And here comes part two of making moves… in the form of slinging his arm along the back of the bench, disappearing behind her.
Part three, he’ll lean in—yup, there it is. A subtle lean, a funny joke… get her laughing and—what the fuck is that?
Pinching a lock of hair between his index finger and thumb, he methodically rubs back and forth.
That’s not part of the fucking play. How do I know? I hold the copyright and taught it to him.
Plastic digs into my skin at the base of my thumb as the cup crunches in my hands.
Jaw ticking furiously, I gulp down what’s left of my drink before I destroy the cup entirely, the tight coil lodged in my chest only getting worse.
He offers her his drink, and with a shrug, she settles the cup on her bottom lip and tips it back.
Oh, we’re so going to talk about that. I don’t care if she thinks she’s safe with Everett. Trust no man. Ever.
Her throat works in a series of subtle, rolling movements that shouldn’t be mesmerizing—but are.
She does that fluttery thing with her lips and tongue, the little move she does when she’s falling at first taste. Then she’s tipping the cup back again.
Everett’s eyes drop to her throat, his look of interest sliding into a half-lidded gaze I’ve seen before.
Unfortunately for him, I now have to knock it off his face.
“Plotting a murder?” Nick asks, suddenly at my elbow, all casual judgment and dry amusement.
Fucking funny man. Keep the drinks coming, traitor.
I’m fine.” It comes out equal parts growl and snarl. One hundred percent lie—one of many I’m wracking up this week.
Nick snorts. “As a finance guy, I have to ask—did you budget for legal counsel?”
“Yeah, that and the money to get you a few kissing lessons.” I don’t look at him, but the jab lands clean. “Let me know when you’re ready to start.”
“Talking to the guy is a whole lot cheaper,” he fires back without missing a beat.
“Couldn’t agree more.”
“Put him on notice,” Nick says, a smirk tugging at his mouth.
“Smart.”
“Get him alone, though. It’ll give you the advantage.”
“Yes, it will.”
“The 2-1 odds are bad enough, but they tend to travel as a pack and?—”
“Wait, what? Who?”
Your father.Our fathers.”Nick gestures lazily with his drink, the ice clinking like punctuation. “The four of them are practically joined at the hip.”
I blink at him, my brain still untangling itself. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Nick rolls his eyes as if he can’t believe I’m this dense. “The missiles you’re launching at your dad over there.”
His drink tilts again, and I follow the arc of his hand. Sure enough, my father’s just beyond Holly, deep in some serious-looking conversation.
Stiff and stoic, he wears an expression that never fails to make my blood boil.
