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I twirl around on four-inch heels just in time to catch sight of Jesse Kensington. He lifts his niece and swings her around before shouting above the din, “Happy birthday, kiddo!”
A quick glance to my left shows Austyn’s mother is just as shocked. She leaves her husband’s side to dash over to her brother and greet him warmly. Meanwhile, I’m scanning the entrance frantically to see if someone else is behind him. I mean, he would have told me, wouldn’t he?
I give it a few minutes before I send a text.
Fallon:
Mama Paige. Uncle Jess. What? No Uncle E?
Ethan:
Not tonight.
Fallon:
No?
Ethan:
I won’t be there. I already have plans.
Fallon:
Sorry to bother you.
Ethan:
You’re never a bother, Fal.
Fallon:
Except when you’re out on a date?
Ethan:
Fal . . . no.
Fallon:
Pretty bad timing on my part, Ethan. Sorry for the intrusion.
I slip my phone back into my clutch and lift my cosmopolitan to my lips, contemplating my text to Ethan. It’s not jealousy, I assure myself. It’s about being here for Austyn’s birthday.
Still, as much as I would love to have seen Ethan and my enduring hots for him, I decided to take Ethan at his word and not pine away for him during my college years. My lips curve as I recall the scorching hot sex I had with my TA last semester after I agreed to model nude for one of his art studies classes. I wonder if the art department is aware the abstract they so revere is not tantamount to Saint Augustine but more an “oh my god, more” religious experience.
Still, it wasn’t Ethan. I’m aware all I’m doing is scratching an itch, not searching for a soulmate. My heart’s aware I’ve already found him and ultimately what I want is for him to be happy.
Screw that. I want him with me.
Despite the deep-seated jealousy I refuse to acknowledge, no one with Ethan Kensington’s looks should be without sex—good sex, I amend. I lift my glass in a silent toast he gets some. Since I first met him, I’d have to be blind not to notice how fucking gorgeous the man is. Who cares that he’s twenty years older than me? Hot is hot, and the man has the face of a rugged Hollywood star combined with the body of a rodeo god. Truth is, Jesus wept when he made Ethan because he knew he wouldn’t be on the earth long enough to bang him.
I giggle at my train of thought, drawing the attention of several of the people milling about to celebrate my girl’s birthday, including—holy bat shit—country music star Brendan Blake. Turning away from the revelry, I saunter over to the bar where a behemoth of a man named Louie is manning the station for the night.
Winking at me as I approach, he immediately begins pulling the ingredients together for my next cosmopolitan as soon as my glass hits the leather counter. As I wait for my drink, I wonder what Ethan might think of this crowd. Music legends, lawyers, doctors, and, well, me. Another bubble of laughter escapes.
If he’s not pissed at me for cock blocking him, I’ll text him later in the week and tell him the details.
Louie sets my drink in front of me before his eyes dart over my head. An arm slides around my shoulders, and I twist to meet Jess’s familiar green eyes. His gaze drops to the drink in front of me before he shakes his head. “Where did the nice, small-town girl I know go?”