Lisa
By the time I finish my fifth glass of champagne, I’ve decided two things.
One: Tess is secretly funny in a dry, lethal kind of way.
Two: Blake Saxon is a problem.
Not in the life-ruining, move-across-the-country, cry-in-an-airport way.
In a much more inconvenient way. The sort of way that shows up in a black button-down. The sort that leans against a drinks table like he’s designed in a lab. Created to make women lose common sense. Though somehow he still looks at me like I’m the one causing trouble.
Which is frankly offensive.
I’m standing near the edge of the dance floor with Gwen and Tess. I try to pretend I am not scanning the room for him when he appears at my side again.
“I’m starting to think you came to this party just to judge everyone,” he says.
I glance at him.“That gives me way too much credit. I started judging everyone the second I got dressed.”
Blake grins.“And? What’s the verdict?”
I pretend to think about it, letting my eyes drift slowly around the room.“Too many egos. Not enough snacks. One or two decent outfits. One truly tragic dance move happening by the bar.”
“Be specific.”
“You,” I say sweetly.
He puts a hand over his heart.“You wound me.”
“You recover fast.”
“That’s true.” He leans a little closer.“What about you? Having fun?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s twice tonight.”
“What?”
“You saying maybe when you mean yes.”
I narrow my eyes.“You think you know me very well for a man who broke into my apartment.”
“I used a key.”
“That somehow makes it worse.”
He laughs, and there’s something annoyingly easy about it. Something that makes it feel like we’ve been doing this for years instead of… whatever this is.
I glance down at the drink in his hand.“What are you even drinking?”
“A beer.”
“How very sophisticated.”
“I left my monocle at home.”
That gets me. I laugh and immediately hate myself for giving him the satisfaction.
