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"You aren't. A drink sounds good right now. See? You have perfect timing."
I turn off the television, grab an open bag of Twizzlers, and head upstairs.
The lounge is almost empty. I plop down on a couch by the window and extract a Twizzler from the bag, nibbling on its end while I glance around the room. Dane is talking to a couple at thebar. They're the ones that were there when I unleashed my wrath on Jerry.
I feel that familiar warmth while I watch Dane. How I wish things were different and he hadn't lied to me. I can forgive some things, but lying isn't one of them.
Dane turns and spots me, a smile instantly lighting his face. I nod, the Twizzler bobbing up and down as it hangs from my mouth, causing Dane to laugh.
"Oh God," I groan.Why does that man have to be so hellishly sexy?
Dane says something to the couple. Seconds later, he's walking toward me.
"Hey, I didn't expect to see you. I thought you went to the concert." He gives me one of his dazzling smiles as he stands next to the couch.
I take the Twizzler from my mouth. "It's been a messed-up day. I didn't feel like getting dressed up for the concert hall."
"Yeah. Beckett told me what happened. Are you okay? Mitre said you were."
"Just some bruising and swelling. Nothing major."
"Good, I was worried about you, especially since you're eating one of those licorice things."
Damn him. Why did he have to say he was worried? And why did he have to remember I chew on Twizzlers when I'm upset? Troy never seemed to remember that.
I groan inwardly. Dane is making it nearly impossible to maintain my resolve and not let him get to me. I don't want to believe he cares about me. I can't go there, especially not now, with the way he's looking at me, his gorgeous blue eyes drawing me in. I cough to clear my throat. "The licorice things are Twizzlers. I assume you've never tried one?"
"Nope, never have."
I grab the bag of Twizzlers from the coffee table and hold it toward him. "Then I guess you need to try one."
Dane gingerly pulls a strand of licorice from the bag.
I feel that pull in my midsection again, my eyes on his lips as he tastes the chewy candy.
"Not bad." He holds up the red strand. "So, what can I get for you this evening? A hurricane?"
"No, I want something warm. How about an Irish coffee?"
"Anything else?"
"You," I say under my breath. I instantly berate myself for my stupid slip of the tongue and hope Dane didn't hear me.
"What was that?"
"Nothing. Just the Irish coffee."
"You got it."
Dane takes a step toward the bar—then stops. He swivels and stares at me, his expression suddenly different. It's warm and searching, and I have no idea what he's looking for or wants.
"I care about you, you know. I wouldn't have asked when you were flying home from Budapest if I hadn't hoped to see you again." His voice is soft, and his comments sound genuine.
I blink at him, trying to regain my composure, my heart thumping in my chest.
"You told that Jerry guy that I didn't think you were pretty or like you. Christ, Britt, you're so wrong."
I struggle to swallow the lump in my throat, his words and use of my nickname going right to my chest. "Then why are you lying to me?"
