“What about at the end? When I kissed—”
“Chef.” The low, biting voice beside me is a warning.
Sawyer folds his arms as he lifts his chin. The stiffness in his posture snaps me out of my slouch, my spine straightening until I stand up tall. The atmosphere feels…tense.
Luke glances away from me. “Hey, Sawyer.” He sticks out his hand. “How are you keeping?”
Sawyer’s arms stay folded. “Fine.” And there’s still no handshake.
Luke shoves his hand into his pocket. He doesn’t seem to know how to keep this awkward conversation going. “It, uh… looks like it might rain later.”
“It might.”
“Does the weather impact your work?”
“Nope. You got somewhere else you need to be?”
“No?”
“You sure about that?”
“I might…” A line appears between Luke’s brows as he glances between Sawyer and me. “Els… I’ll…grab you a drink.”
Sawyer’s glare stays on Luke’s back as he leaves.
I plant my hand on my hip. “What the hell was that?”
“Shit, Elsie… Do we need to have this out right now?”
“I would’ve said no until you stomped over here acting so rude!”
He points to his chest. “Me?”
“Yes. You.” I wave at him to start talking. “What’s going on with you?”
“I thought he was botherin’ you.”
“Is that the only reason you’re acting like this?”
Please say you’re jealous.
“I…”
Please tell me you get these flutters in your chest every time you look at me…
He steps closer. I’m wedged into the table with no escape. Just like the kitchen. I can feel the heat off his chest again, and it’s so glorious my head spins. We’re out in the open. Anyone—everyone—can see us, but I still want him to kiss me. I want the moment he denied me, no matter who’s watching.
“Elsie—”
“Hi everyone!” Kristen sweeps into the yard, her ass impossibly flat in a pair of the lowest waisted jeans I’ve ever seen.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Sawyer mutters under his breath.
“I didn’t mean to be so fashionably late.” Kristen barrels past me and knocks me unsteady, my hip colliding with a sharp, painful bump into the table. “I come bearing food!”
Sawyer pays her grand entrance no attention. “Elsie,” he says in a low voice. “What if we get out of here—”
“Hey, Sawyer.” Kristen’s hand hooks around his bicep, and she wriggles herself between us to shove a platter under his nose.
