Page 65 of On The Rocks

Tristan’s eyes slid down to my chest, then back up to my eyes, and his eyes sparkled. “Baby girl, I think your husband’s already half in love with you. How couldn’t he be when you’re like a ray of sunshine in our lives. Now, I’m happy to say he’s falling in lust with you, too. Are you ready? Because there’s only so long he’ll hold back before he pounces.”

My belly fluttered at the thought.

Sophie smirked. “It may be sooner rather than later in that outfit.”

I pulled my top down, trying to cover my stomach. “I feel exposed.”

“We’re going to a biker party, Maeve,” she reminded me. “We’ll be wearing more clothes than most.”

I took in my high-waisted black jeans that even I could see flattered my curves. My top was a skin-tight, titty-skimming, sweetheart-necked, gossamer-thin black top with tiny red flowers printed on it. The big puffy sleeves fell down my arms, leaving my shoulders entirely exposed while framing my claviclebone that Tristan had made more pronounced with a sweep of highlight.

My now glossy curls (thanks to the keratin treatment) were out to there, and my makeup was subtle with just a winged eyeliner, mascara, highlight, and a hint of bronzer and blush. Tristan had finished my look off with a glassy red but still subtle lip gloss.

Being vain was never something I’d even thought about, but even I had to keep looking at myself in the mirror just to make sure it was me. All my life, I’d been the ugly duckling, the wallflower, the nerdy friend. Honest to God, I never knew I could look like this. And best of all, I still looked like me, just a polished-up version.

My stare swept over my friends. “Thank you for helping me pick an outfit and get ready. It means everything.”

Kennedy looked up from fastening her sky-high, red-soled boots and gave me a knowing wink. “I loved spending somebody else’s money for a change. I’m sure Kit’s bank balance was grateful too.”

“I wish I knew you on my wedding day,” I murmured, my eyes sliding to the mirror to once again check the reflection was actually me.

“Same.” Tristan’s eyes narrowed spitefully. “I would’ve cut a bitch.”

I busted out laughing because I believed every word. Tristan was fierce, especially when wielding his hair stylist scissors.

My heart contracted when I thought how the past week had been one of the best of my life.

The bar looked so amazing that I found myself standing in the middle of the new polished wooden floor, just taking everything in. We were almost ready for our grand reopening the weekend after, and the new drinks were coming along beautifully, too. I was quietly confident we had perfect flavorcombinations, and I couldn’t wait to test them out on our customers.

My new friends had insisted on meeting up every day, if only for thirty minutes. Tristan had worked wonders with my hair and been so patient in showing me the best ways to style and manage it that I was much more confident now.

When I told him I didn’t have a clue about clothes and makeup, he showed me what types of clothes would flatter my figure. Even though Orla and the girls had told me I was fat all my life, I realized I wasn’t—I was just shaped differently to them. My newfound understanding of what worked best for my hourglass figure had taken pounds off me.

Things with Callum were even going well, albeit a little weird. We were both working hard during the day—me in the distillery and him in the bar—but every night, we seemed to gravitate to our apartment and stay cocooned in our bubble. We talked, watched movies, ate, laughed, and just got to know each other better.

We were friends, but at the same time, we were also more. Nothing had happened between Callum and me—he hadn’t even kissed me—but I could feel something was different and had been since he walked in on me almost naked. His gaze would linger on me, and I’d feel his eyes tracking me as I crossed the room. My skin would heat, and I’d get a little tongue-tied, which would make his face soften, and he’d smile at me teasingly.

And I’d find myself doing the same. The thing with Callum O’Shea was that everything about him was pure man, from the way he walked to the way he talked, laughed, and breathed. His manspreading drove me crazy, but I was also secretly thrilled by it because every time he did it, a part of him touched a part of me. The air of masculinity and strength he gave off made my senses spiral, and my eyes were immediately drawn to him because he was so darn breathtaking.

I’d sit beside him and imagine him leaning over and taking my mouth with his, and then suddenly, he’d do it; he’d lean over, but instead of kissing me, he’d breathe something into my ear or close to my neck, and I’d feel the air around us spark with electricity.

My skin would burn with his closeness, and I’d feel itchy, as if my blood and bones were trying to break free of my skin. My pulse would thud erratically, and I’d have to discretely rub my thighs together to alleviate the desperate need between them. My fingers twitched with the desire to touch him, to run them over his brawny shoulders and down his muscled pecs and explore everything I’d never experienced before, but I was too shy, and deep down in the dark, self-deprecating recesses of my mind, I was terrified of him rejecting me because the moment he did, it would leave us with nowhere else to go.

The notion scared me more than anything because I knew from experience living in hope was better than having none at all. I loved the fantasy of us so much that I couldn’t risk losing it.

A few days before, Callum asked me to go to this biker party tonight in Rock Springs, and I jumped at the chance. Except now, I was rethinking my life choices because it suddenly hit me that I was about to go on a date with Callum O’Shea, and I looked kinda pretty.

What would he think?

Would he assume I was trying to seduce him? Especially after all the weirdness of the week before. What if he finally recognized my big assed crush and laughed at me? Or would he feel bad and let me down gently by giving me the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech? I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to look him in the face again. I mean, how mortifying?

The sounds of car doors slamming outside and shouts of men greeting each other filtered in from outside.

“They’re here,” Sophie called out.

I felt the color drain from my face, and I began to chant under my breath, “Oh my God, oh my God.”

“Are you okay?” Tristan asked.

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