Page 36 of Vegas with my Ex’s Best Friends

“I didn't realize I was being monitored.”

It comes out sharper than I mean it to. He doesn't react—no flinch, no shift in expression. Just absorbs it the way he absorbs most things: completely, without comment.

“You aren't,” he says. “I just noticed.” His eyes move over my face, unhurried. “You don't look fine.”

“I'm fine,” I say again. “I think I'm coming down with something. Bad night.”

Typical Ethan Cole.

He looks at me for a beat too long.

Not suspicious or warm. That stillness of his, controlled and flat, the face of someone who's already run the available data and arrived at a conclusion he isn't ready to share. His gaze drops for half a second, just once, like he's checking something. Then it comes back up.

“Okay,” he says.

Like he doesn't believe me.

Like he's choosing not to push.

He doesn't move.

He's between me and the main room. Close enough that I have to brush past him. The fan is still running in the bathroom behind me because I forgot to turn it off.

I hold his gaze for one more second.

Then I move past him and go back to my room and close the door and press my back against it exactly as I did on day one when Andrew said my name through the wood and I didn't know yet how much harder it was going to get.

I press my hand flat over my pocket.

And finally let it land.

Chapter fourteen

Chapter Fourteen—Liam

Riley is at the kitchen island at seven-thirty with a glass of water and the expression of someone trying very hard to look like everything is fine.

I clock it in about four seconds.

“You're not eating,” I say, dropping onto the stool across from her.

“I'm about to eat.”

“You've been about to eat for twenty minutes. I've been watching from the couch.”

She looks up. “That's not creepy at all.”

“I'm observant.” I reach across and steal one of the crackers off her plate. The plate she's been extremely committed to not touching. “Former military. It's a gift.”

“Is that what you're calling it?”

“Among other things.” I lean on the counter, close enough that she'd have to move to put more distance between us. I'm not doing it on purpose. Mostly.

She notices. Her shoulders come back, chin lifting slightly. Not moving away, putting something careful in her posture. Six weeks of keeping precise distance and her body still remembers exactly how close I can get.

“Liam.”

“Riley.”