Page 157 of Collide
Natalie turns her head over her shoulder and shoots me a look.
I roll my eyes and shake my head like it means nothing. We’re friends. I’m trying—desperately—to convince myself of that.
“He’s all yours,” I say to Natalie, voice a little too high, a little too forced. She beams a huge smile at me and wags her brows.
Outside, I hang off to the side as everyone gathers by the limousine.
“Damn, El, you really know how to twist the knife,” he whispers over my shoulder.
“This old thing…” I giggle.
“You owe me that drink,” he says, holding the door open.
He offers me his hand. A spark shoots through me at the contact, sharp and sudden, as I climb inside.
“If I’m not mistaken, I think I owe you a shot as well.”
Broderick slides in beside me, our bodies pressed close in the tight space. Riley gives me a look.
That look.
She knows something’s up. I must not be hiding it well.
I take a breath, try to rearrange myself, and my face.
The ride is short, loud, wild. One of the guys pops a bottle of champagne, spraying a few of the girls, who squeal and groan. Thankfully, I’m not in the firing line. This time.
The Vanguard isthe place to be in the Hamptons—VIP lounges, sets spun by celebrity DJs, velvet cigar rooms thick with smoke and secrets. Bottle service flowing. Everything drips with sin and indulgence.
Broderick and I had a roped-off corner reserved near the bar, prime real estate with a clear view of the main floor.
Sienna and Avery are already grinding on each other, soaking up the attention from Andrew’s friends like it was their job. Andrew and Philippa are up against a booth wall, looking like they’re about to make me an aunt. Somewhere in the crowd, Riley is spinning circles around Cole, her curls bouncing as he tries to keep up.
Broderick is lingering off to the side, half-shadowed by a strobe light, his face lit from his phone screen.
I saunter over, heels sinking into the plush carpet. One glance.
Emails.
I roll my eyes. The guy is working.
“Let’s get you that drink, best man!” I yell over the pounding bass, grabbing Broderick’s arm.
His eyes widen in amusement, then he flashes that full, maddening smile, dimples cutting deep.
“Lead the way, gorgeous,” he says, leaning closer, voice brushing my ear.
Gorgeous…my heart skips a beat.
We push through the crowd. Bodies crush around us, hands brushing skin, heat thick in the air. Each step shoves us closer, his chest at my back, his breath at my neck, until we break through the tide.
His arms wrap around my waist, steering me, his taller frame guiding as he sees the gaps better. We reach the bar.
It feels good, though I know I shouldn’t be feeling this way.
“What’ll it be, Mr. Schwartz?” I ask, tilting my head up.
“I’ll have an old fashioned. Michter’s, please.”
