Being in a relationship back home—which he failed to mention—never stopped my ex from pursuing me, or Cali’s boyfriend from making a pass, or any of the men my mom brought home from flirting and letting their hands wander when they hugged me.
“Clear the table, peeps,” Nessa calls. “Dinner is on.”
She delivers homemade tortillas, along with a bowl of spiced, shredded chicken.
Zach reaches for a beer from the fridge and Lewis walks up behind him. He slaps Zach on the back and looks at me expectantly.
Zach glances between Lewis and me, then reaches for a bottle opener. “Gen is Nessa’s friend from work,” I hear him say while popping the top off his Corona.
Lewis studies my face as if he’s searching for something.
What is his problem? He can’t stare at me like that. His girlfriend is in the room.
So I ogled his arms. They were out there! And kind of hot. Sue me. I don’t recall checking out a guy’s body like that before—apparently, lusty thoughts can come on later in life. But women check out men all the time. Considering Lewis’s looks, he should be used to it by now.
“Sit next to me, Gen.” Nessa sets a bowl of Spanish rice on the table and pulls out a chair at her side.
I follow her lead and carry over a bowl of salad, then sit beside her.
“Food looks great,” Lewis says.
His voice, like a silky blade, cuts through my better sense, snaring my attention.
He’s shoveling half a taco in his mouth in praise of the food, or because he eats like a horse. I follow the flex of his square jaw, the thick muscles along his throat, which suddenly still.
I look up. He’s watching me stare—and he looks intense.
What am I doing? I’m making it worse.
Mira’s gaze darts to mine, and the look on her face is more than angry. She swallows, and I’d swear there’s anxiety in her eyes.
I take a small bite of rice, willing saliva into my dry mouth. I’ve never wanted to escape a situation more than I want to escape this dinner party. My heart’s jumpy and my face won’t drop below a thousand degrees. My fingers, which have never failed me in skill or coordination, can’t keep the stupid rice on the fork.
“So you’re here for the summer?” Zach says, his muscular leg brushing my calf as he aggressively loads food onto his plate. His narrow grandma table, which matches his thrift-store velvet couch and eighties parquet coffee table, makes dinner unintentionally intimate.
I take a sip of water and clear my throat. “I’m returning to Dawson in the fall for a graduate program in psychology.”
Mira’s upper lip curls at Zach, as if she’s annoyed that he dares draw attention to me. Considering I’d like to hide, I agree.
Mira leans against Lewis as he digs into his second taco, her own food untouched. I take a huge bite of my taco just to be contrary. Eating like a rabbit to stay ridiculously skinny is lame—and I eat more than the average girl anyway, so she’s just making me look bad. “How’s your mom these days?” she asks Zach.
Zach’s hand pauses above the salad, his chest deflating. “Fine.” His tone is flat, devoid of emotion.
I inch forward in my seat. Mira hit some kind of a nerve. Zach seems like such a nice guy. What is she doing?
Mira sips her drink, her caramel eyes cold. “What’s she up to?”
Zach’s gaze turns cagey. “Still at the care facility, and you know it.” He glances at the untouched food on his plate and nudges a taco with his knuckle.
Why would Mira bring that up? Is she trying to hurt him…because he asked about me?
Nessa squeezes her fork and studies Zach, concern in her eyes.
Lewis peers at Mira with a frown. To Zach he says, “Broken in the new paddleboard?”
“A little.” Zach’s face relaxes.
“Work’s slow. Mind if I join you sometime?”
