Page 137 of Chaos

An arm snakes across the top of the booth behind me, a hand hanging lazily beside my shoulder. “Remember when you said you like when I touch you?”

I huff. I hiss at him to shut up. I do not, however, command him to back up, nor do I move an inch myself.

A smug little quirk to the mouth dangerously close to mine, Finn drums his fingers against my arm. “Like it a lot, y’know.”

I wonder how he stands it—the weight of everyone’s gazes on the hand he absentmindedly glides through my hair. “Invading my personal space?”

“Your laugh. Don’t hear it enough.”

“Be funnier, then.”

“I’ll try harder.”

My scowl evaporates.

Great. Now I’m thinking about last night. About a sweet man who’s even sweeter when he’s drunk. About the things he saidand the things he didn’t, things he promised he would, but hasn’t quite followed through yet.

I look away before he reads my damn mind and starts spouting niceties, and really gives our audience something to gawk at.

“Mama?”

Across the table, Lux palms the back of her son’s head. “Yeah, babe?”

“Is Finn Auntie Lottie’s boyfriend?”

I choke on fucking air.

“Finn?” Oh-so-composed, Lux raises her brows at the man who’s much more than just her employee. “Are you Auntie Lottie’s boyfriend?”

“I wish.”

Something in my brain pops in unison with a muscle in my neck as my head whips back towards Finn.

In his sweet, toddler voice, Alex sings, “You like her.”

“How could I not, kid?”

“Did I miss something?”

Grace snorts, elbowing our little sister. “I’ll say.”

“What the hell?” Eliza whines. “Why am I always out of the loop?”

Grace retorts something quippy that I don’t quite hear over the ringing in my ears—ringing that sounds suspiciously likehow could I not, kid?As a slew of sisterly bickering begins, I sit back, letting them squawk, glad to have the attention shifted off of me and the man at my side, who I pointedly try to ignore lest someone accuses us of beingin lovenext.

Internally scoffing at the ridiculous notion, I let my gaze wander.

It lands on the bar, and I stiffen.

Not because the guy behind it is pouring what I easily recognize as my favorite red wine into a long-stemmed glass. It’sthe person opposite him that catches my attention. The back of a head I swear I recognize, but that’s ridiculous. That’s impossible. That’s—

Over the bustle of the crowd, I hear, “I’m looking for my girlfriend.”

And my stomach just about falls out of my ass.

There is nofuckingway.

“Lottie Higa?” The familiar voice, as loud as a goddamn bullhorn, presses. “Fuck, no, wait.Jackson. Charlotte Jackson.”

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