"What about you?" she asks, tapping her bottle lightly against mine. "You interrogate all women who escape your dad-friend beer parties?"
"Only a couple of special ones," I joke, "who are too good at pretending they're fine."
She stiffens a little. "I'm not pretending."
"Yes, you are."
She sets her bottle down on the railing and faces me fully, chin lifting with a spark I like far too much. "And what does a guy like you think I'm pretending about?"
"A guy like me," I repeat. "You think you have me figured out."
She shrugs one shoulder. "Tall, older, quiet, bossy. Ex-military. You scream, ‘I give orders in my sleep.’"
She's not wrong, but I smile anyway. "And that's a problem?"
"Depends," she says, stepping a little closer without realizing she did. "Some women don't like being told what to do."
I cock a brow at her, and she huffs. "I didn't say I was one of them."
Christ.
I let the silence stretch, warm and charged. Her body leans forward just enough for me to feel the heat off her skin. It's subtle, but it hits like a hit of adrenaline.
"You're so sure I'm pretending," she says suddenly, searching my face. "But you look like you've got some secrets."
I shrug nonchalantly. "I do."
She laughs. "You're not gonna share any, are you?"
"Not unless you ask nicely."
Her lips part. She's caught between laughing and swearing at me, and the mix is intoxicating. "I don't beg," she finally replies.
"I didn't say beg," I say, though my mind pictures her begging in a very different scenario. "I said ask."
She shifts on her feet, her confidence flickering and returning all at once. "Fine. Tell me one."
I take my time and step closer, close enough that her breath brushes my jaw and that I hear her heart kick harder in her chest. "One secret," I say. "I noticed you the second you stepped into that room."
Her lips part again and she shivers. "Gabe…"
"I noticed the way your dress fits." My voice drops, and my voice is warm on the shell of her ear. "I noticed the way you smelled when I hugged you. I noticed the way you stopped breathing when I looked at you."
She swallows. "That's… a lot of noticing."
"You asked."
She curls her fingers around the railing, gripping it like she needs something to hold on to. "It's still a lot."
"I'm a lot," I say quietly. "You're handling it fine."
Her eyes flick down to my mouth before she can stop herself.That's it.I lean closer, not touching her, just close enough to let her feel the promise of it. "You really want me to keep my distance," I ask, "or is that just something you think you're supposed to say?"
3
LENA
My throat goes dry. My brain short-circuits. Every rational part of me screamsyes, yes, keep your distance, this is my dad's friend, this is insane—but my body has other ideas.
