Page 82 of Off the Grid

“Guilty as charged.” He raises his hand. “Did I tell you I liked your hair? Wait. I didn’t because you were too busy avoiding me this weekend—”

“I was letting you work. Just like I was working,” I lie, but am flattered that in the midst of this weekend’s chaos he actually noticed the subtle change in my hair. The color is a little lighter and the face framing a bit more pronounced—thanks to the first step of Isabella and Gia’s glow-up plan.

“Bullshit. You were avoiding me because you were so damn busy trying to talk yourself into believing that my kiss is for shit when you know damn well it’s the best you’ve ever had.”

“The man has jokes when he’s drunk.”

“Baby, I got jokes all the time.” He takes my hand and holds it casually in his. “Is this the day you finally did it?”

“Did what?” I ask above the crowd.

“Draw the hearts on the calendar for me? I mean, you’re here and so very excited to see me . . . I figured it was. Were they pink? Or blue? Oh. Wait. Moretti red, I bet.”

“Ignore him,” Wills says. “He’s an obnoxiously happy drunk.” And it’s then that he gets a closer look at me and his eyes shock open when he recognizes me from the track. Or the bar. He might be slow on at least one of them. “Holy shit. You’re—”

“Mine,” Riggs says, shoving him playfully in the chest and stepping in between Wills and me. He lets out a big sigh as his gaze lands on my lips and then grins. “Hi again.”

“Hi.”

He puts his hand on my waist to move me out of the way of a bunch of people but once they pass, he doesn’t move it off. My skin ignites beneath it.

“If I had known you were next door, I would have invited you over.”

“If you had invited me over,” I say, my heart pounding in my chest, “I probably wouldn’t have come.”

“That’s a shame,” he murmurs and by the flare of his nostrils, I swear the coming he’s talking about refers to more than an innocent party invite. “It’s good to let loose every once in a while.” He reaches up with his other hand and tucks a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. “It’s good for the soul.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“No, you won’t.” He winks. “You’ll keep on the straight and narrow while I venture down an unbeaten path. You should try it sometime. The adrenaline high is like no other.”

“I prefer my feet planted firmly on the ground, thank you very much.”

“I think it’s time I prove you wrong.” He throws his head back and laughs, like a switch was flipped, and without warning, hops up on the coffee table beside us, his hand still holding mine.

“What are you—”

“Excuse me. Everybody, can I please have your attention?” he shouts, and when people don’t listen, Wills lets off one hell of a whistle that has voices quieting and necks craning. “Thank you.”

“Give it to us, Riggs,” someone yells from the back.

“You’ve already met Camilla,” he says and then unbeknownst to me tugs on my arm and coaxes me up to stand beside him. “Or as I call her, Gasket.”

Not thrilled with this unexpected development, I stand on the table and glare at Riggs instead of staring out at what feels like a sea of people.

“So, she’s the one responsible for thinking up this whole Am I the Arsehole advice column I’m doing on my socials.” Cheers go up. “But I only think it’s fair that I reverse the role tonight. How about I ask you guys the question and you give me advice this time around?”

“Riggs. What are you doing?” I ask under my breath.

“Relax.” He winks and tugs at my waist so that I’m against his side.

“Spencer.” His name is a two-syllable warning.

“You ready?” he asks to cheers. “Because I’m counting on you to give me the right answer here.” He holds up his hand for them to quiet down. “Here goes. Am I the arsehole for wanting to kiss her right now? For wanting to prove to her I’m good at it?”

The entire crowd roars no.

And before I can process that he’s serious, he tugs me flush against him and closes his mouth over mine.