I look at him again, trying to figure it out. He’s clearly into Lydia—that’s obvious, even from across the bar—but I feel like I’m missing something.
An arm wraps around my waist, warm and familiar. I glance up at the same time Emmett leans in close, lips brushing the shell of my ear.
“I wanted to tell you earlier,” he murmurs, voice low and unhurried, “but you’rekillingmein this outfit,not-girlfriend.”
A different kind of heat flares inside me, pooling low in my stomach. I lean into his chest, breathing in the warm, woodsy scent of his cologne.
“If you’re lucky,” I tease, “I’ll let you buy me a shot.”
He grins and flags down Brantley to order another round. He passes one to me, the other to Lydia, who’s now cozied up under the arm of a guy in buffalo plaid.
Brantley narrows his eyes as Emmett hands me the drink, but doesn’t say anything. Emmett keeps his arm looped around my waist, fingertips lightly pressing into me as I down the shot. It’s slightly less awful this time, and a buzz begins to hum softly beneath my skin.
That warmth cools abruptly when I spot Wesley making his way through the crowd. He’s flanked by Lane and Landon, and I can’t help but notice the difference between them.
Landon moves like a force you can’t ignore—broad-shouldered, tall, sharp cheekbones, and dark eyes. Lane is quieter, like Wesley, but there’s an intensity in the way he scans the room.
His eyes flick to me for just a beat too long before they slide lower, lingering on Emmett’s hand settled on my waist. I follow his gaze and when I look back up, my eyes lock with Wesley’s. His jaw locks, the muscle in his cheek tensing.
The weight of Emmett’s hand shifts. Nothing really changes, but it feels different now—wrong somehow. It’s heavier, like I’m almost too aware of it.
My eyes dart toward Lydia, willing her to look over and rescue me. But she’s engrossed in whatever story plaid guy is telling, her head tilted back in laughter.
I should’ve been more mature and talked to Wesley when he offered.
Now I’m stuck in limbo, between almosts and awkward tension, unsure of how I’m supposed to act around him.
I’m probably overthinking it. He’s likely already forgotten about everything—because it wasn’t anything to begin with—and moved on.
Why would he even dwell onalmosttouching?
I’m sure he has donea lotmore with plenty of girls, and the few moments between us—if you can even call them that—are completely meaningless to him.
Not that they meant anything to me—but still.
As the guys meet us at the bar, my lungs constrict. I try to look anywhere but at Wesley—and fail. His eyes are fixated on Emmett’s arm around me and his mouth tightens, a faint flicker in his dark eyes that gives him away.
“Hey!” Emmett calls over the music, his hand tightening over my hip. “Look who finally made it!”
I try to create some distance between us without making it obvious, but his hold is firm.
Landon claps a hand on Wesley’s shoulder and shakes him playfully. “Didn’t think you knew what fun was anymore, Wes.” His wide grin reveals deep dimples in each of his cheeks.
I bite down a smile and shift my focus away from all things Wesley.
“Hey, Lane,” I say, teasing. “Didn’t think this was your scene. Thought you valued your peace and quiet.”
He gives a low huff and glares at me, but I catch the slight lift at the corner of his mouth before he turns away. A small victory.
The guys launch into a story about an“ornery donkey,”and I lean into Emmett’s side, ignoring the burn of Wesley’s gaze. I pretend I don’t feel it. Pretend I’m unaffected.
Pretend. Pretend. Pretend.
Lydia finally spins back to our group, a tray of shots held high like a trophy.
“Don’t say I never do anything for you dickheads,” she grins, passing out glasses and lime wedges. She hands me the fullestone with a wink. “That asshole would not shut the fuck up. If he mentioned his frat brothersone more time, I was going to slam my face into the bar.”
When she offers one to Lane, he lifts a hand. “I’m good. I’m driving.”
