Page 48 of Most Likely to Deny Love (Yearbook #2)

MIA

“ S o let me get this straight.” Maya leaned across the sticky table at Lacey’s Bar & Grill, her green eyes gleaming in the dim bar lighting. “You had sex against a window. In Paris. With the Eiffel Tower as your backdrop.”

I felt my cheeks flush hot as I took another gulp of wine. “I never said that.”

“You heavily implied it,” Poppy countered, her pink hair catching the neon bar sign’s glow as she pushed the nachos toward me. “Eat something before you fall over.”

“I’m not drunk,” I protested, even as I stuffed a cheese-laden chip into my mouth. “I’m just... relaxed.”

“Relaxed enough to finally tell us the Paris details,” Emily sing songed, twirling her wine glass between her fingers. “After holding out on me all week.”

“I didn’t hold out. I told you it was amazing.”

“Amazing is what people say about a good sandwich,” Sammy said, reaching for her margarita. “You went to Paris with the hottest man in three counties and came back with a fake engagement ring that probably cost more than my car. We want details, Harris.”

The sapphire on my finger caught the light as I reached for another nacho. I hadn’t meant to wear it tonight, but after work I’d transferred it from the chain around my neck to my finger without thinking. A habit I wasn’t ready to examine too closely.

“The hotel was ridiculous,” I admitted, the wine loosening my tongue. “Floor-to-ceiling windows. Bathtub big enough for two. And the view...” I closed my eyes, remembering waking up that first morning, with Jack’s arms around me and Paris spread out beneath us.

“Forget the hotel,” Maya urged. “What about the man?”

I bit my lip, trying to find words that wouldn’t sound like I was completely smitten. “He was... attentive.”

A chorus of groans rose from the table.

“Attentive,” Emily repeated, rolling her eyes dramatically. “That’s like describing Niagara Falls as ‘damp.’”

“Fine.” I leaned in, lowering my voice conspiratorially. “He was insatiable. Demanding. Made me come so hard I nearly blacked out. Happy now?”

Poppy choked on her drink while Sammy slow-clapped. Maya just stared at me with an expression somewhere between shock and admiration.

“Jesus,” Maya breathed. “Where can I get one of those?”

“Sorry, there’s only one Jack Sullivan, and he’s currently fake-engaged to me.” I took another sip of wine, savoring the rich flavor and the pleasant buzz humming through my veins. “For Thanksgiving with his family in Colorado.”

“So basically you’re living a Netflix Christmas movie,” Poppy pointed out. “Fake engagement that turns real over a holiday weekend with the family?”

“Except it’s not turning real,” I corrected her, ignoring the little pang in my chest. “It’s just helping him out with some family drama.”

“Right,” Emily deadpanned. “Because men who aren’t invested regularly drop five figures on sapphire rings and fuck their fake fiancées against Parisian windows.”

“The ring is just a prop,” I insisted. “And the sex was... recreational.” And hadn’t happened since we’d returned. I guess what happened in Paris really did stay in Paris. God fucking dammit.

“Recreational,” Sammy repeated, shaking her head. “Girl, you are so far in denial you’re practically in Egypt.”

I opened my mouth to… well, to deny what she said, but Maya interrupted. Bless her.

“Speaking of your fake fiancé, isn’t it a little sad that we’re having girls’ night and he’s probably home alone with his dog?”

“Jack doesn’t do bars,” I said automatically. “He’s more of a ‘single malt scotch in silence’ kind of guy.”

“How do you know?” Poppy challenged. “Have you ever asked him?”

“Well, no, but?—”

“Text him,” Emily interrupted, her eyes sparkling with the particular brand of chaos she specialized in. “Invite him to join us.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “No way.”

“Why not?” Maya pressed. “Afraid we’ll embarrass you in front of your fake fiancé?”

“Terrified,” I confirmed. “Plus, he’s probably busy.”

“On a Friday night?” Sammy arched a brow. “Doing what? Brooding professionally?”

“He could be catching up on work,” I offered, but even as I said it, I pictured Jack in his immaculate house, maybe with a glass of whiskey, scrolling through emails while Pickles dozed at his feet. The image made something twist in my chest.

