Ellie smiles at us like we’re adorable. “Seriously. You two are like brother and sister,” she says with a smile.
I cough-laugh while Carter snorts.
Did he catch me staring at him salaciously earlier? Does he know I had very un-brotherly thoughts about him?
Oh, shit.
Oh, hell.
He was so gracious about the incident. I should be the same.
After Ellie rejoins Gabe, it’s just Carter and me again, hanging out by the piano. I sip champagne. He takes a pull of his beer. For a few seconds, we’re just quiet, listening together as the woman at the keys taps out a tune that sounds vaguely romantic. I look into Carter’s warm brown eyes, and I feel a little fizzy.
Not at all how I feel when I look at my brother.
But Carter is my friend, so I swallow past the awkwardness, and say, “Thanks again for offering to take me home later. But it turns out I’m being girl-napped for a pajama party at Elodie’s.”
“Juliet mentioned that earlier. She marched over to me pretty much right after the toast.”
That’s so Juliet. “She likes to be in charge. Of everything.”
“She picked the right profession then,” he says, giving me a secret little smile. “Now, this pajama party—will there be a pillow fight?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “No pillow fights.”
“Too bad,” he says, then adds a little apologetically, “And no problem. I have an early bedtime anyway.”
He’s disciplined with his sleep. More than most athletes, and I get it. “Yes, you do,” I say, wagging a finger. “You need to leave by eleven. In bed by eleven-thirty.”
“And since I’ll be solo, that means I get to blast Taylor Swift as I drive home.”
“You and your Taylor obsession.”
“What can I say? She just knows me,” he says, shameless in his devotion to the pop star.
And I know this man too. As a friend. That’s what we are. “We should definitely go to Puzzle Nerds. Whenever you’re free,” I add.
There.
“We have a Monday night game. So I need to get into game-mode tomorrow night. And all day Sunday. Obviously, Monday is out,” he says, then scratches his jaw, lined with one-day stubble. Or is that two days? Maybe more? Maybe even the start of some yummy scruff. How would that scruff feel to the touch? “But Tuesday could work.”
To touch his scruff?
Oh, right. Puzzle acquisition.
“Perfect,” I say. We were going to restart our puzzle club. That’s safe. It’s not like puzzles are sexy. You don’t set up candles and play soft music and feed each other strawberries as you slide puzzle piece into puzzle piece.
“Just you and me. Like old times.”
Before all the flashing incidents. “Let’s do it. And thanks again for earlier in the car. And the makeup. And everything. I owe you big time.”
“You don’t. But it’s no problem.”
However, I do want to get one thing out in the open. “And, um, I guess one good flashing deserves another,” I say. His expression is blank for a second, almost confused, so I sputter: “In Daisy’s Duds. When you were all…you know…man-chest-y.”
He smirks. “Man-chest-y? Is that what we call it?”
I raise my chin. “Yes. But I can’t promise it’s a Scrabble word.”
“Maybe someday.” He lifts his beer bottle, takes a drink, and I stare at his lips. His full, lush lips.
I blink away thoughts of them and focus. I am a laser. “Anyway, I was just thinking how it’s sort of the same thing. I mean, not exactly. Not entirely the same. One will get you an R-rating in a movie. The other just makes you want to, well, gawk.”
Okay, maybe I wasn’t a laser.
His lips twitch. “Gawk, Rachel?”
Gah. I’m making this worse. “I’m just saying—”
“—I know what you mean.” He lets me off the hook. “It’s good we can joke about it. Maybe we’ll even need a commemorative Man-Chest-y mug.”
“Yes, for when we do our trash puzzle.”
He tips his beer bottle against my champagne flute. It’s a friendly enough moment, sealing a deal. But I’m studying his jaw, and his eyes are lingering on my face, and I swear, there’s some new charge between us. I hardly know what to make of it.
It’s a little thrilling, but a little terrifying too.
As the clock ticks near eleven, I’ve had a few glasses of bubbly. I’ve won a few hands of poker, or maybe blackjack. Possibly both.
Carter’s hanging with his brother at the table next to ours, and he gives me a chin nod as he checks his cards.
I smile back, then I up the ante in my poker game, sliding another chip into the pot. I shimmy in my seat, my free-range boobs shaking under my sparkly get-up. This dress is like magic. I feel better after my fiasco of a day.
“I’ll raise myself by another chip,” I declare.
The dealer—a square-jawed guy with a mustache that might be sexy in an “are mustaches sexy” way but also might not—laughs gently. “I’m not sure poker works that way.”
“Aww, c’mon, Scotty. Let her,” Juliet encourages him. Or, more like demands.
The dealer slowly shifts his gaze back to me, licking his lips as he says, “Sure, I’ll let it slide for you,” he says, keeping his eyes locked on me.
Oh.
Is he flirting with me?
It’s been a while, but I’m pretty sure that’s flirting.
As he deals, I tuck my face closer to Juliet’s. “Is Scotty flirting with me? And…do I like him?”
She laughs. “I don’t know, Rach. Do you?”
I shrug. Hard to say. The bubbly in me likes the flirting, that’s for sure. “Flirting is enjoyable,” I say.
She high-fives me. “See? I told you the party would be fun.”
“It is dirty, flirty fun,” I say, smacking back. Everything is fun. Everything is festive.
Elodie meets my gaze from next to Juliet. “Speaking of fun, you never answered my question from earlier…”
I arch a brow. “Oh, you want to know how the Man-inator is?”
Juliet snort-laughs. “Yes, do tell us. But please use its proper name. The Man-inator is seriously gross.”
I square my shoulders, acting all proper. “If you must know, I was going to break out the Girl’s Best Friend tonight.”
Scotty’s gaze snaps back to mine. He looks away to deal, but I think he’s still listening. A perk of the job, I suppose, dealing cards at a party full of the buzzed and horny.
“So we’re cramping your style with the PJ party?” Elodie asks with a cute little grin. “Or wait. Were you going to slip into my bathroom and use it?” She lets her jaw fall open, comically wide. “Rachel, you bad girl. Did you smuggle it here in your purse?”
“Shut up. I am not going to diddle myself at your house.” Primly I add, “I have standards.”
Scotty smiles, then waves a hand in front of his face. Oh yes, he is definitely listening.
“Only home diddling for this classy babe,” Elodie chimes in as Scotty clears his throat.
With a nod at my card, he asks, “What have you got?”