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Alcohol burned her vocal cords as she choked on the wine. She coughed until she was hoarse, and tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes.
Frankie patted her blithely on the back. “Well. That wasimpressive, Rosebud. I’m not sure if it was flirtation or sexual harassment.”
“I get nervous meeting new people.”
“Obviously. Your level of inappropriateness increases exponentially the more awkward you feel.”
“Why am I like this?”
Frankie made a thoughtful sound as she sipped her bourbon. “I’m calling dibs on your behalf.”
“No. Oh, no. Not interested.”
Frankie touched the back of her hand to Rowan’s forehead. “You literally choked on your drink as you watched him walk away.”
“I wasn’t watching him.”
“You’re a damn liar.”
“Not my type,” Rowan said.
“What, because he seemednice?”
“Exactly. Too nice for me.”
“That man is a sad, gorgeous cinnamon roll in need of your weird Earth-goddess energy to snap him out of whatever funk he’s in.”
Rowan sniffed. “I don’t understand anything you just said.”
Frankie made a circle with her thumb and forefinger, and plunged two fingers from her other hand through. “You two need to get horizontal. Together.”
Rowan laughed. “You’re a ridiculous flirt, Frances Moreau.”
“Exactly. I was flirting my ass off, giving him full-force Frankie doe eyes and sex voice. Heliterallycouldn’t take his eyes offyou.”
“That was fear. Like when a mouse keeps a house cat in its line of sight. It’s survival instinct, not attraction.”
Frankie did a slow blink. “Now it’s my turn to not understand anything you just said.”
“He looked at me like that because I tried to knee him in the nuts during Team Tag, Frances. He probably hates me.”
At the greenhouse, Rowan’s body had been primed for confrontation, completely marinated in adrenaline. This sudden fascination with Harrison Brady had to be misattribution of arousal—a psychological phenomenon where a person mistakenly thinks they’re attracted toanyonethey encounter during a stress-elevated situation. Honestly, it was the only reasonable explanation of why a woman liketheJoan Wilder would have fallen for a dick like Jack T. Colton inRomancing the Stone.
Rowan wasn’tactuallyinto Harrison Brady.
In any other circumstance, the taste of his exhaled breath and the scent of his heated skin wouldn’t have done anything for her. The primitive parts of her brain had simply tangled reality with biochemistry.
It was science. That’s all.
“Anyway.” Rowan gestured toward where Temperance had disappeared with him. “There’s obviously something between those two.”
“Bullshit. That vibe was strictly sibling, sweetheart.”
“I disagree. They’re both single. They’re both gorgeous. Hell, they’re both single, gorgeousdoctors. Didn’t you feel like an extra in an episode ofGrey’s Anatomyjust now? And did you not see Temperance giving me her scary ‘do not engage’ eyes?”
“My intuition is very rarely wrong,” Frankie said.
Rowan raised a brow. “Mason Dingle.”
