“Over there.”
“Why?!”
“Because I said so.”
Before I can protest further, she’s marching us across the patio, weaving between tables and cocktail waitresses like she’s on a mission from god, which she very well might be, because ten seconds later we’ve arrived at thetestosterone epicenterof the bar.
“Hello boys,” she chirps, sweet and sugary confidence.
A few of them greet her, smiling and nodding, familiar with her for years as Gio’s sister. She throws her arm around Luca, giving him a kiss on the mouth.
Nova releases my arm and gives me a shove.A shove.A literal push with her well-manicured hand that sends me jostling awkwardly into Turner’s firm, meaty body.
My mind reels: am I beingmatchmaderight now?
Is this some kind of setup?
I feel my body flush, grateful my shirt covers my entire neck or he’d see the rash blooming there. “Sorry. Nova shoved me.”
“I noticed,” his low voice allows.
I shift on my feet, heart thudding behind my ribs. “She’s never been subtle.”
“No,” he agrees. “But she’s efficient.”
Nervously, I chug everything in my glass, swallowing it down with a grimace because the bottom of my drink is tart.
Glancing around, I grow desperate for something casual to say, but my brain is nothing but static. I could talk about the music. Or the weather.Or howobscenely broad his shoulders look in that snug polo shirt?—
“Would you like another drink?” Turner asks suddenly, saving me from whatever train wreck of a sentence I was about to unleash.
“I—yeah. Yes, please.”
He takes my empty glass and gives me a small nod, then turns toward the bar and I watch, eyes scanning his entire back side. The broad stretch of his back, the way that shirt clings to his traps. His narrow waist. And thatass?
When I close my eyes tonight, I’ll be imagining what it looks like in the flesh...
Firm. Defined.
Thick thighs.
I exhale and glance over again, just in time to see Turner step away from the bar, drink in hand, his gaze scanning the crowd until it lands on me.
Direct hit.
He starts walking back, and Nova materializes, murmuring over my shoulder like she’s narrating a National Geographicspecial. “Here he comes. The apex predator in his natural habitat.”
“Nova.”
“He comes bearing gifts.” She’s using an Australian accent.
I laugh. “Knock it off.”
But it’s too late—he’s already back.
I take the drink, careful not to brush his fingers this time. Once was enough. My bodystillhasn’t recovered from that minor contact.
Nova hasvanished—like the party goblin she is—and I am suddenly very aware that Turner and I are alone-ish. Close. Closer than we probably should be.
