So, I do what any rational, self-respecting woman in love with her brother’s best friend would do. I give him an awkward little wave.
Smooth.
I come to a stop at the bar, trying to ignore how my heart’s doing somersaults in my chest.
“Phern,” he says, and of course his voice is low and warm and rough enough to drag along my spine like gravel.
“Hey, Will.”
“You’re out late.”
I snort. “Let’s just say it was too loud at home.”
“Ouch. Again?”
“Yup.”
He gives me that grin where just the corner of his mouth lifts like he’s in on a joke the rest of us missed. “I’ve got just the thing for you.”
He turns, and my eyes betray me, dropping immediately to the way his jeans cling in all the wrong-right ways. Fantastic. I’m ogling his ass now. Definitely nailing the ‘cool and collected’ vibe.
When he turns back, he sets a drink in front of me. It’s purple. I lift one eyebrow, and that only makes him grin wider.
“Just try it.”
I take a sip, grimace dramatically, and push it back across the bar. “Nope. Not even close.”
“Damn,” he says, unbothered, already reaching for a bottle. “Want a beer?”
I nod, and he pops the cap with one fluid motion, sliding it to me like he’s done it a thousand times. Which he probably has.
We’ve got this thing going on. Will is trying to make me the perfect drink. He’s come close a few times. Close enough that I’ve started to wonder if he’s trying to figure me out one flavor at a time. But this purple mess? Absolutely not it.
Still, I take the beer. Let our fingers brush just a second longer than necessary. And he doesn’t pull away. Only because his attention is fixed over my shoulder.
“Dammit,” he mutters. “Your cousin just walked in.”
I spin on the barstool and groan. It’s Liam, and he’s drunker than a skunk in a rainstorm.
Will’s already moving to come around the bar, but I hold up a hand to stop him. “Let me talk to him.”
“You sure? Last time he got pretty feisty.”
“I’m sure.”
I slide off the stool and cross the bar, weaving through the crowd until I reach where Liam is leaning way too heavily against the wall.
“What in the heck are you doing here?”
“Cousin,” he slurs with a big, lazy smile. “What are you doin’ here?”
“Liam Stone! Did you drive in this condition?”
He shakes his head and jerks a thumb over his shoulder where, sure enough, Uncle Carl stands swaying by the door like a damn scarecrow after a storm. I glare at both of them.
“Liam, sit. I’ll be right back.”
Uncle Carl snorts when I march up to him.
