“I knew there was something wrong with her.”
I turned and leaned back against the counter. “You laughed.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I heard you.”
“You were all yelling. There is no way you heard me in the kitchen.”
“I could hear you through the yelling.”
His eyes held mine.
Something shifted in his expression.
It happened more often now. That tiny softening he didn’t give anyone else. The look that made the noisy room fade around us even though we were standing in the middle of it. “You always know where I am, don’t you?” he asked quietly.
Heat crept into my cheeks. I could have lied. I could have teased him and changed the subject. Instead, I nodded. “Yeah.”
His gaze moved over my face. “Why?”
I smiled slightly. “Because you’re my favorite.”
Something warm flickered in his eyes. “That simple?”
“Pretty much.”
Oliver set his bottle on the counter and stepped closer. There were people everywhere. Voices carried through the clubhouse. Someone laughed near the bar, and Alice was loudly insisting that she had won more rounds than everyone else combined.
Oliver didn’t care.
He slid one arm around my waist and pulled me against him.
I went willingly, my hands settling against his chest as naturally as if they belonged there.
His shirt smelled faintly like soap, motor oil, and him. I tipped my head back, and he looked down at me with that quiet intensity that always made my stomach turn over.
“You’re getting bold, Ollie,” I whispered.
His mouth twitched. “I kissed you in front of everyone last week.”
“You did.”
“Then this shouldn’t surprise you.”
“It doesn’t.” That was the truth.
Nothing about Oliver touching me felt surprising anymore.
It felt right.
He brushed his thumb along my side, slow and absentminded, while the clubhouse carried on around us. No one stopped talking. No one whistled or yelled anything. We weren’t a spectacle.
We were simply part of the room now.
Part of the family.
Pipe walked past us on his way toward the refrigerator. His gaze dropped briefly to Oliver’s arm around me, then lifted to his face.