Page 52 of Before You Fell

“It was.” I smile. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Memphis smiles back, but there is understanding in it now. He knows exactly what I’m doing. Men always do, even when women are expected to pretend we are being civilised.

“Willow was telling me about the new album,” Memphis says.

I lean against the bar, close enough to cut into the space between them without giving the impression that I’m doing anything but standing exactly where I fucking want.

“What were you saying, Wills?”

Willow’s eyes narrow when she hears me throw out that nickname. A little reminder that I had her before Memphis Cross ever got close enough.

Memphis looks amused. “Wills?”

I turn my head slowly and give him a smile that has undone better men than him. “You wouldn’t understand.”

His brow lifts.

“Old habit,” I say. “Old enough to matter. The kind you don’t get to walk into and think your cock belongs in the conversation.”

“Phoenix, stop.” Willow’s fingers clench around her glass.

“Damon was looking for you,” I tell Memphis.

Memphis’s mouth curves. “Was he?”

“Yeah.” I let my gaze crawl over him, bored enough to be insulting. “Probably trying to find you a booster seat at the big-boy table before the grown-ups notice your whole career is an overcompensation for a small cock.”

Willow exhales through her nose.

Memphis takes the hint, because apparently the fucker is not stupid enough to mistake my smile for an invitation to stay.

He picks up his drink, nods to Willow, and says, “It was nice talking to you.”

“It was,” she says.

His gaze moves to me. “Phoenix.”

“Memphis.” I put enough boredom into his name to make it clear I am done pretending this is a conversation.

He leaves with that same knowing expression most men do when I get in their way. The one that says he sees the leash even though I keep pretending there is no collar.

The second Memphis is gone, Willow turns cold enough to chill the air around us.

I reach for a drink, mostly because my hands suddenly need something to do.

“What?” I ask, since playing stupid has always been easier than telling the truth.

“Don’t.” Her tone is cold.

“Don’t what?”

“Insult me by pretending you don’t know what you just did.”

“I was saying hello.”

“You interrupted.”

I raise my glass. “Technically, I joined a conversation.”