“I mean, just look at her. She’s gorgeous.”
My hand tightened around the spatula’s handle. Bennett must have sensed the tension radiating off my body because he quickly added, “Don’t worry, I know she’s yours.”
If only.
I wished she were mine. Fuck, I wished I were hers. It might be kind of nice to belong to someone for once. To have somebody claim me as theirs, not because of who my family was or how much money I had in the bank, but just for me. Jared, not the Rose City Roasters’ all-star pitcher, Jared Pink.
“But it’s more than that. She’s passionate about what she does, confident about who she is.”
He didn’t need to tell me that. I had fallen for Nessa hook, line, and sinker from the moment we’d met, leaving me floundering on the deck ever since. There was nothing sexier than self-sufficient woman who knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t willing to accept anything less than what she deserved. Confidence was sexy. Any man who said otherwise was insecure. Full stop.
Nessa threw her head back, cackling at something Wes said. Her full, luscious body shook with laughter. Just once I wanted her to laugh like that for me, notatme.
“Don’t worry. She’s into you, too.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, about as much as an STI.”
“I’m serious.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
I turned over the last burger and slammed the barbeque lid closed harder than expected. This time, when I looked back across the yard, our eyes met. Only for a second or two, but just long enough to have my pants tightening for the second time today.
“That’show.”
I cleared my throat. “Yeah, well, she has a funny way of showing it.”
“Or . . . ,” Dani said from behind me.
You would have thought I’d be used to her quiet footsteps by now after living with her for two months. “Stealth mode,” as I called it.
“Maybe,” she continued, “you’re just used to getting everything—and everyone—you want.” She popped another one of my homemade chips into her mouth, biting down with a loud crunch. “Those dimples might not be enough this time.”
I blinked. “That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Don’t try me, Pinkalicious.”
Bennett sputtered, trying to conceal his laugh behind another sip of beer. At least one of us was enjoying this conversation.
A little while later, after Clarke and Soren finally emerged from the garage, both of their clothing and hair more mussed than before, I found Nessa again.
Alone. Shoveling the last of the potatoes into her mouth.
“Huh.” She spun around, her eyes wide as saucers and mouth full of fries. “Can I get you a drink to wash down all those . . . oversalted potatoes?”
She froze mid-bite.
“Starch got your tongue?”
Her death glare could’ve melted the butter on my tray.
“Don’t get me wrong,” I said, desperate to squeeze in whatever I could while she chewed her food. It was a rare opportunity to have her to myself. “I know my way around a spud, but your caramel apple board is better. Great thinking with the toppings.”
“Um, thanks,” she replied when she finally swallowed. “I guess your potatoes are . . . better than I might have initially let on.”
I rocked back on my heels. “You guess?”
“Okay, fine!” she spat. “They’re the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth. You’re a master of the mash, a regularDarth Tater. Is that what you want to hear?”
