Walk of Shame (Love Unexpectedly 4)

Right now I’d be hard-pressed to say which style I like better.

Not that it matters. I meet his eyes, and shocker of all shockers, he’s glaring at me.

Well, not really glaring. That would require emotion, and Ice Man’s got none. But if I’d been maybe holding out hope that him being semi-decent to drunk Georgie yesterday morning would be a step forward…nope.

“George, you’ll never guess who I ran into in your elevator lobby,” Marley gushes, patting Andrew’s arm. “This is Andrew Mulroney. We met him briefly last week when he was at dinner with Liv?”

Oh, that? You mean that time when the jerk pretended he didn’t even know me?

I remember I never got revenge for that, and decide it’s time for payback.

I rearrange my features in a polite, slightly embarrassed expression, as though I’ve just been caught in the awkward social faux pas of having to be reintroduced to someone I’ve already met.

“Of course,” I say with false sincerity. “Mr. Mulroney, nice to see you again.”

As I extend my hand, I see something unexpected flicker across Andrew’s face. I can’t tell what exactly. It’s not the indifference I’m expecting, but not quite annoyance either.

He hesitates just a fraction of a second, setting his gym bag aside before shifting his briefcase from his right hand to his left and shaking mine.

Andrew doesn’t meet my eyes, and it bothers me, because he doesn’t seem to be ignoring me so much as hiding something.

I have this weird sense that I’ve hurt his feelings with my impersonal greeting.

Which is blatantly unfair. He’s the very definition of impersonal.

But I feel a sting of regret all the same.

Making everything way worse, Brody appears by my side, his hand slipping around my waist as though it has a right to be there, and he too extends a hand to Andrew. “Hey, man. Brody Nash. Nice to meet you.”

Andrew’s gaze shifts briefly to Brody’s hand on my waist, but he still refuses to meet my eyes as he shakes Brody’s hand.

“So, you’re staying, obviously,” Marley says to Andrew in the bossy, self-assured tone that’s earned her the reputation as the mom of our group.

“No, thank you,” Andrew says a little gruffly.

“Unless you have other plans, I’m going to have to insist,” Marley says, pressing against his arm. “Although I should warn you, if you tell me you have a date, I’m going to be very disappointed.”

My stomach twists at Marley’s flirting, and I feel a sudden stab of regret that I haven’t told her about Andrew’s and my…thing.

&nb

sp; Not that we’re involved, and not that he’s off-limits. So what do I care if my best friend has terrible taste in men and can’t tell that Andrew Mulroney is…

I look up, see him watching me. “I don’t want to impose,” he says.

“Oh, poo, you’re not,” Marley says, waving her hand. “Right, Georgie?”

“Of course not,” I hear myself say. “There’s plenty of food, wine, booze, whatever you want.”

I would have said it to anybody—our friend circle is an open, chatty group. We’re always welcoming strangers, our group ever expanding. But I’m not sure it’s autopilot manners that have me urging Andrew to stay so much as the unexpectedly vulnerable look on his face.

“All right, then,” he says with a slightly stiff nod. “I’ll just run up to my place, drop my stuff off.”

Marley slides her hand out of his arm to let him go. “Okay, but hurry back.”

She walks backward away from him, blowing him a playful kiss before turning to fetch her drink.

Brody’s fingers are firm on my waist, pulling me back toward my friends, but before I can think better of it, I slip away, following after Andrew’s retreating back.