"Brad's always an ass," Emily added. "But damn, Grant. That was smooth."
"Smooth?" Chris laughed. "That was territorial."
"It was hot," Hannah said, and Riley's cheeks went pink.
Grant pulled Riley closer, his arm draped across her shoulders, proprietary and obvious. She leaned into him, her hand resting on his thigh, and a feeling in his chest settled and sparked at the same time.
By the time people started heading out, Grant's entire body was wound tight with want. Every casual touch had felt like a promise. Every look Riley gave him made it harder to think straight.
He walked Riley to her car, neither of them speaking. The parking lot was quieter now, most people already gone, just the distant sounds of the bar and the crunch of snow under their boots.
At her car, Riley turned to face him. "So. That was?—"
"I know."
"Brad's an idiot."
"He is."
"But you didn't have to—" She stopped, studying his face. "Actually. Why did you?"
Grant's hand found her waist, pulling her closer. "Because he was talking about you like you weren't standing right there. Like you were some sure thing for him. Like what we had—" He stopped. "Like it didn't matter."
"It was ten years ago."
"I don't care. He had no right. And we aredating.”
Riley's hands slid up his chest. "You got jealous."
"I got protective."
"Same thing."
"Maybe." Grant's thumb traced the curve of her hip. "But hearing him talk about you leaving, about us not working?—"
"What about it?"
"It made me want to prove him wrong."
Riley's breath caught. "And kissing me in front of everyone does that?"
"Kissing you in front of everyone showseveryone—including Brad—that you're not some temporary thing. That this—" He gestured between them. "Isn't something I take lightly."
"Even though it's fake?"
The question hung between them, loaded with everything they weren't saying.
Grant's hand cupped her face. "That kiss didn't feel fake to me."
"No," Riley whispered. "It really didn't."
"I know we said—I know the deal?—"
"Grant."
"Yeah?"
"Stop talking and kiss me again."
