“What?” I spin to face him. “What’s happening?”
“You’ll see,” is all he offers.
“Up next,” the emcee calls, feedback screaming from the mic. “FromDancingQueen toTheQueen. Give it up for Ezra from New York City!”
He stands, his man bun bouncing, and straightens his broad shoulders. “Watch and learn how it’s really done,honey.”
The crowd is frozen in wonder as the iconic opening strains of Freddie Mercury and David Bowie’s “Under Pressure” blast from the speakers.
Millie flinches in her seat and her mouth falls open. But she quickly crosses her arms and sucks in her cheeks. She’s doing everything she can to keep a smile from spreading across her face.
As if rehearsed, the audience screams “Let me out!”
But not my cousin. For the entire performance, her brows are drawn together. She’s going to need Botox to smooth out the creases between them. I wave a hand in front of her face, but her expression doesn’t falter.
After the roar of the crowd dies down, Ezra drops beside her and leans back in his chair with a grin.
I sit silently, watching them, waiting for the bomb she’s about to drop.
But it’s Ezra who speaks first. “See, I told you,” he gloats, tucking stray hairs behind his ears.
Without a word, she jerks to her feet and storms out of the bar, and a second later, Ezra is hot on her heels.
“I should probably go after her,” I say, rising from my seat and snatching my clutch from the tabletop. The two things Millie hates most in the world are being wrong and being upstaged. It’s going to take a while to calm her down.
Cam grasps my forearm. “Stay.” While his fingers are strong, his eyes are gentle and contemplative and filled with a curious longing.
17
Cameron
Joey shuddersbeneath my fingers when I clasp her arm, her eyes full of a somber curiosity. The two of us are connected, frozen, and while the noise level of the bar rivals that of New York City on any Saturday night, I hear only the beat of my heart.
“I need to leave.” She tugs her arm back, but the move is half-hearted.
“I’ll go with you,” I say as I rise from my chair.
She doesn’t object when I follow her out of the bar. The cool island breeze is refreshing against my skin, but in Joey’s tiny dress, it’s got to be downright chilly. God, that fucking dress. The champagne color complements her golden skin perfectly, but it’s the plunging neckline that has a choke hold on me. No, wait. I change my mind. It’s the way the dress hugs her ass. And her hair? It’s already in a ponytail, and it’s so long I bet I could wrap it around my fist a few times.
Fuck, I need to pull myself together.
On the sidewalk outside the resort bar, she peers over her shoulder and gives me a once-over, her eyes twinkling, and lets out a throaty laugh.
“What?”
“You may need to adjust your pants, darling,” she drawls, turning and pointedly staring at my crotch.
Stopping short before I bump into her, I peer down, but nothing is externally obvious. “Ha ha. You caught me.” I shrug.
“Caught you what?”
She’s playing dumb, but I’ll indulge her. “Checking you out.” I give her body another long, luxurious perusal and pause at her plush lips for a couple of breaths before locking in on her eyes.
Satisfaction purses her lips, and she shakes her head. “What—” she begins. “How—How are we even back here? Together.”
My heart flips at the way she says “together.”
“I don’t know, but don’t you think it’s a sign?”
