Page 59 of I Almost Do

He bends down to hear me, but he never looks away from the crowd.

"James, what's wrong?"

"You come here a lot?"

I shrug. "A few times a month. The wings are great. Why?"

"This place is a security nightmare."

"That's why we sit in the corner booth. Jack reserves it for us when he knows we're coming. Besides, hardly anybody even knows who I am here."

He rolls his shoulders, tension bleeding from him. Then he takes a deep breath in and blows it out through his mouth.

"Beth and Dean are right over there and there. Why are you so tense? Nothing has ever happened to me here. Nothing will. We're just here to have a good time and listen to some music."

"It's beer," he mutters. "Just beer."

"What?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing. There's a spill on the floor back there. It's—" He swallows. "—sticky."

I rub his arm, smiling but still confused. "Okay, Mr. Neat Freak. They mop the floors every night."

He cracks his neck to the side, then visibly shakes off whatever's got him in a mood. Bending down, he kisses me lightly, then says, "Introduce me to your friends."

When we reach the big round corner booth, Aimee, another one of Bronwyn's cousins, holds her beer high in the air and shouts, "Mellingeerrrs."

Aimee's boyfriend, Brandon, sticks out a hand. "Good to meet you," he says with a smile on his friendly, open face.

James takes his hand, but his voice isn't exactly warm. I call it his boardroom persona. "You are?"

"Brandon Hart. This is Aimee, Monroe, and Phoebe. You already know Sydney. I think Bronwyn is still grabbing a beer," he says. "And we all know who you are."

Monroe laughs. I bump James with my elbow, rolling my eyes, because I know what's coming.

"You're the imaginary husband."

I scoff and shake my head. "He's not my imaginary husband. He's my dream husband. Pay attention."

Phoebe speaks up. "It's awesome to meet you, dream husband. Grab a beer."

James loosens up slowly after that, a little at a time. We laugh. We slow dance. We sing along to Louis's version of "Blackhole Sun."

I drink one beer, then stick with water. James isn't drinking at all.

And when the booth gets crowded, James pulls me onto his lap. I melt into the feel of him. Hard. Sexy. Solid. Then I lay my head on his shoulder and fiddle with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He keeps his hands on some part of me almost every single second we're out. My waist. My back. Even, at one point, my ass.

A couple hours in, I drop a kiss on his lips. "I'm headed to the ladies' room."

Bronwyn raises her hand. "Ooh, pick me, pick me."

Monroe shakes his head. "Don't know why women think pissing is a group activity."

I nod to Beth, so she knows where we're headed, and we make our way to the short hallway where the ladies' room is housed. Before we reach our destination, we hit a bottleneck of drunk frat boys.

Beth clears the area, but as I make my way past, one of the guys stumbles, or maybe is shoved, straight into me from the sidelines. His entire beer lands on two places: my face and the front of my white shirt.

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