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“My what now?” A laugh escapes me, and I glance over to where Pete has just pushed through the doors, then return my attention to my drooling friends. “You know he’s married, right?”
“I know this. His husband’s mighty handsome too.” Rae nods, a cheeky grin creasing her face. “A girl can look.” Winding a lock of her long chestnut hair around her finger, she flutters her eyelashes. “And hope the fine specimen that just walked in with him bats for our team. Look at those shoulders. I mean they’re not Mylo shoulders but…”
“No—no Mylo talk.” Another thing I’m choosing to ignore tonight. Mylo, the fucking ghoster. I had to hear from Felix—Felixthat he’d gone. Left. He kissed me.Again. Then left town.Again. I shift on my bar stool to see who Rae is talking about, and nearly choke on my wine. Hot. The man is definitely hot. Short dark hair, olive skin, lean, designer-suit-covered body. Rae’s right, they’re not Mylo shoulders, but they’re damn good shoulders.
Before I look away his dark eyes meet mine, holding my gaze in an interested stare. Busted. My cheeks heat. A small smile plays on his lips, revealing some perfectly straight white teeth, not a crooked left incisor in sight.
The corner of my mouth lifts and a tingle of something that feels a lot like attraction, tickles low in my tummy, instantly followed by a niggle ofguilt. GUILT? I shake my head, my happy buzz fading by the second. Fucking Mylo.
Pressing my lips together, I turn back to the bar and take a long drink of my third glass of the night.
“He’s totally checking you out,” Rae mock whispers, practically dancing on her stool beside me.
“I thought you were team Mylo?” I narrow my eyes on her. She’s not even drunk. She doesn’t drink.
“I changed my mind. I’m team Kenzi needs to get some.” She grins wide when I roll my eyes. “If Mylo’s head’s so far up his beautiful ass that he’s ghosting you instead of bending you over and hitting it, then I say—move on to the sexy man that’s eye-fucking you as we speak.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I laugh her off but sit a bit straighter—just in case. And the guilty niggle turns into a full-on prickle. I shove it down and pull my hair over my shoulder. I’m single, damn it. I’m free to be checked out whenever by whomever.
“They’re coming over,” Jo coughs behind her fist, her wide eyes staring over my shoulder from her perch behind the bar.
I shake my head in defeat and pray to whatever god deals with embarrassing situations that my friends will behave. Jo may look like a little pixie, but she has the subtlety of an elephant in clogs. And Rae? I glance at my friend. She doesn’t need to drink to be the woman with the least filter ever. And she’s also a big supporter of fucking for fun. Her words not mine. I almost feel sorry for the handsome stranger.
“Ladies.” Pete’s voice from behind me straightens my spine.
Smoothing my knee-length red body-con dress across my thighs, I spin on my stool to face him, my gaze flitting to the suited stranger by his side. There aren’t many men who can out-suit Pete.
“What are we celebrating?” Pete nods at the bottle of champagne.
“She got the grant.” Rae lifts her glass to toast me again, then leans towards Pete. “Who’s your friend?”
With a deep laugh, Pete claps the suited stranger on the shoulder. “This is Santi, the Castle Hotel’s new restaurant manager. Fresh in from Italy.”
“Tell me you speak Italian.” A wide grin on her face, Rae nudges me unsubtly in the ribs.
Shooting her a sideways glare, I hold my hand out to the Santi in question. “Kenzi. Nice to meet you.”
“Il piacere è mio.”Clasping my fingers in his, his lips curve, a whisper of humor dancing in his dark eyes.
Too many glasses of champagne and copious shots later, I squint and bend down with one eye shut to get my key into the lock. Maybe that last shot of tequila hadn’t been my best idea.
Finally, after a million minutes of jiggling, I manage to open the door and lock it behind me. Who the hell decided to make locks so small anyway?Mylo—probably. Just to piss me off.
Shrugging off my dress, I pad through to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
My eyes meet my reflection in the large gold ornate mirror above the sink as I run the cold tap over my toothbrush. I smile lopsidedly. How the hell did I get this drunk?
Who am I kidding? I know exactly how I got this drunk.
Yep, the alcohol is definitely to blame—for the kissing too.
The smile on my face falters. As in need of a sexual relief as I am, my body didn’t react when Santi wrapped his arms around me and pressed his mouth to mine after we stumbled out of The Beach Hut, my body didn’t even zing. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.
The only thing running through my mind was that his lips weren’t as full as Mylo’s, that his arms weren’t as strong, his tongue not as talented, his fingers… sigh, Mylo’s fingers. My eyes drift closed. Now—now—my lady bits are paying attention. And I can’t even blame them.
Mylo kisses like he means it. I hate it.
It takes less effort than I like to admit to picture him here. Picture those gun-metal gray eyes, intense, hot and one-hundred percent focused on me.You’re not nobody. Not to me.The gravel of his words, just the memory of it flutters down my spine and shoots directly between my thighs.
