He lingers a beat longer, then heads back toward Gwen at the bar.
Frankie exhales dramatically. “Oh my god, that was beautiful to witness.”
Remi grins, already pulling out her phone. “Colt’s gonna love that.”
I pick up my cue again, but something about that exchange with Tucker settles differently than it would have a few months ago. Because it would’ve been easy once to flirt back for the hell of it. To keep it light and unattached. Now it just feels unappealing.
My phone buzzes against the edge of the table, and I grab it.
Evan:You good?
My eyes flit to the time at the top of my screen—it’s just after ten. I’ve had a couple of drinks, enough that my shoulders are looser and my thoughts a little less filtered.
Me:Yep. Absolutely smashed. Just did a keg stand.
Frankie leans over immediately. “Is that Evan? Are you flirting?”
“No,” I say, stretching my arm away from her line of sight.
Remi snorts. “Of course they are.”
Evan:Impressive
Me:I have many hidden talents
There’s a longer pause this time, and I wonder what he’s doing. Maybe sitting on the couch after getting Elle to bed, or giving Gus pats.
Evan:Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do
Me:Hmm that doesn’t leave me many options
Evan:Brat
My thighs press together before I can stop them. Frankie gestures over my shoulder at my phone like she’s about to combust.
“Youareflirting,” she whispers loudly.
I chuckle, then tuck my phone back into my bag, shaking my head even as the warmth lingers. The music swells, and someone cheers near the bar. Frankie lines up her next shot with exaggerated focus while Remi brings a fresh tray of drinks over.
Everything around me feels loud and easy and bright.
But my mind is back with a tired firefighter. Sitting on a couch, with his daughter safely sleeping down the hall, and a Dalmatian dog sleeping at his feet.
***
The house is quiet when I let myself in after waving off Frankie and Remi. The kind of quiet that settles after a long day, when everything has found its place. The lamp in the living room is still on, casting a soft pool of light across the couch. But the TV is off. The kitchen is clean.
And he’s awake.
“Midnight?” Evan’s voice comes from the couch.
I close the door behind me softly, slipping out of my heels and dropping them onto the carpet at my feet. “It’s eleven forty-eight.”
“That’s pushin' it.”
I lean back against the doorframe and glance over at him. He’s sprawled slightly into the corner of the couch, one arm stretched along the back, shirt rumpled, and hair still a little damp at the temples, probably from a shower after putting Elle down. Gus is at his feet, barely lifting his head.
“You waiting up to enforce curfew?” I ask.
