Luca rested a hand on my thigh to catch my attention, though his gaze stayed on Ethan. “You do sometimes. Those watermelon-flavored ones.”
An ache pulled tight in my chest. I turned to Ethan, watching his cocky grin falter. Then something softer—almost vulnerable—came through, and it speared me straight through the heart because we both knew exactly what that meant.
“Just when I’m feeling nostalgic,” I said, offering a small smile. No use lying about something he could so easily see through.
A crease appeared between his brows, his lips pulling down into a frown.
Henry shifted in his seat. “So?—”
“Missed the taste of me, did you?” Ethan cut in, his voice teasing. “Guess old habits die hard.”
The air caught halfway to my lungs, and a startled laugh escaped before I could stop it.
“For fuck’s sake,” Henry muttered under his breath.
Raúl made a sound—something that might’ve been a cough or maybe a laugh he didn’t want to commit to either.
Then Ethan leaned back in his chair, sunglasses low on his nose, the faintest smirk hinting at the corner of his mouth. “Relax,” he drawled, voice softening into that lazy, self-assured tone that could disarm anyone. “Luca doesn’t mind, do you?” His gaze flicked to my right. “He knows Ash was mine first.”
From across the table, Henry gave Ethan a look that was half amusement, halfplease, for the love of God, stop talking. But something sparked through me—heat, thrill, denial tangled into one—and right behind it, a sharp surge of guilt.
As Luca froze beside me, his hand slipped slightly off my thigh, fingers curling against the fabric of my pants before retreating altogether. He smiled, but his jaw was working—the muscle there twitched in barely contained irritation.
Fuck. I was going to have to fix that later.
I leaned back, trying to mask my reaction with a slow exhale, but I could feel my pulse in my throat. Next to me, Ethan looked infuriatingly pleased with himself. Like he hadn’t just gutted the table with one careless line.
The server showed up at that moment with our drinks—thank fuck—helping to dissipate some of the tension blanketing us.
“Should we make a toast?” Henry asked, seizing the lifeline.
“Why?” I asked, more surprised than anything. I had no idea what he thought was worth commemorating in this awkward excuse for a lunch. We hadn’t even ordered food yet.
“Because…” He stalled, glancing at Ethan before shrugging. “Just because. Clink your fucking glass, Ash.”
We did just that.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Ethan watching. His gaze dipped briefly to where Luca’s hand had been resting on my thigh, but instead of the flare of anger I half expected, his mouth twitched—betraying his amusement.
Our eyes met over the rim of his glass, that slow grin spread wider as he took a sip and fuckingwinked.
Definitely not smooth sailing.
And fuck if that wasn’t the most attractive thing I’d ever witnessed.
CHAPTER FOUR
ETHAN
Luca.
What kind of name was that?
I’ll tell you what kind: one to match the ridiculously elegant, posh-looking man sitting next to Sebastian. His fuckingboyfriend—his fashion-house-family, Italianboyfriend. Could the universe give me a fucking break?
I’d resisted the urge to look him up before coming here. To go digging through social media, to study photos, to measure myself against a stranger I didn’t even know. I hadn’t trusted what I might find—or what it might do to me.
Now I didn’t need the internet.
