He brings the glass to his lips and tilts it back in one fluid motion, grimacing as it burns its way down his throat.
And finally—the lime.
Which he takes from my fingerswithhis mouth, teeth grazing the tips just enough to send a current of lightning coursing through me.
When it’s done, he leans back, his face is flushed, his breathing is shallow.
And I see it.
A discreet shift. A hand adjusting his fly. Fast, controlled, like he’s trying to pretend it didn’t happen.
It did.
My brow quirks. “You okay there, Rhodes?”
He clears his throat. “Peachy.”
He won’t meet my eyes. That might be the hottest part of all.
Nolan excuses himself for the restroom.
The trophy is handed off—a glitter-splattered horror show featuring a decapitated Lance Bass. Jeremy lifts it like he’s won Wimbledon.
“We’re celebrating at the pool tables,” he declares. “Come dominate!”
“Maya, you in?” Rishi asks.
Maya eyes her drink. “Only if domination comes with a lemon drop chaser.”
I wave them off. “You all go. I’ll hold down the table.”
Translation: I need a minute after Nolan Rhodes just licked my neck.
Jeremy winks.
I rotate my cider glass slowly. Sip. Breathe. Sip. Breathe.
“Careful,” comes a voice at my elbow. “Sit too long and I’ll start thinking you’re afraid of me.”
I glance up. Nolan’s there. Flushed from what I’ll generously blame on the tequila, hair tousled, grin weaponized. He looks like trouble with perfect teeth, and he’s riding this loss like it’s a win.
“Not afraid,” I say. “Just uninterested.”
He gestures toward the dartboard in the back corner. “Come on, Adams. One game. Unless you’re worried I’ll beat you this time.”
I shake my head. “No thanks.”
“I’m annoyingly persistent.”
I stare at him.
He smiles. “Pretty please with cherries on top.”
I sigh. “Fine. One game. Then I go back to pretending you don’t exist.”
At the board, he grabs two darts, offers one. I snatch it from his hand. “I could aim for your eyeball.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s come at me with a pointy object and a grudge.”
