Page 58 of Checking It Twice
“And that bothered you?”
The question is loaded, dangerous territory that we’re both aware we’re entering.
“Maybe a little,” I admit. “I mean, for the sake of the performance.”
“Right. The performance.”
But the way he’s looking at me doesn’t feel like performance. It feels like possibility, like standing at the edge of something that could change everything.
I slide closer, close enough that my knee brushes his thigh under the table, close enough to see the flecks of blue in his gray eyes.
“We should probably maintain appearances,” I say softly.
“Probably.”
But neither of us moves away. Instead, we sit there in the dim light of Murphy’s Bar, surrounded by the sounds of his childhood friends having fun, pretending we’re not both thinking about crossing lines we’re supposed to maintain.
“Clare,” he says, his voice carrying a heat that sets my pulse racing.
“Yeah?”
Before he can answer, the group returns from the dance floor, laughing and slightly breathless, and the moment fractures. But as conversation resumes around us, as I settle back against his side and feel his arm tighten around me, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re rapidly approaching a point of no return.
And I’m not sure I want to stop it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Self-Control
Mitchell
Watching Clare charm my high school friends is like witnessing a master class in social navigation. She has Tommy recounting embarrassing stories about his failed attempts at dating apps, Sarah laughing so hard she snorts beer, and even Jake—who barely speaks to people he’s known for decades—opening up about taking over the family business.
She’s not performing. That’s what gets me. This isn’t the polished PR professional I see at work, all sharp edges and strategic smiles. This is Clare with her guard down, genuinely interested in these people she’ll probably never see again after this weekend.
And it’s doing dangerous things to my chest.
“So Mitchell was always the responsible one?” Clare asks, stealing a french fry from my plate without asking. She’s been doing this all evening—casual touches, sharing food, sitting close enough that her thigh stays pressed against mine in the booth.
“Responsible?” Tommy nearly chokes on his beer. “This is the guy who convinced us to go cow tipping senior year and then chickened out when we actually found cows.”
“I didn’t chicken out,” I protest. “I realized it was a dick move to mess with some farmer’s livestock.”
“You were scared of the cows,” Sarah adds helpfully.
“They were big-ass cows.”
Clare grins at me, her expression genuinely delighted. “You were scared of cows?”
“Have you seen cows up close? They’re enormous.”
“They’re also gentle creatures who mind their own business.”
“Says the woman who’s probably never been within fifty feet of livestock.”
“I’ll have you know I went to a petting zoo once.”
“A petting zoo,” I repeat. “With baby goats and sheep.”
