“Shit…” he whispers under his breath, turning it over with a grip on my wrist that Ilove. “It’s adorable,” he says, studying it intently. Then he tuts and lets go, practically tossing it aside. “What am I supposed to say?”
“Right?” I agree, throwing both arms up in the air. “It’s impossible to make fun of. It’s too damn cute. It’s official. I’ve ruined the evening.”
“The best I had was a sarcastic‘nice hand,Finding Nemo,’but that’s sort of endearing, isn’t it?”
“He’s an icon,” I agree.
“I loved that little fish.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking past the archway and hallway to our left. “Want to sit?”
I nod, leading the way to the tufted yellow two-seater couch in Sarah’s den. The walls are covered in Sarah’s many books and maps of various lakes up in Northern Ontario. It’s a cottage-inspiredroom. Because rich people have themed partiesandrooms.
“So how do you know Sarah and Caleb?” I ask, curling my legs under me to face him. This close to Bo, I can see that his eyes are hazel with the smallest smattering of green. He’s got more stubble than I originally noticed, but that’s because it’s fairer than his hair. He also smellsverygood. Like cinnamon and something else that’s musky and warm and delicious.Like someone who could build a campfire and bake me a birthday cake too.
I keep studying him unabashedly. I can’t help it, so I don’t resist. And, eventually, when my eyes leave hissurprisinglyattractive collection of costume rings below his black painted nails, I realise he’s looking straight down my blouse. He’s doing some unabashed admiring of his own.
I smile to myself, pride lifting my shoulders and, in turn, my chest. I give him a few more seconds of leering before I clear my throat delicately.
“Sorry.” He shakes himself. “What did you say?” He blinks like a caught, guilty man.
“Shameless!” I cry out, laughing. “Youogledme.”
He chuckles nervously. “I know, fuck, sorry. I’ve never—well, I’ve never forgotten to pretend I’m not checking someone out before.” He cringes bashfully, the corner of his lips still upturned.
“This costume has an intended purpose.” I shrug, fiddling with the hem of my skirt.
“I really am sorry. I’m not—”
“How do they look?” I ask, interrupting him.
He looks up to the ceiling as if he’s searching for some deity to help him handle me. I like that a lot.
I watch as a slow smile forms, the corner of his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. “They, like every other part of you, look great,” he says slowly. Now it’s his turn to clear his throat when I’m left blushing with my eyes stuck on his face. “But… whatdidyou ask?”
I fumble, forgetting everything I said. But when I look around the room, blinking until I focus on my surroundings, I remember whose house I’m in and, therefore, what I asked. “How do you know Sarah and Caleb?”
Bo shuffles back against the couch, his hand playing mindlessly with the loose, ruffled collar of his shirt, tugging it away from his neck. “Caleb and I met through a mutual friend about six years ago. We reconnected earlier this year for a work thing. He’s a good guy. What about you?”
“I’ve known Sarah my whole life. Our moms were best friends in high school and they both got knocked up accidentally during their senior year. They raised us together as pseudo-siblings.”
“Damn, so you’ve known Caleb since—”
“Grade nine, yeah,” I interrupt. “We all went to the same high school. I’ve been third wheelin’ ever since.”
“Third wheeling,” he repeats. “So, you’re not…” His smile quirks to one side. “I was going to ask if you were here with anyone, but let me rephrase. Is there someone who would deck me for checking you out the way I just did?”
“Nope.” I cover my smile with a curled pointer finger, tracing my knuckle along my lip before I gather my confidence once again. “No one. Here or inanyroom.” That sounded a lot more suggestive than I intended, but it works in my favour when I notice his smile inching back up and his eyes darting to my lips for a second.
“Any room.” He nods, chin tilted up. “Noted.”
“What about you? Have a girlfriend I should know about?” I ask before swallowing.
He looks offended that I’d even suggest such a thing, his brows jolting upward. “No!”
“You’d not be the first unavailable guy to act totally available,” I argue. My ex, for one, did that often.
“Fair.” He settles down. “No, no girlfriend. Here or inanyroom,” he taunts.
“Right.” I get comfortable, leaning against the couch—pushing my breasts together, which Bo briefly makes note of. “Then… tell me about yourself. Who are you?”
