“I’m full of charm, haven’t you noticed?”
We’re seated at the bar, gazes snagged on each other, knees brushing, something like a static charge jumping from him to me and racing up my leg.
I let myself enjoy the tingles that spread to the most sensitive parts of me. Because, oh yes, I’ve noticed his charms and their effect on me.
Living in the same town for the first time since we were young . . . will it change things? Already my memories of back then are closer to the surface. There was a night—I was eighteen, he was twenty—when I thought the scales would tip to romantic. I was sure something was about to happen with us.
A kiss.
Deep and passionate.
Tender and gentle.
A first kiss, swoon-worthy and life-altering.
And, it turns out, imaginary.
I’m unquestionably relieved about that. I’m not sure Crosby and I would be where we are now, friendship-wise, if we’d kissed back then.
But still. The spark wasn’t imaginary. It was there. And the more often we connect, the more I’m sure it still is.
7
Nadia
Early Next Year
* * *
On my list of people I don’t see often enough is my good friend Scarlett, though she lives not just in another state, but on another continent. She’s in Vegas to negotiate some hotel acquisitions but taking the evening off from World Hospitality Industry Domination to take in a show.
Since I last saw her, a lot has happened, including the love-of-her-life thing. I’d been in Paris, where she lives, for my own business trip, and we spent an afternoon wandering Le Marais, ostensibly shopping for shoes, but mostly catching up. She’d been about to leave for a week of scouting boutique hotels with her business partner Daniel, and I can see how “I’m not going to mix business with pleasure” worked out for her. So well that Daniel, aka the love of Scarlett’s life, is coming with us to Stone’s concert.
I smother a smile as Scarlett and I saunter down to the theater of The Extravagant. When she gives me a questioning look, I tip my head to indicate Daniel, who’s fallen back to take in some hotel detail only noticeable to someone in the business.
“Props to your man for giving us a privacy bubble so we can catch up.”
“He’s considerate that way.” She smirks like I don’t need to tell her she’s got a good one, and I laugh, delighted for her. She redirects with “So, spill. You know what’s up with me, so you must have something to dish.”
Well, she’s not wrong. “I’ve been dying to catch up with you. You’re never going to believe who called me.”
Her expression goes intensely serious. “Chris Hemsworth?”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Even better. Crosby Cash.”
She arches a brow. “Your brother’s best friend? The guy you’ve crushed on forever? The baseball player for the San Francisco Cougars?”
“That’s who. He’s the best man at my brother’s wedding.”
“Ooh la la. What did he call you for?” She makes her question a loaded one, and my cheeks heat.
“He wanted to make sure I’d save a dance for him at the wedding in a few weeks.”
“Someone wants to dance with you.”
I scoff. “He’s just being friendly,” I tell her and me both.
She grins. “Friendly or not so friendly, sounds like the start of a good story,” she says, trailing off subjectively.
I shrug, carefully noncommittal. “You never know.”
“You never do.” We reached the theater, and she throws me a smug look. “But I’d be willing to bet on it.”
“Bet on what?” Daniel asks as he catches up to us, reaching past Scarlett to open the door in that way some guys can do without being awkward and some absolutely cannot.
“That it’s going to be a great show,” she says smoothly, kissing him warmly before we head inside.
Soon we’re watching the rock star as Stone launches into his show, and I sing along, getting lost in the music. It’s loud enough to drown out everything else, and it’s not until I’m lying in bed with ringing ears that I think about what Scarlett said.
Would I bet that this is the start of a new story with Crosby Cash?
If it were only money, then maybe. Problem is, what I’d be laying on the line is my friendship with Crosby. And that, I’m not willing to risk.
8
Crosby
A little later
* * *
I close the lid of my laptop, and hopefully, please, God, on a painful chapter of the Crosby Cash story.
This is why I should never gamble.
My judgment is shit, and I don’t know a good bet from a terrible, awful, and costly one.
Never again.
I’m giving up on women for life.
Okay, not for life.
But for a long time.
Okay, probably not a very long time.
Then my thoughts drift to Nadia. That keeps happening, and there’s no rhyme or reason. But in this case, it’s not hard to connect the dots. When I think of why I’ll never give up on women entirely, I think of Nadia.
