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Cue a casual shrug. “Oh, if I’m not on Demon-Slayage, I’m here. I love this . . . joint.”
“That right?” Hunter’s lips twitched, and I couldn’t look away from them.
Ask him to dance. “I met with Professor Shammas today.”
“Okay.” He waited for me to explain why I was really there.
“We talked about the value of conserving a cultural asset.” Rivulets of sweat pearled down my pits. Dampened my nape. Ask him to dance. “He said we could easily argue to conserve the gazebo. Visitors benefit from it, memories are made, the gazebo may have been used in magazines and films or had virtual visitors. He said even if the gazebo isn’t being used currently, that doesn’t mean it won’t be used more in the future.”
Hunter stared at me, an amused tilt to his lips, a twinkle in his eye.
This was not going to plan.
“When assigning value to it,” I continued, like an idiot, “we should consider altruistic feelings from the public as well as the conservation of a cultural landmark. If K could acknowledge the gazebo’s value, his sway with the university would be significant. Enough to make them reconsider the pansy beds.”
Hunter sipped his beer. “Anything else?”
“I think I’m done overusing the word conserve.”
He grinned.
The alcohol buzz spread to my chest and I was grinning back. Now would be a good time to move this to the dance floor.
“What are you humming about?” Hunter asked, setting down his beer.
“So who’s Peter? The love of your life or something?”
Fuuuuuck.
Hunter leaned forward. “I didn’t catch that.”
Thank Christ. “Nothing. Never mind.” I collapsed onto the low stool opposite him. “Maybe you could introduce me to your parents?”
Hunter’s eyes flashed. “So soon?”
I rolled my eyes. “I meant, about the gazebo. For an article.”
Someone shifted beside me, and Hunter’s gaze jumped to my side. “Quinn.”
Quinn set down three drinks. “Where’d Liam go?”
“He’s chasing after a pen. He had an idea and ran out of ink.”
A soft smile touched Quinn’s lips. “That’s my guy.”
Quinn gestured toward the dance floor. “Since no one else seems to be asking,” he said with a flickered look my way. “Dance?”
Hunter backed out from the table. “Hell yeah.” Quinn hoofed toward the dance floor and Hunter rolled past me, pausing. “You look damn hot tonight, Marc.”
I replayed that sentence a thousand times while Hunter spun on the dance floor—and holy shit. He had moves. He grabbed Quinn’s hand and twirled him around his chair. Quinn pressed a hand against Hunter’s chest, and Hunter whirled around elegantly. He spun and spun and spun. The skill, the strength.
The sexy.
I ordered a rum without the Coke and downed glass after glass, watching him.
Hunter had a life. He had his shit together.
Liam was sitting at the table scribbling into a notebook. Ice rattled in my glass as I stumbled to him. Sloshing liquid over my hand as I sat, I laughed. “Liam. Liam, Liam, Liam.”
His head shot up. “You’re inebriated.”
I finger-gunned him. “You might be right. The last drink hit fast.”
Liam pushed over a tall glass. “It’s water, I haven’t touched it.”
“You’re giving it to me?”
“You need it.”
“But I’ve been suuuuuch a dick to you.”
Liam blinked back an unidentifiable emotion. Hurt? Pride?
Whatever it was, it wasn’t indifference.
I drank the offered water, then choked on it when a linebacker in a rainbow T-shirt took over swinging Hunter around the dance floor.
“What are you muttering about?” Liam said.
I snapped my mouth shut. “Not muttering. Observing. I mean, it’s okay to watch Hunter dance—”
“With a potential hook up?”
I growled at him, but a hiccup ruined the effect. “That guy isn’t his hook up.”
“He’s a grown man, he can go home with whoever he wants.”
I ground my teeth against the aching truth. “I know.”
“Just because you like him and he thinks you’re hot, doesn’t mean he’d seriously consider taking you home.”
“Thanks for the honesty.”
“And if he ever did, it wouldn’t mean anything.”
“Do you always speak your mind?” Another hiccup. I rubbed my belly.
“Sorry.” Liam frowned and ducked his head. “I veer toward analytical. I don’t understand emotion as well as others. I never mean to hurt anyone.”
I twisted the icy glass of water in my hand, “I didn’t know that.”
“What?”
“Why don’t you tell people?”
“That I’m on the spectrum? I’d rather not. I like my life and I have friends now.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t have been such an ass if I’d known.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have been anyway.”
I nodded and the room tilted slightly. I was seeing double of Liam’s glasses. “Can I tell you something?”
“Yes. Whether or not I’ll want to hear it is another matter.”
I hitched a thumb toward Hunter. “He looks like Chace Crawford with tattoos.”
“Who’s Chace Crawford?”
“The Boys?” I prompted. Liam shook his head. “Twelve?” Another shake. “Nate Archibald in Gossip Girl?”
“Nope, sorry.”
I shook my head, and the buzz followed. “Never mind. He’s hot. The build, the hair, the damn fine eyes.”
