Your idea, Compton. Your own brilliant blue ball of an idea.
“Jason’s cute, don’t you think?” she asked.
Stab. “Oh, very dreamy.”
“I haven’t talked to him much before, but he’s sweeter than I would have expected
beneath all that swagger.”
Double stab.
“Breaking news, Ri. Three of your best female friends are right here in this very
room, and your two sisters are just a phone call away, which means … drumroll,
please … I don’t have to listen to this.”
He knew his voice belied his jealousy—he’d shown his hand—but when she
turned to face him, her bright blue eyes were merely friendly, not triumphant.
Whatever she was up to, it wasn’t the make-Sam-jealous routine.
She’d made that move before and was too smart to overuse it.
His eyes narrowed. Wasn’t she?
Testing her, he moved slowly, hooking his arm over the back of her chair and
watching her eyes for that surge of awareness. The one he’d seen—no, felt—
during that hug on the field.
Sam accidentally on purpose let his thumb idly brush against her shoulder blade
as she spoke to the woman on her left. Sure enough, her spine stiffened briefly,
almost imperceptibly, as though stifling an unwanted reaction.
She was fighting it, all right.
His hand moved again, fingers finding the end of her ponytail, worshiping the soft
hair only briefly before she tilted her head slightly and gave him a curious look.
He lifted his beer to his face, pretending obliviousness at the “accidental” contact.
Two could play at this game.
Except he wasn’t sure that he wanted to play any game. Not right now. He wanted
her in his bed, but he also wanted to reestablish the friendship that been buried
under the sexual tension recently.
He missed her. Not just her smile, and her humor, and the way she called him on
his bullshit. But he also missed Riley in a deep, unrelenting kind of way that
couldn’t be explained by mere friendship.
And for the life of him, he didn’t know how to maintain the easy camaraderie and
that deeper, something-more connection.
But he was beginning to think he wanted to try.
“You like your job at Stiletto,” he said, hoping to draw her into casual
conversation. “It’s obvious from how comfortable you are with your coworkers,
and the fact that you’re just as excited about Mondays as Fridays.”
Confusion flittered across her face, and he felt a tiny stab of regret that she was
surprised by his interest in her life. Not that he could blame her. They’d been
pushing and pulling for so many years, they’d nearly forgotten how to just be
present in each other’s company.
It was time to change that.
“Of course I like it,” she said.
Sam shook his head. “There’s no of course about it. Trust me, liking one’s job is
a rarity these days.”
She tilted her beer back and watched him. “Speaking from experience?”
“Hell yes. Opening and running a distillery is a full-time job and then some.
Wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t hated the alternative.”
“Investment banking wasn’t your thing? I’m shocked.”
He gave a rueful smile. “Translation: Sam Compton didn’t have what it takes to
succeed in the real world.”
Riley shifted in her seat to study him, and he resisted the urge to squirm. “Why
do you do that? Scratch that. I know why you do that. Your mom has filled your
head with crap about how you’re not a good guy. But why do you believe it?”
Shit. Shit. He had not meant to take them down this path of conversation. What
had happened to the good old days when she would respond to his slipups with
a joke and let it go? Why now was she deciding to push?
Maybe because he’d had his tongue down her throat, his hands on her br**sts.
Maybe because he’d accidentally opened the door just the tiniest bit and now was
paying the price.
“Can we not talk about that?” he asked, forcing a smile.
She opened her mouth to protest, but he forged ahead again. “We were talking
about you. And how you’re lucky to have found a career path that suits you.”
Her smile dimmed just slightly. “You mean because I write about sex.”
Emma’s cryptic words hovered in the back of his mind. She’s not what you think.
“I’m not sure that’s what I meant at all,” he said, keeping his voice casual. “I just
meant it’s clear that you’re right where you belong.”
“And you’re not?”
Leave it alone, Riley. But he wasn’t being fair. He should have known that his