Page 37 of Snatched
His expression shutters, like he’s taking in everything I just laid on him.
“Oh,” I say. “That’s my date.”
“Right.”
His voice goes tight at the edges. “I should go.”
He reaches for the bar, grabs the tab before I can react, and signs it quickly.
“You don’t have to pay.”
“I got it,” he says softly but firmly.
He holds out his hand for his coat and I slip it off, suddenly too aware of everything—my neckline, his eyes, the warmth of him still lingering in the fabric.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“For the coat?” he asks.
“For…everything.”
“Anytime.” He clears his throat, professional mask sliding back on.
“See you next week in the gym. We worked hard today. Make sure you get some good recovery sleep.”
“Yes.” My voice is too soft, too warm.
“I’m looking forward to it.”
I turn, and there he is.
Mark.
Walking toward us like he owns the sidewalk.
Tall and cocky, a typical New York man who knows this city’s ratio is skewed with nine women to every man here.
Okay, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration. But he’s the human embodiment of a misbuttoned shirt and too much cologne.
He takes one look at me—an appraising, almost transactional sweep—and then flicks his eyes to Colt.
“Friend of yours?” Mark asks, tone dismissive, borderline smug.
Before I can respond, I glance back toward Colt, but he’s already stepping away.
Already putting distance between us, shoving his hands into his pockets as he heads for the door.
But not before I see it.
It’s just a flicker, sharp and uncontrolled.
I feel…jealousy coming from him?
Something he tries too hard to bury as he disappears into the night.
Am I crazy?
“Wow,” Mark says loudly with a smirk, pulling my attention back with all the finesse of a rusty hinge. “Didn’t expect you to show up looking like this. That is one sexy dress.”
