Page 3 of Mr. Swoony

“Actually, it’s Eloise.”

“I like Lulu,” he says, his gaze fixed on mine.

His attention is slightly unnerving.

“You’re hunky,” Penelope says, trying to sit up straight but failing miserably.

“Hey, you’re going to make me jealous,” the blond guy Penelope has been dancing with all night says.

“Are you ready to go?” I ask her, raising my eyebrows at the guy behind her. I’m sure he’ll fight me to take her home, but it’s not happening.

“Lulu,” she whines and slides closer to me.

Thankfully, the blond guy stays put and talks to his friends. All of them are whispering and looking at Conor. I’m starting to think I missed something.

“You’re drunk, and it’s time.” I really don’t want to ruin her night, but she’s about a sip away from some bad decisions.

“I’m sorry.” She lays her head on my shoulder but picks it up immediately, concentrating on Conor. “It’s her bachelorette party.”

“I see that,” Conor says with a nod.

“And I’m the world’s worst bridesmaid.” Penelope’s bottom lip trembles.

Oh no, not the tears and the crying. Shit, I forgot she gets emotional after a lot of drinks.

“No, you’re not.” I put my arm around her shoulders.

“I am. Your maid of honor wouldn’t be drunk at your party while you’re sipping… what is this?” She picks up the water bottle as if we’re nineteen again and sneaking vodka into our water bottles. She takes a swig. “Water?”

The pain in her voice says she’s going to lose it, and I’m going to have a basket case on my hands soon.

“Come on.” I stand and look over my shoulder to see the rest of our bridal party huddled with a group of guys.

Penelope falls down on the couch, rolling to her back.

Conor raises his brows at me and looks back at Penelope.

“Are you a model?” she asks him.

Conor chuckles. “No.”

“Some finance bro?” she asks.

Not with those calloused hands, I think.

“No.”

“Where did you come from?” she asks as though he’s been conjured up via some science project.

Conor points toward the VIP area next door.

She gets up on her knees and peers over. Looking over her shoulder at Conor, her eyes widen, and her mouth hangs open. “There?” She points.

Conor nods.

Her eyes narrow, and her gaze drags down his body and back up. “Oh shit.”

“What?” I look between the two of them, clearly missing something because Conor’s cocky smirk only gets wider as if he’s answering her silent question.

---