We’ve moved to the bar to give the server her table back, and we’ve destroyed a charcuterie board, two eclairs, and more alcohol than is probably wise. He’s made no indication he wants to leave, and I’m stubborn enough that I will sit my ass on this stool until close just to prove a point. What that point is, I have no idea anymore.
Evan brushes a pastry crumb off of my bottom lip, and a shiver rushes through me. He has green eyes with an amber ring around them, and they dance with mirth right now.
“You missed a bite.”
The pad of his finger eases between my lips, catching me completely off guard. I suck in a breath, which only serves to suck his finger deeper into my mouth. His eyes darken. A warm heat pools in my belly, and I realize what I can’t figure out. Is heactuallyattracted to me?
Because if he is, I think I might be attracted to him, and that seems…messy.
He has the hots for Christopher.
Who clearly has a thing for Evan in return.
I also can’t get Tucker Hastings out of my head.
God, that man is infuriating.
He didn’t even recognize me. He humiliated my seventeen-year-old self and didn’t have the decency to know me on sight?
I had a crush on his stupid, oversized, brawny ass in high school. He was anItGuy. Everyone liked him. He called me weird and creepy. According to my sisters, he’s still popular around town. And I’m a little less weird and a little less creepy.
But I still kind of want to kick him in the gonads.
Or at least prove to him—as stupid as it is—that I am at least attractive tosomeone.
Even if it’s fake.
“What are you thinking right now?” Evan asks, his finger still in my mouth.
That I want him to kiss me.
I suck it lightly before pulling back. “That I’m drunk and I’m going to have to call off work tomorrow.”
Evan laughs lightly. “We can’t have that. Mary Grace will annihilate you.” He sits back on his stool, leaving my personalspace. “Here, drink some water.” He hands me my tumbler filled with water and ice.
I raise the cool glass to my warm lips and take an enormous gulp. “Good thing Fiona already left. She would be cutting me off and dragging me home.” I suddenly have a thought. “How are you getting home? You’ve had at least three bourbons.”
“Five,” he admits. “I’m calling an Uber when we’re ready to leave.”
I don’t want to leave. Not really. I don’t want to go to the guest room at my sisters’ house and stare at the ceiling while I ponder this bizarre turn my life has taken.
Back home in Honeysuckle Harbor.
Ugh.
Not that my hometown is bad. It’s pretty great in a lot of ways. Natural beauty, sand and surf, friendly and caring people. It’s just that I was supposed to leave all the haters behind and make something of myself in New York.
“I think we have the rumor mill churning,” Evan comments, tipping his head slightly toward the restaurant.
I glance around. There are definite side glances and whispers behind raised palms. The bartender, Sheila, has been peppering us with questions all night.
“I think they’re buying it,” I say, draining the rest of my water.
Evan’s hand lands on my knee. “Buying what?”
“That we’re dating.”
He squeezes my knee, his thumb twirling circles over the exposed skin. His grip is firm—his touch distracting. My nipples harden beneath my stupid work blouse. He shifts closer to me again. He ditched his suit jacket an hour ago, and I kicked my heels off onto the floor. It feels intimate, like we’re alone instead of in a crowded popular restaurant.
