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Sam wisely held his smile. And his fear.
He’d been right. Riley was definitely up to something, and her friends were in on it. If Sam had learned anything from his disastrously short marriage, it was that the only thing worse than a scheming woman was a group of them.
But for right now, it was enough to have Riley sitting beside him, looking at him instead of the rest of the guys at the table.
“Increasing your fan base, I see,” he said, picking up the pitcher of beer Emma left behind and topping off Riley’s glass.
“Not really,” she said, her eyes idly scanning the table. “Most of these guys are longtime members of the Riley Adoration Club. I’d say only one or two new recruits tonight.”
Sam followed the movement of her eyes, trying to determine whether they lingered on anyone in particular. Wondering if it was any of the guys here who would be his replacement in her bed for that damn story idea.
Your idea, Compton. Your own brilliant blue ball of an idea.
“Jason’s cute, don’t you think?” she asked.
Stab. “Oh, very dreamy.”
“I haven’t talked to him much before, but he’s sweeter than I would have expected beneath all that swagger.”
Double stab.
“Breaking news, Ri. Three of your best female friends are right here in this very room, and your two sisters are just a phone call away, which means … drumroll, please … I don’t have to listen to this.”
He knew his voice belied his jealousy—he’d shown his hand—but when she turned to face him, her bright blue eyes were merely friendly, not triumphant. Whatever she was up to, it wasn’t the make-Sam-jealous routine.
She’d made that move before and was too smart to overuse it.
His eyes narrowed. Wasn’t she?
Testing her, he moved slowly, hooking his arm over the back of her chair and watching her eyes for that surge of awareness. The one he’d seen—no, felt—during that hug on the field.
Sam accidentally on purpose let his thumb idly brush against her shoulder blade as she spoke to the woman on her left. Sure enough, her spine stiffened briefly, almost imperceptibly, as though stifling an unwanted reaction.
She was fighting it, all right.
His hand moved again, fingers finding the end of her ponytail, worshiping the soft hair only briefly before she tilted her head slightly and gave him a curious look.
He lifted his beer to his face, pretending obliviousness at the “accidental” contact.
Two could play at this game.
Except he wasn’t sure that he wanted to play any game. Not right now. He wanted her in his bed, but he also wanted to reestablish the friendship that been buried under the sexual tension recently.
He missed her. Not just her smile, and her humor, and the way she called him on his bullshit. But he also missed Riley in a deep, unrelenting kind of way that couldn’t be explained by mere friendship.
And for the life of him, he didn’t know how to maintain the easy camaraderie and that deeper, something-more connection.
But he was beginning to think he wanted to try.
“You like your job at Stiletto,” he said, hoping to draw her into casual conversation. “It’s obvious from how comfortable you are with your coworkers, and the fact that you’re just as excited about Mondays as Fridays.”
Confusion flittered across her face, and he felt a tiny stab of regret that she was surprised by his interest in her life. Not that he could blame her. They’d been pushing and pulling for so many years, they’d nearly forgotten how to just be present in each other’s company.
It was time to change that.
“Of course I like it,” she said.
Sam shook his head. “There’s no of course about it. Trust me, liking one’s job is a rarity these days.”
