He huffs a laugh. “Sure you did.”
He finally gives me my drink back, but his fingers stay wrapped around the glass a second too long. His thumb brushes my knuckles. Casual. Intentional.
“You always grab strangers’ drinks?” I ask.
“Only the ones I don’t want carried outta here over somebody’s shoulder.”
I tilt my head. “That a promise or a threat?”
His eyes darken. “Depends how much more you drink.”
Something electric snaps between us. Not sweet. Not romantic. Heavy. Dangerous.
I swallow. “You married?”
His jaw tightens, just a hair. “Yeah.”
I nod, slower this time. “Then you probably shouldn’t be touching my drink.”
He releases it immediately and steps back half a pace.
“You probably shouldn’t be looking at me like that either,” he says.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re deciding whether I’d ruin your life or improve it.”
My mouth opens. Closes.
“Well?” I ask.
He leans in just enough for me to smell smoke and whiskey and something that feels like regret.
“Both,” he says quietly.
His hand stays on the wall beside my head a second too long before he steps away. Then he turns and walks off like he didn’t just knock the air out of my lungs.
Lottie appears at my elbow two seconds later.
“What did Oaks say to you?” she asks.
I stare after him, heart pounding, legs weak.
“I think,” I say carefully, “he just told me to behave.”
Lottie winces. “Oh, honey.”
“What?”
She follows my gaze and lowers her voice. “He’s the kind of man who only warns you once.”
After that, the night tilts sideways.
I drink too much. I laugh too loud. Someone spins me on the dance floor and I lose my balance. I remember thinking I should sit down.
I don’t remember sitting down.
I wake up in a bed that ain’t mine.