“Text him,” Emily repeated, reaching for my phone. “Or I will.”

I snatched my phone away, holding it to my chest. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.” Her expression was pure challenge. “I still have his number from that time I had to reschedule your meeting.”

We stared each other down for a long moment before I caved, unlocking my phone with a sigh. “Fine. But when he says no, you all have to buy the next round.”

The girls exchanged victorious glances as I pulled up Jack’s contact. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard, suddenly unsure what to say. How did one casually invite their boss/fake fiancé/occasional lover to a girls’ night at a dive bar?

“Just be direct,” Maya advised, reading my hesitation. “Men don’t do subtext.”

At Lacey’s with the girls. They’ve plied me with wine and forced me to tell Paris stories. You should probably come rescue me before I reveal state secrets.

I hit send before I could overthink it, then placed my phone face down on the table. “There. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” Emily grinned, raising her glass in a toast. “To our hot, broody boss, who’s about to get ambushed by his girlfriend’s best friends.”

“Fake fiancée,” I corrected automatically.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, honey.” Poppy patted my hand sympathetically.

My phone buzzed against the table, making me jump. Four pairs of eyes locked onto it like predators spotting prey.

“Read it,” Sammy urged, practically vibrating with excitement.

I flipped the phone over, my pulse quickening embarrassingly as I saw Jack’s name on the screen.

Should I be concerned about national security? On my way. Need anything?

I stared at the message, reading it twice to make sure I hadn’t hallucinated it. “He’s coming,” I said, unable to keep the surprise from my voice.

“Called it,” Emily crowed, signaling the waitress. “We’ll need another chair.”

“And what does Mr. Tall, Dark and Broody drink?” Poppy asked, already scanning the beer list.

“Scotch, neat,” I replied without thinking. “Preferably something old and expensive that Lacey’s definitely doesn’t have.”

“Five bucks says he orders whatever they do have without complaining,” Maya wagered. “Rich people are weird like that. Either super picky or weirdly humble.”

“No bet,” Sammy declined. “Men like him could order tap water and somehow make it look like they’re doing the bar a favor.”

I was saved from responding by the arrival of another round of drinks. As the waitress set down our glasses, my phone buzzed again.

Give me twenty minutes. What kind of wine are you drinking?

“He wants to know what wine we’re having,” I reported, feeling oddly flustered.

“Tell him we’ve moved on to tequila,” Emily suggested with a mischievous grin.

“Absolutely not,” I typed a quick response, describing the mediocre house red that Lacey’s served by the gallon.

The girls continued their Paris interrogation, somehow extracting increasingly embarrassing details as the wine continued to flow. I was in the middle of describing the little boulangerie Jack had taken me to when the door to the bar swung open.

The Friday night crowd at Lacey’s was typical for our small town with a mix of locals unwinding after work, a few younger couples on dates, and the usual suspects who’d been occupying the same barstools since the place opened decades ago.

Conversations flowed, country music played from the jukebox, and the smell of beer and fried food lingered in the air.

And then there was Jack.

He paused just inside the entrance, scanning the room with that intense focus that always made me feel hot. Even in dark jeans and a henley pushed up to his elbows, he looked like he’d stepped off a magazine cover. Several heads turned as he spotted our table and began making his way over.

“Holy mother of God,” Maya muttered beside me.

“Exactly,” Emily whispered back.

“Be cool,” I hissed, though my own heart was doing a ridiculous little flutter that had nothing to do with the wine.

Jack reached our table, his eyes finding mine immediately. “Ladies,” he greeted, that hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I understand there’s a security situation that requires my attention.”

“Definitely,” Emily confirmed solemnly. “Mia was just about to reveal your secret Batman identity to the entire bar.”

“Glad I made it in time, then.” Jack’s hand settled briefly on my shoulder, a casual touch that nonetheless sent heat spiraling through me. “Thanks for the invitation.”

“Please,” Poppy gestured to the empty chair a server had brought over. “We were just discussing Paris.”

“Were you now?” The flash of heat in his eyes made me blush. Suddenly, I wasn’t sure inviting him had been such a good idea after all.