I sit there, processing.
Did he just…?
“POPPY!” Ivy appears, grabbing my hands. “Come pee with me!”
“I don’t need to—”
“Girl code. Come on.” She drags me to the bathroom, which is exactly as gross as expected. I suppress a shudder.
“So,” she says, fixing her lipstick. “Dean likes you.”
“He tolerates me.”
“He brought you water.”
“That was basic human decency.”
“He said your everything is competent.”
“That’s not even a real compliment.”
“From Dean? That’s basically a sonnet.”
I lean against the sink. “It doesn’t matter. I’m leaving Sunday.”
“So?”
“So what’s the point?”
She turns to me. “The point is you like him. He clearly likes you. And you have two more nights.”
“To what? Have a fling with my client’s brother?”
“To stop overthinking and let yourself want something.”
Her words cut through me. Even drunk… could I do that? No. Not when I’m hanging on by a thread. This job is the most important thing I have in my life right now.
“I want lots of things. A functioning business. Financial stability. Carbs.”
“Dean. You want Dean.”
“I—”
“And that terrifies you.”
I stare at her in the gross bar mirror. “When did you get wise?”
“Love does that.” She grins. “Come on. Let’s go watch our boys be idiots.”
“He’s not my boy.”
“Yet.”
We head back out. The guys have moved on to some drinking game I don’t understand. Dean’s not playing, just watching with fond exasperation.
He looks up when we approach, and our eyes meet.
Two more nights.
