Page 88 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

Behind the bar stands a woman with sharp eyeliner and dark curls pulled high off her face. She clocks us immediately.

“Evening,” she says, leaning one hip against the bar. “Name’s Tess. What’ll it be?”

Fletcher looks at me.

“You choose,” he says.

I narrow my eyes slightly. “That’s a trap.”

“Not a trap.”

“It feels like a trap.”

He smiles faintly. “I trust your taste.”

That makes my heart skip a few beats.

“Brandy,” I tell Tess. “Something smooth.”

“For both?” she asks.

Fletcher nods.

Tess pours with practiced efficiency, sliding the glasses toward us. “You two celebrating something?”

“Surviving dinner,” I say.

Fletcher huffs softly beside me.

Tess smirks. “Good enough reason as any.”

We take our drinks to a small high top near the back. The lighting is lower here, intimate without trying too hard.

I take a sip. It burns, but in a good way.

“You’re more relaxed here,” Fletcher observes.

“Am I?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe I like places where no one expects anything from me.”

He watches me over the rim of his glass. “I don’t expect anything from you.”

That’s not entirely true. The air between us hums with expectation.

I set my glass down slowly.

“Not even a goodnight kiss?” I tease lightly.

His gaze drops to my mouth for a split second.

Then back to my eyes.

“Depends,” he says.

“On what?”