Page 37 of The Summer We Lie

And that look in her eyes—fuck. That hungry, submissive look that told me she'd do anything I asked. Be anything I wanted. It's been living in my head for days, keeping me awake at night, haunting me during meetings, distracting me from blueprints and client calls. It's embedded in my consciousness like a splinter I can't remove.

The elevator reaches the lobby, and I stride through, nodding at security as I head to my truck. The summer evening air hits my face, but it does nothing to cool the heat coursing through my veins at the mere thought of her.

Maybe a few drinks with the guys will clear my head. Maybe they can talk some sense into me. Or at the very least, keep me away from my house until Skye's safely asleep and I can't do something stupid like wander into the kitchen for a midnight snack and find her there again, wearing almost nothing, looking up at me with those innocent green eyes that somehow see right through all my careful defenses.

I slide into my truck and start the engine, gripping the wheel until my knuckles turn white. This is for the best. Distance is for the best.

For both of us.

I walk into the bar and spot them immediately. Ethan and Logan are tucked away in our usual back corner booth, heads bent together in conversation. I head straight for their table and slide into the seat across from Logan.

"Well, look who actually made it," Ethan says with a smirk.

Logan holds his palm out to Ethan. "I told you he would."

"Were you at the office then?" Ethan asks, reluctantly placing a twenty in Logan's waiting hand.

"Yeah," I say, then catch the eye of a server passing by. The dim lighting of the bar does nothing to dull the headache building behind my temples.

"Wait, I thought you were working from home the rest of the summer." Logan leans forward, elbows on the table. "You know, because of Harper?"

"That was the plan," I say as the server walks up to me. The original plan that didn't account for a green-eyed complication currently living in my guest room.

"What can I get you, sir?"

"Whiskey, neat. And keep them coming, please." My tone makes it clear I'm not here for a casual drink. I need something stronger than willpower tonight.

The server nods and moves away. Ethan narrows his eyes at me, his analytical gaze missing nothing. "Damn, is it that bad?"

I groan and rub a hand over my face, the exhaustion of the past few days weighing heavy. Three nights of barely sleeping, my mind replaying every interaction with Skye, dissecting every glance, every word.

"Okay, what's going on?" Logan asks, his usual playful demeanor giving way to genuine concern.

"Jokes aside?" I look between them, suddenly hesitant to admit my weakness.

"Jokes aside," Ethan says firmly.

"Scout's honor," Logan adds, holding up three fingers.

"You were not in the Boy Scouts."

"I wish I was, though," he says with a grin that doesn't quite hide his concern.

"I can't help you," I mutter as the server returns with my drink. I knock it back in one go, welcoming the burn in my throat. The whiskey is smooth, expensive—perfect for drowning thoughts I shouldn't be having.

"It's Skye," I finally admit, setting the empty glass down with more force than necessary. "I can't be around her. I'm not in control where she's concerned." The words taste foreign on my tongue—I've never had to admit something like this before. Not to them. Not to anyone. "I'm always in control, but this one fucking girl—a girl who is not even my normal type—is driving me crazy."

Ethan sits back, studying me with that calculating expression he gets when solving a particularly complex security issue. "Hear me out."

I nod as a new drink is deposited in front of me. "Thanks," I tell the server, then turn my attention back to Ethan, bracing myself for whatever solution he's formulated.

"You won the auction. She wants to lose her virginity. Why don't you just go through with it? Maybe fucking her will get her out of your system."

"That's what I would do," Logan chimes in, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "It's just the forbidden fruit thing. Once you've had it, the mystery's gone."

"There are a few problems with that plan," I say, taking a measured sip of my second whiskey. The simplicity of their solution makes me almost wish it could work.

"What could be a problem with fucking that girl?" Ethan asks. I glare at him, and he holds a hand up in surrender. "Theoretical question. For discussion purposes."