We’d hit it off so well, and with Nolan wrapped up in his new circle of married-with-kids friends, nowadays Brett was closer to me than his former college buddy.
“Eden, just…” Avery let out a sigh of frustration. “Could you not be a bitch and just pick up the damn diapers? You’re already out. There’s no reason you can’t pick some up on your way home.”
What if I’m not planning on coming home?
It was what I wanted to say.
I held my tongue because, considering the mood Avery was in, she would likely rub in the fact that, even when Scott was into me, he rarely let me sleep over, and that was a truth I was already facing head on. I definitely didn’t need my flawless, amazing sister with the flawless, amazing life rubbing it in.
Flawless except for the right diaper size, anyway.
I took the final swig of champagne, which was really more like a sip, and gritted my teeth. “Fine. I’ll pick up your damn diapers. But I won’t be home until late.”
I clicked END before she had a chance to say anything else.
“Avery?” Brett asked as he plopped himself down on the couch next to me.
My tone of voice must have given me away. Well, and the fact that, if I wasn’t on the phone with him, who else besides her would I be talking to at ten p.m. on a Saturday? “Don’t get me started. Where have you been, anyway? It’s been two hours since I last saw you. Please don’t tell me—”
“Adrienne Thorne,” we both said in unison.
“She found you then.”
“She did. Good news is that I made her understand definitively that we would not take on her project, and then I hooked her up with August. He has that side corp he bought into, and turns out they’re looking to sponsor something exactly like what Adrienne is offering.”
I clapped my hand over my mouth in dramatic excitement—dramatic because of the gesture, though to tell the truth, it really was exciting to get her off our backs. “Too bad for August Sebastian, but this calls for a celebration!” I lifted up the empty bottle and turned it upside down. “Too bad we’re out of bubbles. Don’t judge! I spilled.”
He nodded to the second bottle. “What about that one?”
“I’m scared to open it.”
He held his hand out with a give-it-to-me gesture. “It was definitely time to be done with her. She asked me to dance, and—”
“And you couldn’t say no because that’s who you are, go on.”
He grinned sheepishly. “And she might have gotten a little handsy.”
“Grandma Thorne copped a feel of your ass?!” I was laughing so hard, tears came to my eyes.
“Hey. Groping without consent is not funny.”
“Well. I mean, it kind of is when it’s Adrienne Thorne doing the groping.”
He shot me a daggered look as he worked on opening the bottle, but the smile was still there. Then the cork shot out, and I was laughing again at the unexpected pop and the champagne dripping over his hand.
I swallowed the impulse to lick the alcohol off his body and then shook off the swoony wave of my tummy when he pulled out his pocket square to clean himself off before bringing the bottle to his lips to catch the rest of the overflow.
By the time he handed it to me, the champagne had settled, but the butterflies in my stomach were still fluttering.
Damn men in overpriced suits.
“You can hardly blame her,” I said, taking the bottle from him. “You’re quite a catch in your three-piece. Is it Armani?” I reached my free hand out to finger the material of his jacket. Or to accidentally brush my knuckles against his taut chest underneath. Same diff.
“I don’t remember what I’m wearing. It might be Canali.” His eyes pinned to my hand, like he was as fascinated with the possibility of us touching as I was, and for some reason that made my breath catch.
I pulled my eyes and my hand away, but not soon enough to stop goosebumps from sprouting down my arms. “Well. You look good.”
“You do too.” His voice was soft, and I had to quickly take a sip of champagne before I did something crazy like melt all over him.
“Anyway.” He cleared his throat. “Scott. What happened with him?”
He managed to keep from sounding like what he meant was, “What happened with him this time?” but that’s what I heard all the same.
Ugh.
Usually, I loved to dump on Brett about Scott, but it was getting old, and I was kind of liking the moment we were having before his cousin’s name popped into the conversation.
But the interruption was for the best. Before I did something stupid like take advantage of my BFF’s attraction to me.
I slumped backward into the couch cushion. “Nothing. Like always. I don’t even know why I try anymore.”
Actually, I did know why. I wasn’t in love with Scott, but I was in love with the way he made me feel about myself. When hot, unattainable, rich-as-sin Scott Sebastian was into me, it was impossible to not feel like I was somebody special. Someone gorgeous and fun and worthy of attention. Someone like Avery.
But then when Scott wasn’t into me, I felt like shit, and that was sort of a comfort too. Because that felt more like the truth. I didn’t deserve someone like him. I didn’t have my shit together. I wasn’t gorgeous and fun and worthy of attention, and the reminder was like old socks. I knew how to wear that version of me. It was more real than the dressed up/borrowed from Avery version.
The up and down of it all was beginning to feel like an unnecessary ride, though. “I’m done with him,” I declared.
“I’ve heard that before.”
“I mean it this time.”
“I’ve heard that before too.”
I glanced over at Brett to see if his expression would tell me how pathetic he thought I was, but what I saw was much more unreadable. “I really, really mean it this time,” I said, studying his features for a clue.
“I really, really hope so.” His fingers brushed mine as he took the champagne from my hand, and when he brought it to his lips and swallowed, I couldn’t help thinking about the fact that my mouth had just been around that bottle, and even though we’d shared a million drinks over the years, it still felt so completely intimate.
What the hell is wrong with me tonight?
I couldn’t stop swooning over Brett, which wasn’t exactly unusual, but normally I didn’t let it get to me so intensely.
It didn’t help when he set down the bottle so that he could take his jacket off and give it to me, because God he was such a good guy and he’d noticed me shiver—though the temperature of the night had not been the reason—and how could a man be so completely amazing and unattached?
I wrapped it around me like a cape and tried not to let him see me sniff it for his scent.
Yeah, I know. I was a mess of contradiction. I was blaming it on the champagne. No more for me.
A few beats passed, heavy with some sort of tension that I was sure only I felt but I pretended was shared by both of us.
“So Adrienne wasn’t the only reason I was caught up so long with the party,” he said eventually. Tentatively. As though he wasn’t sure he wanted to bring it up.
Which definitely piqued my interest.
I gave him my tell-me-right-now-why-have-you-been-holding-out-on-me expression.