Catching the Player (A Hamilton Family 3)

“Doubtful,” Kass supplied, side-eyeing him.

It wasn’t until he replayed his words that he realized why. He’d called her his girl. Shiiiiit. “I mean, no one likes to lose, right?”

“Right,” she said softly.

The table fell silent, and all Wyatt could think about was how he’d called Kassidy his girl.

Thing was, he wasn’t panicking over it. If anything, it was…right.

What. The. Fuck?

“Dessert, anyone?” Waverly asked.

“Absolutely,” Kassidy said.

At the same time, Wyatt replied, “No.”

They glanced at one another.

“No?” Kassidy asked, looking at him like he’d stabbed a baby. “But I love dessert.”

He choked on a laugh. “Well, then, we’ll have it.”

“Honestly. Who says no to dessert?” She shook her head, letting out a disappointed sigh as she set her wineglass down. “I’m going to have to rethink this whole friendship thing we have going on. I don’t think I can make this work.”

Waverly laughed. “I think you do, too. I’ll have you know,” he leaned across the table, smirking. “I never say no to dessert.”

Even at sixty, Waverly was a successful, wealthy, witty, attractive man. And the way Kassidy smiled at him…yeah. It kind of made him want to punch the man right in his older, successful, attractive face. He growled under his breath.

The waiter came up. “Would anyone care for dessert?”

“Yes.” Wyatt spoke before anyone else could. “We would like a sampling of everything brought to the table. You can do that, right, Jerry?”

The waiter beamed. “Yes, Mr. Hamilton, sir. We can certainly do that for you.”

He hurried off.

Wyatt grinned. “Excellent.”

Waverly whistled through his teeth.

Turning back to Kassidy, he winked, slid his thumb higher up her thigh, and said, “Still rethinking that friendship?”

“Nope. We’re cool.” She stood up, smoothing the skirt of her dress. Her hand trembled slightly, and her cheeks were rosy. “If you gentlemen will excuse me for a moment?”

Both men stood.

Waverly bowed. “Of course.”

“We won’t eat it without you,” Wyatt promised.

“Of course you won’t.” She winked at him like he’d done to her seconds before. “It’s a long walk home, after all.”

She’d insisted on driving. He’d grudgingly allowed her. Part of him was convinced she’d insisted on driving so she would stay sober and keep her guard up. He didn’t blame her. She was messing with his head, so maybe he was messing with hers, too.

Hell, he’d called her his girl.

Clearly, he needed his wits about him.