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“The IPA.”
I glanced past the door of the fridge to look at him. “And if I told you that’s the one I wanted?”
“You think that would change my decision?”
“You’re such a gentleman.” I grabbed the summer lager for myself, handing him the IPA. With the wine tucked under my arm, I said, “Follow me,” and brought him into the living room.
Sloane was lounging across her favorite part of the couch, her feet extended over the ottoman, her socks pulled high to her knees. She wore her hair in a messy bun and hadn’t bothered to put in her contacts, her thick black lenses sitting midway on her nose.
“Sloane,” I said, stopping in front of the ottoman, where I handed her the wine, “I want you to officially meet Grayson.”
For as grumpy as he was, she was equally as cunty. That was one of the things I loved most about her.
I couldn’t wait to hear how this conversation was going to go down. If he thought I was snarky, he was meeting his toughest match.
But at the same time, I wanted this to go smoothly.
I wanted her to believe I cared about him.
I wanted her to see what I saw in him.
She poured the rest of the white into her glass and set the bottle on the floor, looking up just as Grayson’s hand left my lower back to extend toward her.
“Sloane,” he said, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Yeah?” She held the glass against her chest and shook his fingers. “Tell me something you’ve learned about me.”
Oh, she was good.
Without pause, Grayson replied, “I hear you make a hell of a martini. Extra filthy. Just the way I like it.”
I’d told him that over dinner tonight.
I couldn’t believe he’d listened.
Most of the time when I was talking, unless the topic bordered on dirty, I was never positive I had his full attention. I just figured my words went in one ear and straight out the other.
But he’d heard me this evening. He’d processed.
I wasn’t sure what to make of that.
Sloane looked at me, her eyes smiling even though her grin didn’t reach her lips. “I’ll make you one the next time you’re at the bar.”
“I look forward to it.” He released her hand. “But should I ask you the same question?” He paused. “What have you learned about me?”
“You can,” she responded.
“All right then,” he started. “Tell me.”
He was so incredibly charming in the way he spoke, how his stare stayed directly on her.
Nothing and no one made Sloane uncomfortable, but I noticed how she didn’t remain still. She tucked her legs underneath her as we took a seat on the other side of the couch.
“Let’s see ...” She sipped her wine. “I know there were other men on the yacht with you. You’re not as raunchy as everyone thinks.” She winked at him. “I know you’re one successful businessman. And I know that when my girl returns home from your dates, she has this wicked smile on her face.” She nodded toward me. “The one she has on now. You may not know that smile, Grayson, but I do. She doesn’t wear it often, so you must be doing something right.”
“Hmm,” he huffed.
I felt his eyes on me, but I didn’t look at him.
