“What, huh?”
She shrugs. “I just would have pegged you for more of a Trojan.”
My mouth drops, and I grab her elbow, tugging her away from the crowd and into a nearby alcove of plants. “Do you have a death wish?”
“Do you make it a habit of manhandling women?”
I drop my hand lightning fast. “No, I-uh—”
Sutton laughs. “I’m teasing you.”
I force a smile, but she’s unnerved me. I’m usually better behaved, and I certainly don’tmanhandlewomen without explicit permission.
And begging. Plenty of begging.
But what is happening here? Sutton Hart teasingme? I didn’t think I’d live to see the day.
“You look like you need a beer.” She jerks her head toward the level above. “You going to stick around, or are you heading back up to the fancypants section?”
Smirking, I tilt my head. “You saw me.”
“You’re hard to miss.”
“Because I’m so hot?”
“Because you’re sobig.” She focuses on my forehead. “Do they even make hats your size?”
I chuckle, then step out of the alcove. “Ha.”
“I’m just saying,” she says as she strides past me, “it’s got to be difficult trying to find a hat that will fit that big ol’ head of yours.”
She strides up to the complimentary drink station, then looks back at me over her shoulder. “You’re an IPA guy, right?’
“I don’t even own any Carhartt flannels,” I tease, then turn to address the bartender. “You got any of that Fast Lane Amber back there?”
Nodding, he grabs a cold bottle out of the ice, opens it, then hands it across the bar, looking at Sutton expectantly. “Another IPA?”
I snort, lifting my bottle in salute when she glares at me.
“It’s a hazy, west coast style,” she says as if I give a shit.
“Hey now, I’m not judging. If you’re an IPA guy, that’s between you and your god.”
Sutton clinks her pint glass against the neck of my beer bottle. “Loser buys the next round.”
My mouth drops open as she brings the beer to her lips and begins to chug.
Is it too soon to tell her I’m in love?
Chapter Eighteen
Sutton
We’re deep into the third quarter, waiting for the next round of drinks, when my stomach growls angrily enough for Max to hear.
He looks at me pointedly. “You trying to tell me somethin’?”
I laugh, then rub my hand over my stomach. “I don’t think I’ve eaten since…” I grimace. “Whoops. Breakfast.”
