Lexie spreads her hands in surrender.
River jumps up and down, squealing. “Okay, we’re going shopping first, Lex. My treat.”
Lexie looks confused. “What’s the point of wearing something sexy then?”
River guffaws. “You can’t go shopping in the Hamptons in your peasant dresses or pit bull shirts. Do you need help finding something?”
I lift a finger, unable to resist. “I volunteer.”
“No!” Lexie fires back, blushing something fierce.
River tosses her hair back and snips, “By the way, you haven’t properly introduced us.”
She extends her hand, and I take it, lifting it to my mouth to kiss the back. Old-fashioned, aye, but it never fails to make an impression.
River squeals through pressed teeth. “I’m River Rogers. Lexie’s former girlfriend but lifelong best friend, who makes sure she doesn’t turn into a flower-hoarding hermit.”
Former girlfriend.
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and something shifts in my chest. Not jealousy, exactly—they clearly don’t have that relationship anymore. But it’s information. Important information.
I watch how Lexie avoids my eyes, how her hands fidget.
“Charmed.” I release River’s hand.
Lexie backs away toward the bedroom. “Be right back. I need to take a quick shower, too.”
As she disappears behind the door, River turns to me, her expression serious. She sets her hands on her hips, tilting her head, and I can see the wheels turning in her mind.
“So, Liam,” she asks in a low, conspiratorial voice. “What are your intentions with my girl?”
I meet her gaze head-on, not backing down an inch. She’s sizing me up. Trying to figure out if I’m a threat or a prize. Trying to decide if she should warn Lexie away or give her blessing.
But I also see her innate care. The protectiveness. She loves Lexie, even if it’s not romantic anymore. And that earns her great respect from me.
“My intentions,” I assert slowly, “are to keep her safe. And to make sure she’s well taken care of.”
Suspicious, River tests more. “That’s a very diplomatic answer.”
“I’m a very diplomatic man.”
“Bullshit,” she says, but there’s no bite. “You’re trouble. I can smell it on you.”
“Aye,” I admit. “But I’mhertrouble now.”
River assesses me like she’s pricing cattle before the tension deflates. “Good. She could use some excitement in her life. She deserves it after all she’s gone through. “
I glance at the door, knowing a darker history exists, one River has witnessed.
“And if you hurt her, you hot Irish stud muffin, I will hunt you down and make you wish you’d never been born.”
I don’t argue. “Noted.”
She turns away, moving to the couch to retrieve her scarf. We make a bit of small talk. I don’t shy away from the details. She is the type of woman who loves all the juicy details. And she doesn’t mind if she looks like a fool, doubling over with laughter—even a snort or two—at the story of how I cleaned Lexie’s apartment, cooked her dinner, and bent her over the table. She reaffirms her “lottery” opinion.
Then, I hear the bedroom door open.
I turn, and my lungs stall.
