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Out of everyone, Charlie makes the most effort to stay in contact. I could count on my fingers the number of times I’ve heard from Mason in the last year. Elliot’s always there for me but isn’t the best suited of the group when it comes to needing someone to talk to. Charlie will call me every couple of weeks to make sure Dad and I don’t need anything, and it keeps me in the loop with Mason.
He lets me go and gives me a wink before moving into the room to say hello to the girls.
As I turn my head back to the entrance, I lock eyes with the man I’ve not seen in an entire year. And he looks as devastating as he did that first day I met him in the elevator. His eyes are unforgiving, haunting me like they sometimes do in my sleep.
“Hi,” I say, not knowing if I should lean in and hug him. “I wasn’t expectingyou.”
He raises a thick, dark brow. “No?”
“It’s been a whole year since I saw you last… I was considering getting us a marriage counsellor.” I look to my feet and then back up at him, the slight twitch at the corner of his lips telling me he remembers that night.
Our stare-off continues for what seems like forever, and I wonder if I’ve actually spoken or if I imagined the whole interaction. But then my heart thrashes with a violent jolt as Lance removes his hands from his pockets, casually stepping toward me. His hair’s cut shorter, but it’s hot.Too damn hot.And I’m flustered, caught off guard by all the things I’d forgotten about him.
The firm grip of his hands coils around my waist as he leans in to kiss my cheek. My eyes drift closed as the smell of him takes me right back.
He smells like sin.
He smells like… fun.
“Baby Lowell,” he drawls out, his lips ghosting my ear before he steps around me and into the living area.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about Lance over the past year. Just last night, I wondered if he would make an appearance at my home for dinner, but I guess my dad wouldn’t know to invite him, and Mason isn’t about to pull anyone else into that situation unnecessarily. To ask would’ve only made my brother and likely Charlie question me. I always wondered what it would be like if I saw him again. Would he be like he was when I first met him—cold and detached, or would he be like the man I had a glimpse of at the gala?
We end up migrating to my brother’s entertainment room while we wait for him to get back from Dad’s appointment, and the later it gets, the more my stomach starts to twist. I know Dad will be offered a transplant. It’s been the talk of his last four appointments, and it’s our only other option at this point—unless there’s been some kind of miraculous improvement since last week.
I just hope he and Mason can talk. They’ll never truly fix what’s been broken, but I need them to at least try.
“Cocktails, girls! Scar, do you want one? Lance is our designated shaker,” Megan tells me.
Elliot swipes his tongue through his cheek and laughs, clasping Lance on the shoulder. “I didn’t know you could make them shake, mate?”
Lucy rolls her eyes and throws Lance the shaker. “She meant Chief Tosser.”
Lance catches it, throwing a glare at Lucy. He’s been in and out of the room all evening on his phone, and each time he comes back inside, he seems to get more and more miserable. Charlie said his sisters are usually the thorns in his side and to ignore him. Pretty easy when he refuses to even look at me.
He steps behind my brother’s bar and starts to pick out multiple spirits and mixers.
I slide up onto the barstool and watch him. “You were a barman before you were anasshole CFO?” I say with a smile, curious if I can entice more than three words out of him.
His eyes lift to mine before they drop back to his task. “Something like that.”
Tough crowd.
“You know, if you let me assume, I might end up making bogus assumptions that you might not like. Like, maybe you did work in a bar. Or maybe you were a butler to a woman who loves a good cosmo. Maybe cocktails are a metaphor for something else, and you’re into some weird fantasy—”
He places the bottle in his hand down and leans on the counter, finally looking at me, that pissed-off look he wore at the gala a year ago to the day firmly in place. “Maybe I don’t care what you think.”
My face must flash with emotion because he frowns as I ease back. I don’t care what it is souring his mood, being a dick is unnecessary. “You know what I think? I think you’re not the vibe I’m looking for tonight, and you can go choke on your own saliva.”
I give him a forced “fuck you” smile and slide off the stool, picking up a small bottle of vodka as I back away.
Asshole.
I’m standing with Charlie, unscrewing the cap, when the bottle is taken from my hand and replaced with a cocktail glass—a cosmo. “Don’t ruin your birthday on my account, sunshine.”
I turn my head to eye him over my shoulder, his tall frame towering over me, maybe a hint of a smile ghosting his lips. “I’m adding pretentious to the list—you couldn’t make my tears wet, pretty boy.”
He sniggers, leaning in closer. “I could make your tears wet.”
