Taunting me.
Teasing me.
I drag a hand through my hair. I should not be this affected by one little fucking kiss.
One kiss.
Hell, there wasn’t even any tongue. There were no fingers in hair, no bodies aligned together, grinding and pressing . . .
Well, maybe there was a little tongue.
And maybe that little bit of tongue is what’s unleashed this dragon of lust in me.
A dragon that did not return to its lair last night.
Nope, the wine-tasting handsy action only intensified the fire.
“Excuse me,” I say, pushing back in the chair and walking away from the table, heading straight for the men’s room.
Men’s rooms are reliable erection banishers too, especially if they are shitholes.
This one is mostly tidy. I’d give it a seven on a scale of one to not-a-shithole, so that’s a small miracle, but it still helps with deflation.
Because it’s still a toilet.
I set my hands on the counter, stare in the mirror, and do something I haven’t done in ages. I listen for my sister’s advice. I try so damn hard to conjure what Phoebe would say. Ever the older sister, she loved to tell me what to do. Sometimes it’d be a scathing wardrobe indictment, like That blue shirt looks wretched with those jeans. Please go change before all the girls never date you again, and other times it’d be a backhanded compliment, like Just ask the debate teacher if you can level up, since clearly you’ve never met an issue you won’t argue.
If she were here, I’d ask her how to put a kiss or two with Summer behind me.
But when I try to guess at what she’d say, I come up empty, so I’m left to answer myself. “One kiss with your best mate. Get over it, you twat.”
A toilet flushes, and I groan. Grand, just grand. Someone’s in here. I turn on the tap to wash my hands and don’t look at the guy who comes out of the stall and heads to the sink next to mine.
After a moment he asks, “But was it a good kiss?”
It’s the guy who was crushing on Fitz. I grumble my answer into the water. “Yes.”
“Then maybe you don’t want to get over it,” he says, turns off the water, dries his hands, and walks out.
I flip him the bird as the door closes. “Thanks for that profound unsolicited advice.”
Then I stare at my reflection.
This time I don’t say a word out loud. But in my head, I repeat my new mantra.
Don’t touch her again.
Don’t touch her again.
Don’t touch her again.
I’m sure Phoebe would agree that’s the right approach.
When I return to the table, I slap my palm on it. “Let’s review paintball strategy. We need to crush the opposition.”
That reroutes the conversation with the two most competitive friends I have, and for the next thirty minutes, I am laser-focused on paintball strategy and only paintball strategy.
Logan is determined to win the league, even more so because his ex-wife’s lover works at Lehman, an investment bank his firm worked with.
“So that’s the plan of attack for this weekend,” Logan says, then turns to Fitz. “We will see you after you destroy Montreal Friday night.”
“Annihilation is indeed the game plan,” Fitz says. “I have extra tix. Want ’em?”
Logan shakes his head. “I’m with Amelia that night.”
“Dude, she loves hockey.”
“Afternoon games. I can’t take her to a night one,” he says. “Past her bedtime.”
Fitz tips his chin at me. “Why don’t you take Summer? It’ll help with your public image, lover boy.”
“Good plan,” Logan seconds. “Sell it to the jury, man.”
And the funny thing is, in some other bar, some other guy is cursing himself for crushing on his best friend’s little sister because his friend would hate it.
But that’s not the case here.
Logan isn’t the issue. Hell, he’s given the idea of us his approval already.
The issue is I know exactly how it feels to lose the people you care for, the people who make your world go round.
I know, too, how it feels when your life falls to pieces.
I became a lawyer in the first place because of the battles my parents fought with insurance companies over my sister’s treatments. Because of the marathon phone calls they endured trying to get coverage, to get treatment, to get meds.
I saw what it did to them. How it nearly broke them. How they nearly withered. How we all nearly fell apart.
And how much I needed Logan and his sister at that time. They both became my family. Hell, their parents did too. It’s why I’ve never crossed a line before with Summer.
Because what if it all went to hell?
That could happen.
I don’t want to lose someone I love.
And I’m pretty sure I love Logan and Summer—as friends—and I want them in my life always.
Best way to keep Summer in it? Lock her in the friend zone.
