“Dean hates me.”
“Use reverse psychology. Tell him you hate strippers. He’ll call one to ruin your night.”
“I’ll consider that.” Her fingers brush my wrist as she brings her hands to her side. “But what if he starts stripping?”
“Not sure there’s any way to prevent that.” I scan the room for my brother, but he’s not in my eye line. “You had to know that was a risk with inviting him.”
“True.” Her eyes linger on me. There’s an affection in her gaze, but it’s not an invitation. It’s something else. “It really is good to see you happy.”
“Thanks.” I finish my last sip of bourbon. “I better find my girl.”
Her smile is soft. “Don’t let her mess it up.”
If only I had any fucking control over that.
My shoulders relax as Penny turns and walks away. It’s easier talking to her, but it still steals the warmth in the room.
I replace it with bourbon.
Leighton isn’t in the living room—her purple hair makes her easy to find. I check the hallway. The bathroom. The kitchen.
There.
She’s sitting at the dining table, dipping carrots into hummus, nodding along to whatever Penny’s best friend Kristen is saying.
Kristen’s dark eyes light up when she sees me. She leans in to whisper something to Leighton. From her posture, it’s clear it’s some gossip about me.
“There you are, baby.” I move to the dining table with confident steps. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”
Kristen’s face goes ghost white. She stutters something. Shoots Leighton an apologetic stare. “Ryan, hey. It’s been forever.” She pushes herself to her feet. Moves in for a hug.
I offer her my hand.
She shakes with a nervous laugh. “I forgot you aren’t big on touching.”
“He’s not like that with me.” Leighton pats the chair next to her. “I was worried I was going to have to save you from a boring conversation.”
“But weren’t you just talking to Penny?” Kristen clears her throat. “I mean. Um. Are you two good? You and Penny? Don’t tell her I said this, but it was awful the way she ended things.”
The world is upside down today.
Penny is admitting wrong doing.
Kristen is apologizing.
Leighton is… I don’t fucking know what.
“Thanks.” I sit next to Leighton.
She slides onto my lap. Curls her arm around my neck and rests it on my shoulders. “Doesn’t he look amazing in this?” She fingers the collar of my suit jacket. “I can’t get over it.”
“Like high school graduation.” She smiles. “But more hair.”
“Ryan had short hair?” Leighton runs her fingers through my locks. “Really?”
“Oh, yeah. A buzz cut. And the glasses—do you still wear those?”
Leighton runs her fingers along my cheek. She looks down at me. “A buzz cut?”