Dressed in black pants and a crisp white button-down shirt that contrasts perfectly with his jet-black hair, I swear the man is sex personified.
When he finally feels my gaze on him, his dark eyes flick to mine.
I can’t look away.
In those lustful depths, I see a promise for more sexy times later tonight.
I smile, and he winks at me.
But, oh shit, maybe that was too much.
Easton, Claire, and I are seated in a little alcove off the living room, and I think someone caught that last exchange.
Sure enough, Easton clears his throat and says, “We should probably get going soon.”
I think even tipsy Claire has taken note, as she replies with a knowing “Definitely.”
Good God, these two.
It’s okay, though, because Easton’s attention is back on Claire when she stands up and stumbles, almost falling over.
While she blames her heels for the misstep, I gently take her glass from her and set it down on a nearby side table.
Hooking my arm through hers, I assure Easton, “I got her.”
Claire is a trip on the way back to their house. She’s funny when she’s buzzed. But after a few silly comments, she dozes off.
When we arrive at their house and pull into the garage, she rouses and looks around. “Wow, that was fast,” she says.
Though it was fairly quick with the light traffic this time of night, I have to give her a hard time and call her out. “I think you fell asleep,” I say from the back seat.
Waving her hand around lazily, she leans her head back on the passenger seat and mumbles, “Whatever.”
Okay, my friend is definitely beyond buzzed—she’s drunk.
I know that for sure when she wants to sleep in the car.
It’s kind of funny, but Easton is having none of it. He easily scoops her up and out of the vehicle.
After I hop out, I lean in and give her a kiss on the head. “Hey, you get some sleep,” I say softly. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”
With her eyes closed, Claire mumbles, “Yeah, tomorrow, good…”
I tell Easton to be sure to take care of my girl, and he replies, “You know it.”
I do, actually.
Claire is in good hands with her new husband, which is my cue to leave.
After a wave and a warm “Goodbye,” I’m out of the garage and in my car in no time.
And then I’m off to Lennox’s.
“Fuck, I can’t wait to get this dress off you,” Lennox rasps as he hikes up the hem of my shimmery gold little number and begins to lift it up and off. “It’s all I could think about this whole night.”
“What’s that?” I ask slyly.
“Getting you naked” is his swift reply.
