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I serve him one up.
Then, finally, Evie leaves the man and returns to her friend on the other side of the yard. I watch her go, captivated by her hand on her braid, her shifting hips, and her ass calling me.
I realize her friend is watching me the whole time, staring right at me. I look down at the grill.
CHAPTER
FOUR
Evie
“He’s been staring at you all afternoon,” Kelly says, nudging me with her shoulder.
We’re sitting in the corner of the yard, eating from paper plates.
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious,” Kelly goes on. “When you were talking to that man, your dad’s client, he looked angry. Jealous.”
“You’re living in a dream world, Kelly,” I say. “It’s not like you to make things up.”
I try to keep the anger out of my voice. Kelly’s the only person who knows about my crush, the notebooks, the obsession. She’s the only person who knows how much it would mean to me if Brian was staring, but she must also know how absurd it is.
“Look at everybody,” I go on. “The women can’t stop sneaking looks at him. The men can’t stop looking like they wish they were him.”
Who can blame them? He stands at the grill like the master of the universe, with his sleeves rolled up to show more of his bulging, tattooed arms. He’s swept his hair back, the longish length glistening silver in the sunlight. There’s something almost intimidating about how he holds the spatula, gripping it tightly, a man ready for a fight.
Kelly shrugs. “I’m just telling you what I saw.”
“I can’t let myself think that,” I say. “And anyway, even if he was looking, it would break Dad’s heart. So there. Conversation over.”
Kelly munches the last of her hot dog. “I think I’d like another. Would you mind getting it for me?”
I throw her a look. “Why can’t you get it?”
She beams. “My legs are sore from yesterday.”
The annoying thing is, this is probably true. Kelly’s hobby is ballet, and she had a tough practice last night.
“Fine, but only because I love you.”
“Try not to flirt too much,” she says as I stand, tempted to flip her the bird.
As luck—good or bad, I don’t know—would have it, nobody else is at the grill when I approach. Brian turns to see who’s walking up to him, then freezes.
His body stiffens, the Marine dagger tattoo on his forearm shifting as he tenses. His eyes narrow, gleaming intensely, and he stares. He stares hard, almost as if he’s angry.
“Hey,” I mutter. “Any chance of another dog?”
“Sure,” he replies, his voice dark.
I can’t believe Kelly thinks he wants me. If he was staring, it’s because he’s mad for some reason. He seems genuinely pissed at me, though I have no clue why he would be.
“Just one?”
“Yes, please.”
He nods, flipping it. “It’ll need a couple more minutes.”
“That’s fine.”
Silence has never been so awkward. I shift from foot to foot as he flips the hot dog, saying nothing to me, his gaze focused on his task. It’s like being a kid again, waiting for him to notice me, knowing he never will.
“He must be pretty damn funny,” Brian says after a pause.
“Huh?”
He nods across the garden to Markus, the real estate guy, Dad’s client. He’s making one of the guests laugh.
“Not really,” I murmur.
“No?” Brian growls, voice all fierce for some reason.
“No,” I say, not sure how else to respond.
I want to ask him if I’ve somehow made him mad, but maybe he’s just in a grumpy mood. I have noticed that he doesn’t like the attention from the other guests, the thank you for your service stuff. It’s not that he seems ungrateful. It’s more like he looks at these people as if they couldn’t possibly understand what he and his friends went through.
“Why?” I ask when he doesn’t elaborate.
A dark look flits across Brian’s face. He glances at me, then looks back down at the grill.
“It’s nothing.”
“Hmm.”
A miracle… He smiles or almost smiles, anyway, his lips twitching. I guess it’s more like a smirk.
“What’s hmm?” he says.
Screw it. I’m going for broke. I’ve often imagined standing in front of Brian, ready to flirt, and now this feels like it—flirting, which is just insane.
“You… I think you just lied to me,” I say, “but it’s fine. If you want to lie to your niece…”
What. The heck. Am I saying? I’ve ruined the flirting before it even has a chance to start. It’s supposed to come out as a joke since I grew up calling him Uncle Brian, but the second I’ve said the words, I wish I could snatch them right back. His smirk disappears. His eyes get even darker.
“Why are you so obsessed with him?” I go on. “The so-called funny man. Are you jealous?” Now I’m being mean, even as I try to keep my tone lighthearted.
