For 100 Days (100 1)

We’ll do it again because that’s what we both want.

His words chase through me like a lick of fire through my veins. I press my lips together and meet Tasha’s expectant gaze. “He said he wants to see me again when he gets back to New York.”

“Mm-hm. I’ll bet he does. And what about you? Do you want to see him again?”

“I don’t know. Yeah, maybe I do.” I hedge, shrugging my shoulders. “I really shouldn’t . . .”

“No, you shouldn’t. But how often does any woman do the things she should when it comes to a man she can’t resist?”

At that precise moment, Antonio swaggers up to us. “Talkin’ about me again, I see.” He flashes his wife a devilish grin and pulls her under the wing of his beefy arm. “Got this one right where I want her,” he tells me. “She never could resist me. But I mean, really. Who could—am I right?”

“You’re such an ass,” she says, laughing as she smacks his broad chest lightheartedly.

Their affection for each other is unmistakable. They don’t try to hide it. Antonio bends his head to give her a sweet kiss. I watch a private look flicker through their locked eyes, and some of the envy I felt for Tasha’s big, loving family morphs into another shade of longing.

Will I ever have this with someone? Not with Nick—I’m not

naive enough to think we’re heading for anything long term. Still, I can’t quell the pang of yearning I feel as I watch Tasha and her husband.

“Hey, Avery,” Antonio says after a moment, dragging his gaze away from his wife. “Check it out. You ready to sample one of my best brews?”

He raises the hand that’s not wrapped around Tasha and I see he’s holding an unopened bottle of homemade beer.

Tasha frowns. “Oh, for God’s sake, Tony. Don’t make her drink that—”

“Whatta ya mean? I’ve been perfecting this recipe for a month now. It’s damn good,” he says. “Go on, Avery, you be the judge. Give it a try.”

Undaunted, he thrusts the dark brown bottle out to me, then pulls an opener out of the back pocket of his jeans. Before I can decide one way or the other if I want it, he pops the cap off the bottle and nods for me to take a drink.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” I offer optimistically, lifting the bottle to my lips and tip it back.

And no, it’s not bad. It’s completely awful. The bitter tang courses sharply over my taste buds like a hop-flavored mouthful of turpentine. The second it hits my tongue, I start coughing. My throat muscles contract, but I force myself to swallow the sip of so-called beer.

“See?” Tasha says while I wheeze and cough. “She hates it, Tony.”

He looks crushed. “You don’t like it?”

My eyes are watering. My esophagus feels like scorched pavement. “It’s um . . . a bit strong.”

“Look at the poor girl. She’s about to keel over.” Tasha grabs the bottle out of my slack grasp and pushes it back into her husband’s hand. “Avery and I were talking about very important things before you rudely attempted to poison her. Go on, let us chat. And take this swill with you.”

Antonio lifts his bulky shoulders. “Okay, more beer for me.” He takes a big swig of the bottle. Evidently, he’s built up a tolerance because he doesn’t even wince as he swallows the awful stuff, then heads back over to his friends across the room.

Tasha shakes her head at me apologetically as another cough seizes my throat. “I tried to warn you. Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” I croak. “Fine.”

Now that we’re alone in our little corner of the gathering—and now that I can breathe somewhat normally again—Tasha crosses her arms over her breasts and gives me a sly look. “So, I believe you were about to tell me how a certain flower-gifting, truth-omitting, probably no-good-player managed to convince you to see him again. Aside from obvious reasons, that is—and I will concede there are many.”

“Yes, there are.” I bite my lip, but it doesn’t suppress my smile as I start listing Nick’s numerous attributes. “Gorgeous. Smart. Intriguing. Powerful. Absolutely amazing in bed.”

“You forgot rich as a Rockefeller,” Tasha adds drolly. “I mean, even I have to admit a guy like Dominic Baine is attractive enough without all of his money. What does someone do with a net worth of two-point-four billion, anyway?”

Two-point-four? I feel my throat close up again, but it has nothing to do with Antonio’s terrible beer. Could Nick actually be so wealthy? And the fact that Tasha names such a specific figure makes me tilt my head in question. “How do you know what he’s worth?”

“It was in a Forbes article I found on him.”

“You looked Nick up on the Internet?” I’m mortified. “Tasha! You didn’t.”