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“Why didn’t I what?” He leans forward, propping his forearms on his knees.

“Bump into me.” I’m glad that the cotton-candy sky is now shades of inky blue and that he can’t see the blush I feel creeping into my cheeks.

“Because I was trying to be on my best behavior.”

“And now?” I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience because the words coming from my mouth are not words in my vocabulary. Hitting on strangers—hell, flinging my panties at them—this isn’t me… or is it? I’m safe, predictable, list-making Lucy Landers. Can I be this person? Just for the night? Because the way he’s looking at me and the way it’s making me forget everything except for the sound of my heart beating out of my chest makes me think maybe, just maybe, I can.

“That’s up to you.” His voice is husky, and I feel the implication in my core.

I pause, unsure of what to say, and look over my shoulder, putting distance between my sudden awareness of him and the possibility of what I want to do about it.

Before I can decide, the decision is made for me when a group of people coming out to the pool for a night swim.

“I didn’t mean to offend you.” His voice is laced with sincerity.

“You didn’t. It’s a long story,” I sigh. “But no. It’s not you—it’s me.”

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t heard that a time or two,” he chuckles.

“I doubt that.” He doesn’t look like the type of guy that gets shot down very often.

“You’d be surprised. Looking for someone to share that family-size bottle of Moët with?” He laughs at his own joke, and I try to hide my amusement, biting back a smile. Despite it being heavy, I’d almost forgotten about the champagne.

“Is that your idea of inviting me to sit?” The words feel brazen, even as they escape my lips. “You might want to work on your Southern hospitality.”

He clears his throat and stands, pulling the chair next to his back a bit. “Good evening, miss. Care to join me for a nightcap?”

“Better. Still needs a little work. But it would be a shame to let this go to waste.”

“What are we celebrating?” he asks, and just like that, my smile is gone. Because I’m reminded of what I’m most definitely not celebrating. What am I doing?

I worry my lip between my teeth, trying to decide what to do. Because what I want to do and what I should do aren’t the same thing—not even close. Maybe I should walk away before I lose my pride. My robe. Or both.

“Independence” is the most honest answer I can muster. Something flutters in my belly—something that I haven’t felt in a long time. Excitement.

“Sounds like something worth celebrating. I prefer to live my life with as few strings as possible,” he tells me, and this comes as no surprise. As if my feet are moving of their own accord, I find myself drawn to him, not missing the way his eyes leave my face to roam down my body.

It’s been a long time since somebody’s looked at me the way he’s looking at me.

It’s like he knows what I’m hiding under the biggest, fluffiest bathrobe I have ever had the pleasure of wearing. If he keeps looking at me like that, he’s going to find out.

“I don’t normally share champagne with strangers.” I sit down next to him and hand him the Moët.

“Then tell me your name.” He drops back to the chair next to mine.

“It’s, uh—” I swallow down the insecurities. I’ve never really done this type of thing, so I don’t know whether to say my first and last name or give him a fake name, so I just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “No names.”

“If that is how you want to play it, Sunny, we can do that.” He smirks.

Maybe it’s the champagne or the broken heart, but for once, I’m doing something for me.

Bad idea or not. For the first time in four years, my actions have consequences only for myself.

I wait patiently, watching him remove the foil and cage around the cork. With a practiced twist of his wrist, he loosens the cork, the tension building in the air between us.

Who knew opening a bottle could be so damn seductive? But this man is definitely good with his hands. As he carefully angles the bottle away from us, a soft pop echoes through the terrace, followed by the hiss of escaping bubbles.

The sound sends a tingle of excitement down my spine.