I may not know him well, but I know people well enough to know he’s pissed.
“You’rejudge number three?” I ask, working my way toward equally pissed. Not so pissed that I can’t drink him in. My memory of him is not so crisp, thank god for the photos, or I may have forgotten just how attractive he is.
“Which wouldn’t have mattered had I known your actual name.” His eyes bounce back and forth between mine.
“Of course it would matter. How would it not?”
“Because last night never would have happened if I knew who you were,” he says, his face softening. If it weren’t for the fact that his jaw was so visibly tense I may have missed it. But I definitely would not have missed the regret in his eyes. Regret over not being able to pursue a romantic relationship further? Or maybe not knowing my actual name? For all I know, it’s regret over sleeping with me at all.
“Well, maybe it never would have happened if I knew whoyouwere,” I throw back at him.
“We’re saying the same thing,” he says, looking off to the side, running his fingers through that soft sandy blond hair of his. The same hair that I ran my own fingers through last night while he buried his head between my—
“No one can know about this,” he says, pulling me further into the hall.
“I know that.I’mnot about to tell anyone.”
“I’m certainly not going to tell anyone,” he hisses.
“Good.”
“Good,” he mimics. His eyes dart around over my head as though he wants to make sure no one is watching. The door to the restroom opens, and he turns toward the wall, eyes downcast, masking his face in the shadows until they pass by.
Riggs angles back to face me. His gaze slowly travels up my body, crinkling his nose as he pauses at my chest before meeting my eyes.
He crinkles his nose.
Like he’s disgusted by what he sees.
Something inside me snaps. Before I can stop myself, the words are out, “Are you embarrassed by me?” I can’t help my gut reaction. I mean, you’ve seen him. And you’ve seen me. Do the math.
His gaze jerks back to mine. “What?”
