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“Oh yeah. Is it hot out here though? There’s fans going, but I swear it’s fucking hot. Or is it just me?”
“Babe,” Maddie said in an unimpressed voice. “Whatis going on?”
He pulled her into his arms and pressed a hard kiss on her lips. “Absolutely nothing,” he murmured as he pulled away from a now dazed looking Maddie who had been completely distracted from Harley’s suspicious behavior. “But I think we should go check on the fan situation—for the guests.”
Evidently that was the magic word because Maddie’s eyes widened and she started to look around anxiously. “Where is the wedding planner? We can get her on the cooling situation—oh! There she is!” She began to pull Harley towards a harried looking woman surveying the party with a clipboard.
“Glad you’re here, Liv,” Harley murmured, but he sounded more…sad about it than anything.
I watched in confusion as they walked away, wondering why it felt like I’d made a huge sacrifice…given up my last remaining bit of power to Jolette and Marco…for nothing.
So far the party was a bust. Granted, it had been ten minutes. But I didn’t think anyone was a fan of sipping champagne in a corner by themselves while everyone else had a good time.
“You look like you need company,” a deep voice said from behind me.
I turned around to see a mildly attractive guy standing there. A lot of girls would probably think he was actuallyincrediblyattractive with all that shaggy dark hair of his.
But I was feeling a little broken since sleeping with Walker. Like I’d touched the sun, and everyone else was just…nothing?
That was a depressing thought.
“Hi,” I said, forcing a brightness to my voice, honed from years of having to be fake in public. What I really wanted to say was, “Is that really your pickup line?”
But I probably shouldn’t be rude to the one person who was talking to me at the party.
“Has anyone ever told you that you look like that singer, the one that was in the news a few years back for going batshit crazy.”
I blinked, a little bit of me wanting to die at the reminder that most of the world did think I’d gone “batshit crazy” so to speak.
“You know, it’s a funny thing…I get that all the freaking time. But I honestly don’t see the resemblance. At all,” I responded politely, trying not to give myself away even if my head was full of snark.
“I mean, that’s what I thought,” he chuckled, like he’d told a particularly funny joke. “I’m Ryan, Ryan Taylors,” he added, extending his hand…but instead of holding it out for me to shake…he put it on my waist.
I raised an eyebrow and drained the rest of my champagne.
“Ryan Taylors…from the Seattle Strikers?” he pressed, like I should have had Seattle’s roster memorized.
I stared at him blankly, pretending I hadn’t watched Seattle play L.A. a few months before.
He coughed and swept his hair out of his face as he tried to recover from the fact I hadn’t thrown myself at him the second he said who he was.
“Want another drink? I think the idea is that we get trashed and make lots of bad decisions tonight,” he told me with what I’m sure was his attempt at being charming.
“Here’s your drink, baby,” a voice murmured as a strong arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me from Ryan’s grasp.
I froze, wondering if I’d fallen and hit my head.
Because I knew that voice.
It was ingrained in my memory like the etching of constellations in the velvet canvas of a starlit night.
And the body I’d just been pulled against, the one who was sparking up my insides like fireworks on a July night?
Walker Davis was here.
CHAPTER 12
WALKER
