I feel Wesley’s eyes in the mirror before I even look up. His gaze is dark, watching as I take the flask from Landon.
“What is it?” I ask, not breaking eye contact with Wesley as I bring it to my lips and tip it back. The burn sears down my throat, and I force myself not to cough.
Lydia turns in her seat, grinning. “Tequila, obviously. It makes everything better.”
Landon leans close, voice brushing my ear. “I know better than to offer you whiskey.”
I turn my head, and he’s closer than I expected. His eyes drop to my mouth, fleeting, like he didn’t mean for me to see it. I take another slow drink before handing the flask back.
“Put it away,” Wesley growls. “The last thing I need is a fucking ticket for an open container.”
Lydia twists in her seat, squinting at him. “What’s your problem?”
“Nothing,” Wesley answers, his voice eerily calm.
Landon passes the flask back to Lydia, who continues to stare at Wesley like she’s fitting pieces together.
“Right.” She snorts. “I’ve known you my whole life, Wes. You think I don’t know when you’re lying?”
“For fuck’s sake, drop it, Lyddy.” Emmett’s voice is low.
She throws her hands up. “Fine, whatever. Enjoy your pity party.” Then she turns forward and connects her phone. “Chasin’ You” fills the silence.
Landon taps the beat on the seatback. Lydia sings along under her breath. On the surface, everything is normal—but I still feel it. In the tension thrumming beneath the surface. In the heat of Landon’s thigh against mine. In the hurt lingering in Emmett’s gray eyes. But most of all, in the way Wesley’s eyes keep finding mine in the mirror.
Over and over.
And over again.
The gravel lot crunches beneath the tires as we pull into Lucky’s. Wesley catches my eye in the rearview mirror one last time before he kills the engine, cutting the music mid-chorus.
“Hey! That was my favorite part, dick,” Lydia pouts, dragging out the last word.
“You’ll get over it,” Wesley mutters.
Emmett scoffs, soft but sharp. He doesn’t look at Wesley or anyone else before slipping out of the back seat.
Lydia loops her arm through mine, tugging me toward the door as she scans the crowd for potential love matches. Landon falls into step at my other side, close enough to brush against my shoulder.
Wesley follows close behind. I don’t have to look to see him. In each and every step, Ifeelhim.
As we squeeze through the narrow entryway, fingertips brush against my lower back—barely there, a ghost of a touch that should mean nothing.
Except it isn’t nothing. Not to me.
No feelings. No emotions. Just sex.
No matter how many times I repeat the words, all it takes is one simple brush of his hand against my skin and my whole body betrays me.
At the bar, Landon orders two beers and slides one to me without a word. Not flirty—more thoughtful. Measured.
“Everything okay between you two?” he asks, quiet enough that no one else can hear.
I take a sip and nod slowly. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”
He tilts his head, studying me for a beat before leaning closer—not enough to touch, but enough for my breath to stutter.
“You should dance with me,” he murmurs. “He would lose his mind.”
