“Picture?”
“Already added it to my hidden ‘blackmail Sienna’ folder in my photos app.”
Klein nods. “Always a solid idea to conceal the evidence.”
I purse my lips. Are we...getting along? Flirting, even?
Unacceptable.
“Well, Klein the stripper. Thanks for saving me from certain credit card fraud.” I move to side step him.
“You’re a good liar,” he says, making me pause.
“My fibbing abilities appear to be on par with yours.” I give him a meaningful look. He holds up his hands in acquiescence. “I guess I’ll be drawing on those lying skills again today.”
He adjusts his stance, his shirt sliding to accommodate the movement. I’m just going to pretend his chest isn’t straining against the fabric more than it was before. “Why is that?”
“Because I have to come up with a break-up story. Either that, or explain why we were joking, to which they will want to know what about all that I found funny.”
Klein shrugs. “So don’t tell them we broke up.”
I snort. “What exactly am I supposed to tell them when I attend my sister’s wedding without my boyfriend on my arm? That he is afraid of water, and therefore cannot be on an island?”
“Since when do you have a girlfriend?”
Ok, whoa. I forgot there’s a third person standing nearby.
Klein looks over my shoulder. “Halston, how wonderful of you to enter the chat.”
She flips him off. “I’m standing right here. How rude of you to ignore me.” She bends to put something in a fridge, then straightens. “Two questions. One”—she looks at me, eyebrows raised—“This is not your girlfriend, so who is she? And two, why did she refer to you asKlein the stripper, and can I pretty please make that your nickname?”
“That was three questions.” Klein passes me. He pulls out two barstools, gesturing for me to sit.
I’m settling on the stool when Halston says, “Answer all three and I’ll view it as an apology for not introducing me to your new girlfriend who isnot Megan.”
Blood rushes from my head, pooling in my stomach. Of course he has a girlfriend. Why wouldn’t he?
Klein drops onto the stool beside me. With one shoe propped on the bottom rung, he presses his forearms to the bar top. “Megan and I broke up, Halston. Six months ago. You know this.”
Is that relief I feel? No. That wouldn’t make sense.
She crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows. “Is that why she was in here last week, giving you puppy dog eyes?” She peers at him, waiting. I have to admit, I’m peering at him also, and not just because his five o’clock shadow is the perfect blend of rugged masculinity. I am inappropriately invested in learning whether or not this Megan person is really his ex.
“Where is duct tape when you need it?” Klein mutters.
Halston smirks. Pushing Klein’s buttons appears to be a favorite pastime of hers.
My attention ping-pongs between them.
Klein, looking supremely irritated, says, “She found a writing book of mine that had a bunch of notes and highlights, so she thought I’d like it back.”
Not missing a beat, Halston volleys. “Did she think you might like her back, also?”
An involuntary laugh escapes me. Klein side-eyes me, but says to Halston, “Not that it’s any of your business, but no.”
Halston’s eyes settle on me, but she looks less combative than she was when I walked in. Maybe it was me laughing at her joke. She seems defensive of Klein. Not in a way that makes me think she likes him, but that she cares for him as a friend. “New girlfriend?” she asks, eyebrows raised at me.
My nose wrinkles. “No way.”
