Connor is in charcoal pants, a navy, long-sleeve shirt over a white button-down and gray tie. He straddles casual and formal, oozing confidence even without green—and his wavy brown hair has never seen a better day than today. Shut up, Drunk Rose.
I swear, if I start complimenting him out loud, tonight is ending without any public fondling. I will march to the hotel and stop before I betray myself. No ego stroking. That is an order.
I tug at the hem of my dark green cocktail dress, the beaded embroidery and color making me feel like poison ivy.
I approve.
Someone else pinches Connor’s arm. I shoot them a withering glare, and he shrinks a little. Yeah, that’s right. Shoo. I lean into Connor…almost teetering in my high heels. “What are you paying your bodyguard for?”
His large hand seems to envelop my hip. “To protect my life,” he replies, his lips near my ear. I imagine him nipping it, just a little, and then pulling me harder, closer. I heat all over again. “And I hardly think pinches are endangering it.”
“That’s because you haven’t been pinched by me yet,” I refute icily, topping off the statement with a sip of…nothing. Seriously, can I not remember that my drink is empty? Pull yourself together until drink four.
He laughs once at my threat, his lips rising in more amusement. “Darling, I think I can outlive your attacks.” Casually, so imperceptibly, his teeth graze my ear, and he bites my lobe before whispering, “I’m indestructible.” He squeezes my ass, just one time.
Cameras flash everywhere, some from phones, others from outside the glass windows, night upon us at 1 a.m.—and the paparazzi have never been hungrier. Daisy, Ryke, Lily, Loren, Sam and Poppy are scattered throughout the small pub too, so I can see why they’d form a rabid bite tonight.
We reach the wooden bar, but we have to wait for the bartender to serve us. I spin on Connor, his gaze traveling across my body in a long, sensual wave. His desire mixed with confidence mixed with dominance is more intoxicating than my appletini.
I pinch his ribs as hard as I’m able.
He grins.
I glare, wanting only to extinguish that grin that says I can never lose. “I want a divorce,” I tell him pointedly. His lips continue to rise. Well, that didn’t go as planned.
“A WHAT?!” Lily shouts over the music, pushing closer to us with wide eyes. Loren swings his arm over his wife’s shoulders.
“A divorce,” I repeat, setting my empty martini glass on the bar.
Connor faces me and hijacks my gaze, compelling me to not look away.
“Is this another one of your weird nerd battles?” Loren asks.
Connor never wavers from me. “Under what grounds, darling?”
“Annoyance. You’re annoying me.”
His conceited smile only grows. This is not how normal people work. I insult them, they glare. I insult them, they put up a fight. Instead, Connor wears that aroused expression that says I’m going to spin you around and fuck you hard against the bar.
“Like that,” I say, blood rushing between my legs. “That annoys me.” And turns me on. I can’t make up my mind, but I think one may trump the other soon.
His grin dims, only because the bartender leans across to ask for our order. While he gets me another cocktail, I clasp Lily’s wrist and say to her, “I’m glad you’re here!” Her presence will surely drop the temperature of Connor’s movements and public groping.
I’m honestly not sure how much I can handle. My mind may implode with stop signs and dead ends if large groups of people start watching, and I’m afraid it might trigger my OCD later.
I really wish I wasn’t so anxious since his mere hair has my body pulsing. Sexual appetite? Check. Mental blockers? Check.
Lily stands on her tiptoes to be closer. “Me too!” she shouts. “Do you mind holding onto my purse while I dance with Lo?”
I’d plead with her to stay with me, but she’s already set desirous eyes on her husband who’s talking to my husband. I was the one who encouraged her to bring a purse anyway, and my reasons for wanting her close are slightly selfish in nature.
“Fine.” I accept her purple clutch and hold it with my gold one.
“Thankyouthankyou!” she slurs together and bounces over to Loren. He pats Connor’s shoulder in goodbye and then lifts Lily into a piggyback, heading towards the band.
Connor rotates to me again, and as the alcohol kicks in, I realize it’s becoming harder to meet his self-possessed gaze head-on. It’s like I’m no longer immune to his charm. Fuck that. I pull back my shoulders, refusing to be hypnotized by his poise.
I’m poised too, goddammit.
I teeter in my heels.
He nears me, his clutch firm on my hips, pulling me into his body.
I hold onto his forearm for support. “That was unnecessary, Richard. I wasn’t going to fall.” I cringe at that word. Fall. I don’t fall.
His lips brush my ear again. “You do remember what tonight is about, Rose?”
Yes. His hands need to be all over me. I confirm with one nod, and his gaze soaks into mine, carefully ensuring that I’m okay with this.
I am.
This is our plan.
I like plans.
“Why aren’t you wearing green?!” the bartender asks Connor, sliding over my appletini and slicing into our conversation. I gratefully take the drink.
Connor has a shadow of irritation in his eyes, only perceptible by me, most likely. He answers the bartender very casually. “I make my own luck, so really St. Patrick’s Day should be celebrating me.” He pauses. “And I prefer blue.”
I press my lips tightly together, trying not to smile even though one wants to rise so badly. The bartender lets out a humored laugh. I don’t pay attention to the rest of their exchange, a cell vibrating my palm.
It’s coming from Lily’s purse. I procure her phone, too curious not to, and maybe if I wasn’t tipsy, I’d be more respectful. At least, I think I would.
A text illuminates the screen.
Look how adorable – Mom
I unlock Lily’s phone with her password (Moffy’s birthday), and then I see the photo my mother attached to her message. Moffy is cuddled in a blue blanket, sleeping on my mother’s lap.
What? I check my phone—no updates about Jane. I’m happy that my mother and Lily have rekindled parts of their relationship, but I would’ve liked something about Jane.
“What’s wrong?” Connor asks, rubbing the small of my back. He looks between the two phones in my possession.
“It’s just hard leaving her there overnight,” I admit. I do have a little guilt about not being with her for this long, but my mother urged us to go out. She wanted “grandma” time. I never thought she’d be this enthusiastic about grandmotherly roles. She wasn’t when Poppy’s daughter was born, but maybe the empty nest is still eating at her since Daisy moved out.
“Jane will be okay,” Connor assures me. “If you want to go back to Phili—”
“No,” I cut him off. If I return home and mess up our plans, I fail. I need to let go sometimes. “I’m perfect.” I make a point of sipping my appletini, and he watches with the most impassive, stoic expression—blank and unreadable and therefore slightly frightening.
Connor cups my face, his eyes dancing around my features, and when his thumb skims my bottom lip—I turn my head, spotting any onlookers. I catch the bartender peeking over, along with hoards of people, camera phones still angled towards us…though most are directed at Lily and Loren dancing.