Just like he did in Boston.
Like he was the first person to ever really see me.
I should tell him to stop looking at me like that.
But no one’s ever looked at me like that before.
And I don’t want him to stop. Even if I fear it will completely wreck me in the end.
“To surviving the week.” Dylan’s lifts her glass containing her old fashioned.
I raise my martini and clink it against hers. “To surviving the week,” I echo.
Between finding out the man I spent a night tangled up with is Joshua’s dad, then learning he’s not only staying in town but will be my neighbor for the next month, survival feels like a pretty low bar to clear.
I take a swallow of my drink, the alcohol burning a trail down my throat, and allow my gaze to wander the room.
The place is buzzing tonight. The air is warm, heavy with the scent of fried food and spilled beer, the speakers pumping out a mix of classic rock and holiday covers. Gold and silver strings of garland glitter from the rafters as colored lights blink in a lopsided rhythm, making even this rowdy little bar past the town limits feel festive.
“Okay.” Dylan sets her drink down, pulling my attention back to her. “I’m just going to come right out and say it.”
“Say what?” I ask nervously, fearing the worst.
She leans closer, her brows raised in a knowing look.
I bring my martini back to my lips, though it sloshes over the rim from the subtle tremble in my hand.
“Joshua’s dad.”
I choke a little on my drink, but push it down. “What about him?”
She smirks, a wicked glint in her eye. “Oh, come on. I think you know.”
My heart hammers in my chest, heat creeping up my neck. I shouldn’t be surprised. Dylan’s always had an ability to read between the lines. It wouldn’t take her long to pick up on the tension between Declan and me. The way we had to physically force ourselves to look away from each other.
I open my mouth, searching my brain for the words I need, when she blurts out, “He’s fucking hot.”
I blink, both relieved and confused. “What?”
“I mean, sure, he’s Joshua’s dad, but holy shit, Claire. That voice? That beard? And those eyes?” She fans herself dramatically. “I bet he has tattoos. He seems like the type. All polished on the outside, with a bad boy streak a mile long.”
I fight my smile as I relax into the booth. She’s not that far off. He does have tattoos. And he definitely has a bad boy streak, too. Especially in the bedroom.
“Tell me you don’t find him hot. I dare you. That man puts the fox in silver fox.”
“He’s not all that silver, though.”
Dylan shrugs, sipping her drink. “I noticed a few flecks of gray. It’s silver enough for me.” She winks.
“Silver foxes?” a cheerful voice cuts in before I can respond. “Did I come at the right time?”
A petite blonde places a rocks glass on the table before sliding into the booth beside Dylan.
“You certainly did,” Dylan says with a subtle waggle of her brow. “Claire, this is Rowan. Rowan, this is my roommate, Claire.”
Rowan extends her hand toward me, and we shake. “Nice to meet you.”
“Rowan is Hayden’s new nanny.”
