Well, you ain’t getting him.
I’m debating whether to do the unthinkable—dispatch my father to my old building to beat that toaster out of Isaac Grant—when I’m distracted by an Instagram alert. It’s a DM from someone named Landon Kerns. The name sounds familiar, but it isn’t until I open the notification that I make the connection. The bartender with the mullet. The one I was chatting with before Wyatt went all caveman on me and made me leave the bar.
LANDON
Hey, girl. I hope you don’t mind me sliding into your DMs, but I didn’t grab your number before you took off the other night.
He’s still typing, so I wait for his next message before responding.
LANDON
It’s sort of last minute, but I’m having some people over tonight. Not a huge blowout or anything, just a small gathering at my place. Come by if you feel like it. Would love to see you.
I don’t even hesitate, because…gee, what a conundrum! I can stay in and sulk about Wyatt being on a date, or I can go to a party.
Why should Mr. Good-Time Fuckman be the only one who gets to have fun tonight?
Any chance you can pick me up?
Landon shows up twenty minutes later in a shiny black sports car, and we make the twenty-minute drive to the north shore. Despite his expensive car, he lives in a more affordable area on a quiet street lined with older cabins and single-family homes. Since I’m a responsible person, I let Wyatt know I’m meeting up with friends and text him the address, but it’s radio silence in response. Guess he’s too…occupied to be overprotective about me tonight.
I’m not sure why, but that stings. A lot.
I expect a bigger crowd inside, but I guess Landon wasn’t kidding when he said it was a small gathering. On the well-worn leather couch, three guys are playing a racing video game, trash-talking loudly astheir little cars hurtle across the screen. A young woman with a dyed-red bob and tattoos on every visible inch of skin is curled up in the armchair, while a pretty blond in gray sweats and a crop top sits near the redhead’s feet, scrolling on her phone. There’s music playing from a nearby speaker, but the volume is low, and the vibe in the house is chill.
“This is Blake,” Landon tells his friends before introducing the guys to me. “Sammy, Zan, Gio.” He nods toward the girls. “Kelly and Christina.”
“Nice to meet you guys.” I awkwardly sit on the other couch, an upholstered love seat, while Landon ducks into the kitchen to get me a drink.
He’s gone a while, and I hear the sound of cupboards opening and rattling closed. His friends seem cool, though. Kelly tells me she hosts paint nights in Tahoe City every Thursday and Saturday, which sort of sounds like a blast. Christina works at the boat rental place at the marina in Zephyr Cove. The three boys ignore me completely, too caught up in their game.
“Okay, I have good news and I have bad news,” Landon announces, reappearing several minutes later. He’s holding something behind his back.
“Bad news first, always,” Christina says.
“We’re out of beer.”
That finally gets the boys’ attention. Sammy pauses the game in sheer outrage. “Dude! But we need beer!”
Landon’s mouth stretches in a shit-eating grin. “Ask me what the good news is.”
“What’s the good news?” Zan says suspiciously.
With a grand flourish, Landon whips his hand out to reveal an ominous-looking black bottle.
“We’ve got absinthe.”
Chapter 18
WYATT
MIRA’S TONGUE IS DOWN MY throat. We’re in the front seat of the Jeep, her hair tickling my jaw as she kisses the ever-loving fuck out of me. It’s the kind of kiss that would normally get me rock-hard. Passionate. Hungry. But as she devours my mouth and grinds her ass against my fly, I can’t convince my dick to cooperate.
“Missed this,” she murmurs between kisses.
Her hand is already working its way south. She cups me over my jeans, trying to coax a response I can’t seem to give her.
I want this.
