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“Why?” He crosses his arms over his chest, the material of his T-shirt stretching. I refuse to let myself linger on it. In fact, I blame his arms for the weird things running through my head. It’s definitely their fault. And maybe his neck too. It’s entirely too corded. Like it’s begging for me to put my mouth there. “We agreed we were just going to be professional with each other from here on out. Why would it be weird that we’re at the same party?”

I blink, trying to remember what we were talking about. What iswrongwith me?

“Myfamily’sparty,” I manage after a beat.

His lips twitch. “That I wasinvitedto.”

I throw up my hands in frustration. “You’re impossible.”

“I really don’t see why this is a big deal.” He bends a bit, and by doing so, allows the sun, which has just started to sink behind us, to make his green eyes almost gleam. Not to mention the way I can smell his cologne—a subtle hint of citrus and sandalwood that makes me want to lean into it. “Unless…does it bother you to be around me, Dani?”

“No,” I splutter immediately. “I don’t care.”

I hate the way he studies me, like he knows I’m lying. He doesn’t know that I’m lying. Hell,Idon’t even know if I’m lying.

“All right.” He leans back, flashing me an easy smile. “Then I see no problem here. Just two professional colleagues at the samegathering, right?” He looks back over his shoulder. “If you’ll excuse me, you interrupted a conversation.”

My mouth drops open as he turns to justleave, and I feel hot all over from anger and—no.Justanger, I tell myself. That’sallit is.

“Oh, and, Dani?”

It takes me a second to realize he’s spoken over the wild rush of blood in my ears. “What?”

“You really do look nice in that dress.”

•••

I didn’t leavethe party early like I planned. I keep telling myself that it’s because I want to make sure my parental party of four don’t get too drunk and do something that will embarrass themselves, something Ezra can add to his arsenal, but even in my head it’s flimsy at best. I’ve been lurking by the snack table for the last hour, watching his perfect head of dark blond hair weave through the crowd as he charms everyone he meets. Literally, he’s spoken to every single person here. I’m almost positive.

Well, except me.

He hasn’t said a word to me since our argument by the shed. If I can even call it an argument. I guess if I’m being honest, it was more of an interrogation on my part. One that completely blew up in my face, since it seems Ezra reallydidjust come to hang out because my dad invited him. There’s no way he came here to mess with me somehow, considering he can’t do that while actively avoiding me like he has been.

And I should be grateful for that. Iamgrateful for that. Mostly. Sort of. I don’t know. I doubt grateful people sip punch as aggressively as I have been for the last twenty minutes. I doubt a gratefulperson would keep unconsciously homing in on Ezra’s movements as he socializes like he was born for it. Agratefulperson wouldn’t be secretly miffed that he hasn’t even tried to speak to them again, and they certainly wouldn’t be utterly flummoxed that they would feel that way in the first place. That is, if theydidfeel that way.

I rub my temple, my head starting to hurt in the third person.

I’m not drunk, not even tipsy, even though I kind of wish I was—but I’m feeling just loose enough to allow myself to really dissect the complicated things Ezra’s presence here is making me feel. Seeing him interact so easily with my family and their friends, like he belongs here—it’s weird. It’s almost like he fits in here more than I do. I don’t know what to make of that. I know I shouldn’t care, that it shouldn’t make me feel an odd sting in my chest watching him fit in so easily, and for a moment I allow myself the fantasy of what it might have been like if it wasmewho had invited him here. Would he have wanted to come? Would he be having as good a time as he seems to be right now?

But that’s ridiculous, because Iwouldn’tinvite him here—I didn’t—because that’s not something we did. Definitely not anything close to what we were.

I take another sip of my drink, watching him bend to laugh at something Mrs. Liechman is whispering in his ear. It’s preposterous for me to be jealous of his laugh, since the woman is in her sixties, and he’s not my damned boyfriend—so why the hell is my stomach twisted into knots? It’s easier to just blame Ezra. It’s always easier to blame him rather than admit anything that I might regret later, even if it’s only to myself.

I can’t help but wonder if he’s been with someone else these last few weeks. It’s not like we ever said we were exclusive, evenwhen we were…whatever we were, and it’s also not something I ever really allowed myself to dwell on. But what’s more surprising than me pondering Ezra’s love life since the time we parted ways, I think, is the sheer gut punch that is imagining him touching someone else. My head fills with images and whispered words and soft touches that are for someone else, and I realize with stunning clarity that I…hate it. I shouldn’t hate it. I can’tletmyself hate it. Ezra Hart is the fucking Heartbreak Prince, and that’sexactlywhat’s waiting for me if I don’t get my head on straight and remember just what it is that he and I are—wereto each other.

His eyes snag mine from across the yard then, and my entire body freezes, my hand gripping the cup that is still suspended in the air. It’s magnetic, the way he looks at me. If I were a more honest woman, I might even say it has been since the first time. Even if he opened his mouth a moment later and ruined everything by revealing just how big of an ass he can be. Even from this distance, I can see when his gaze dips to my mouth, and I can’t fathom what possesses me to choose that moment to let my tongue swipe along my lower lip to lick away the excess punch, but I can’t even begin to pretend that the answering tightness of his jaw isn’t a little satisfying. Even if I can’t fully puzzle out why.

Yes you can, you fucking liar.

It feels like it takes hours for him to pull his gaze away from mine to answer something Mrs. Liechman has just asked, but in reality, it can’t be more than a few seconds. I watch as he gives her a polite smile and a nod before separating himself from the little group he was mingling with. My eyes follow him as he finds my dad a few yards away and says something to him before my dad gestures back toward the house. Ezra doesn’t look back at me as he stalks over to the deck, climbing the stairs and weavingthrough the crowd before disappearing through the patio doors, but I’m looking at him. Hell, I’m tracking his every move. Why am I doing that?

I can feel my heart thumping in my ears, can feel my skin warmed by the punch in my belly and the goose bumps erupting all over from the breeze washing over me, and I blame all of these things for what I do next. It’s just easier that way.

Especially since I’m already heading toward the deck.

Eleven

Dani