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They'd claimed the upper deck like a fortress, prospects manning the bar while the patched members held court. The separation should have made things easier. Should have.

Except I could feel Tyson watching. Not obviously, not in any way others would notice. But I'd learned his attention like a second language—the weight of his gaze when he thought I wasn't looking, the way his body angled toward mine even from across the boat.

By drink two, I was feeling bold. Or stupid. The line got blurry with champagne bubbles and the challenge of the game we were playing.

"I need another drink," I announced, standing carefully in my ridiculous heels.

"Get one for me!" Mandy called after me, happy and laughing. She wasreallygoing for it tonight. She was normally pretty reserved, even though she was a Little. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her cut loose like this.

The bar was technically neutral territory. Had to be, or the prospects would have died of dehydration serving two separateparties. I made my way up the narrow stairs, very aware of how the dress moved with each step.

Tyson was at the bar, because of course he was. The universe had a sense of humor. He stood with his back to me, shoulders tight with tension, talking to Wiz about something that required a lot of hand gestures.

I could have gone to the other end of the bar. Could have waited until he moved. Could have done a dozen things that didn't involve deliberately brushing against him as I reached for napkins.

"Oops, sorry," I said innocently, the words pitched just for him. "Didn't see you there."

His whole body went rigid. I was close enough to hear his sharp intake of breath, to feel the heat coming off him in waves. His knuckles went white where he gripped his beer bottle.

"Careful, little girl." The words were barely audible, a growl meant just for me.

"Of what?" I pressed closer than necessary, ostensibly reaching for more napkins. My breast brushed his arm, and I felt rather than heard his low groan. "The boat's not even moving yet."

"It's not the boat I'm worried about," he muttered.

Wiz cleared his throat loudly. "Lena. Didn't see you there."

I straightened, stepping back with my handful of napkins like I hadn't just been torturing Tyson with proximity. "Hey, Wiz. Great party."

"Mmm." His eyes tracked between us, too knowing for comfort. "Better get back to the bride. Think they're starting another game."

A dismissal wrapped in politeness. I took it, flashing them both a bright smile that probably fooled nobody. As I walked away, I added a little extra sway to my hips. The sound Tysonmade—part growl, part groan—was worth whatever punishment waited for me later.

"You're evil," he texted before I even made it back to the main deck.

"You love it," I typed back, then added a kiss emoji just to be a brat.

Three dots appeared and disappeared several times before he finally sent: "Really looking forward to discussing this behavior later."

I shivered despite the warm evening air and rejoined the bridal party, trying to pretend my whole body wasn't humming with anticipation.

The party was just getting started, and I was already in trouble.

By the third drink, my careful juice box calculations were as abandoned as my impulse control. The champagne bubbles fizzed through my bloodstream like tiny enablers, whispering that a little teasing never hurt anyone. My rational brain—the one that remembered Duke's knowing looks and Tyson's warnings—had gone suspiciously quiet.

"Pin the veil on the bride!" Sarah announced, producing a life-sized cardboard Mandy that someone had created with terrifying artistic dedication. "Who's first?"

The game was ridiculous. Blindfolded, mostly drunk bridesmaids stumbling around trying to pin a paper veil on cardboard Mandy's head while everyone shouted contradicting directions. I was bent over, collecting dropped pins that had scattered across the deck, when I felt it—that familiar electric awareness that meant Tyson was watching.

I straightened slowly, making sure the movement showed every line of the dress, every curve it clung to. A glance over my shoulder confirmed what I already knew. He stood at the upperdeck railing, beer bottle forgotten in his hand, eyes locked on me with an intensity that made my skin burn.

His knuckles were white where he gripped the bottle. Good.

"Your turn, Lena!" someone called, and I let myself be blindfolded, spinning in circles until I was genuinely dizzy. The game dissolved into chaos and laughter, but all I could think about was the weight of his stare, the promise of consequences later.

"Never Have I Ever!" Mandy declared once we'd exhausted the veil game. We arranged ourselves in a circle on the deck, drinks refreshed, inhibitions thoroughly drowned. "Bridal edition!"

The first few were tame. Never have I ever gone skinny dipping. Never have I ever been arrested. Standard party fare that had half of us drinking and sharing stories. Then the questions got interesting.