Page 68 of The Spare

As I’m finishing up my makeup, Sam walks past the bedroom door. I catch his eye in the mirror and turn around, leaning against the vanity with a playful smirk. “I’m heading out with my girls for ladies’ night at The Zone,” I tell him, smoothing down my tiny black dress. It barely covers my ass. “I wish I had the same type of relationship with the bouncer that you do. I saw you walk right past us months ago like you owned the place.”

Sam gives a low chuckle, resting his shoulder against the doorframe. I don’t miss the way his blue eyes have darkened as he takes in my dress. “It’s only because I used to give Jimmy odd jobs at the vineyard. Hopefully, once the funds are transferred into the company account, I can rehire people like him, but the process is taking a lot longer than I’d hoped.”

I offer him a soft, sympathetic nod, feeling that familiar tug in my chest as he worries over Sutter Creek.

“You girls be careful. Don’t leave your drinks unattended.”

“Okay, Dad,” I tease.

“I’m not joking.”

“I’m thirty-six, Sam. I’m not a teenager anymore.”

“Don’t remind me,” he grumbles.

I tilt my head in confusion, not sure what he means, but not interested in starting any heavy conversations tonight. “We’ll all be together. Enjoy the night to yourself.”

“Right,” he again grouses. I blink, starting to ask him if he’s okay when I hear the girls calling from downstairs.

“Lexi, c’mon. You ready? I have birthday cocktails calling my name!” Everly shouts.

I gently touch Sam’s arm as I pass him, heading to the stairway. “I’ll see you later.”

Forty minutes later, we’re all dressed up to the nines and standing in the absurdly long line outside The Zone. A heavy bass thumps through the doors. The chilly night air nips at our bare shoulders as Everly giggles, shivering in her birthday sash and sparkly heels.

All of a sudden, the massive bouncer at the front velvet rope steps away from his post and walks straight toward our group. Each of us goes quiet, exchanging wide-eyed looks. But the man stops right in front of me with a warm, respectful smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Lee,” he says smoothly. “Any friend of Sam’s is a friend of mine.” He extends his arm with a practiced flourish toward the VIP entrance, bypassing the entire velvet rope line. “Enjoy your birthday celebration, ladies.”

The girls let out a collective gasp, instantly erupting into excited whispers as he ushers us right through the doors.

I pull out my phone, a huge grin breaking across my face as I type a quick text to Sam.

Me: Thank you. You’re officially the man of the hour!

Inside, the club is a blur of flashing neon, heavy bass, and pulsing lights. We grab drinks and head straight for the floor, dancing in a tight circle while Everly beams her nonstop smile.

In the middle of a song, Lilly leans into my ear, shouting over the music. “Lexi, isn’t that your husband over there?”

I pause, following her gaze across the crowded, dimly lit room.

Sam is leaning casually against the mahogany bar, nursing a glass of bourbon. He looks ridiculously handsome in a dark, fitted-shirt and jacket, his eyes locked onto me through the crowd. When he catches me looking, he lifts his glass in a subtle, knowing toast and nods in our direction.

“Oh my god,” Emilia gushes, clutching my arm. “He is so over the moon for you. Look at the way he’s watching you.”

Georgia’s face turns serious. “Is it okay to say your husband is hot?”

“You’re simply stating a fact.” Claire laughs.

“He literally came here just to keep an eye on his wife,” Summer squeals.

A thrill of heat shoots straight through my veins. I try my best to stay focused on my friends, but knowing his intense eyes are glued to my every move changes everything.

As the beat drops, I turn back to the circle, throwing my hands up and sashaying my hips in a slightly more exaggerated rhythm, making sure every move is a deliberate show just for him.

The heavy bass reverberates through the hardwood floor beneath my heels as the DJ transitions into a slower, dirtier beat. My heart is pounding in time with the music, every nerve ending alive and buzzing under the weight of Sam’s gaze from across the room.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him set his whiskey glass down on the counter. He pushes off the bar, his broad shoulders cutting a clean path through the crowded dancefloor. I take in a sharp inhale at the sight. The ladies’ night circle parts almost instinctively as he approaches, my friends letting out playful, low whistles and nudging each other as Sam steps straight into my space.

He doesn’t say a word. He merely reaches out. Sam’s large, warm hand settles on my hip. His fingers span the curve of my waist with possessive familiarity.