Before he can argue, another cheer erupts as the bear of a man on the bar top jumps off, slams his beer stein down, and bellows, “Someone Get Bennett An Axe!”
More drunk cheers. More drunk chanting: “Axe! Axe! Axe!”
I’m mid-sip of my drink when a stranger shoves her phone in my face, her grin wide with mischief. “Lucy,” she shouts over the noise, calling me by name. “What was your reaction the moment Harris ripped his shirt open? Be honest.”
I lower my glass slowly, dragging out the moment for dramatic effect. “Well.” I tap a fingernail against my cocktail glass. “I didn’thateit.”
Harris’s eyes darken a little as a roar of approval erupts from the group, someone clapping him on the back like he’s won an actual championship.
And suddenly,the game has begun.
Again.
Harris leans back in his chair, one arm slung casually over the backrest, his drink loose in his other hand. But his eyes? Yeah. Those are locked on me now, sharp andinterested, like my words flipped a switch in his brain, simple as they were.
The bar is loud, buzzing with energy, but I’m suddenly all too aware of him. The way his jaw tics slightly. The way his fingers drum against his glass, slow, deliberate. The way his eyes settle ontome.
Dex whistles. “Ohhh, she didn’t hate it, boys.”
Miles claps his hands. “Yoga teacher gave a love confession.”
They are such idiots.
“He made a scene—now he has to live with the consequences.” I roll my eyes. “When he ripped his shirt open, I was somewhere between mildly entertained and—seriously confused.”
Harris’s smirk grows. “Mildly entertained?”
I sip my drink to hide my smile. “Sure.”
He tilts his head slightly, watching me. “You weren’t impressed?”
I raise a brow. “Do youneedme to be impressed?”
The table erupts into chaos.
“Oh Shit.”
“She’scallinghimout!”
Harris exhales, shaking his head, amusement in his expression. “Lucy.”
I blink innocently. “Harris.”
He leans forward and rests his elbows on the table, closing the space between us. Lowers his voice so I have to lean closer to hear him. “Know what I think?”
I lift a brow. “Please. Enlighten me.”
His tone is so low only I can hear. “I think youwereimpressed.”
I don’t react.
Don’t blink.
Don’t let it show that he’s right.Maybe—just maybe—I was affected by his over-the-top performance earlier. By his bare chest glistening in the sun. His muscles. Broad back. Shoulders.
Six-pack abs.
I tilt my head, matching his energy. “And I thinkyoulike that I won’t admit it. You love it when I’m stubborn.”
