Love Interest(79)

“I didn’t,” I reply, laughing, as Erica slips my drink into my hands and then vanishes again. “Did you go to Alabama or Auburn?”

“Dartmouth,” she answers.

My cheeks turn as red as my skirt.

“Casey, this is Armand.”

“Casey, this is Savannah.”

My head is swimming.

Alex is wearing that first-day smile, the one that melts hearts and disarms even the most curmudgeonly. He listens, makes people feel heard. This is the opposite of Alex’s fatal flaw. It’s his best, shining trait, and honestly, it’s addictive to watch.

“Casey, this is Sonja.”

Sonja.

My brain short-circuits.

The girl Alex dated for three weeks when he was twenty-one!

She’s tiny, with curly black hair and doe eyes that give her the look of someone who should be protected at all costs, and even though I’m positive she’s shorter than me, right now she’s wearing gargantuan heels that make my pointy work flats feel like training wheels.

“Hello.” Her tone is smooth. When she leans in for a hug, heady perfume overwhelms me. I scrunch up my nose, trying to avoid a sneeze.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, then—because the two drinks I’ve already downed were heavy on the booze—add, “How do you two know each other?”

Sonja turns her gaze on Alex with a knowing glint in her eye. Lips forming into a pursed smirk, she says, “We got close over winter break junior year. Alex kept me company in New Haven while my family was abroad. I even got to meet his dad! We ran into him during Christmas Day brunch at the club.”

Green, corporeal envy slithers through me. She met his father at “the club”—the day after his birthday, which he and Sonja spent together—and I was shoved in Alex’s weird brewery closet when his dad came calling.

He smiles tightly and rubs his thumb over my waist. He hasn’t let go of me a single time since we walked in the door. Like we’re tethered. “Yes. Good times. Anyway—”

“Casey,” Sonja interrupts. “Your mug is empty. Come get another drink with me?”

She doesn’t wait for my answer, just grabs my free hand and pulls me away from Alex, whose grip tightens before it disengages. I trail her to the kitchen counter (where there is legitimately a hired bartender in a Santa costume making drinks). We place our orders, and then Sonja asks me, “Are you really with him?”

“Um.” I hope no one else is listening. “We haven’t put labels on anything.”

“Right.” Sonja nods, like I’ve reassured something for her. “I mean, he’s hot as fuck, and a great kisser”—I am dying inside—“but like, so different once you get to know him, right?”

It takes me a minute to process that she’s genuinely asking. Not purposely riling me up, not being mean-spirited at all. After studying her face, looking for some hint of jealousy or a clue she’s trying to one-up me, but finding no inkling of either, I conclude Sonja is simply trying to get to the bottom of something.

“Yeah,” I reply, smiling. “He is.”

“Totally. And then it’s like, this isn’t the person I thought I wanted to date?”

My smile drops. “Wait, what?”

But then Hostess Erica shouts, “Flip cup!” and I don’t get my answer as I’m pulled into a drinking game that should honestly be illegal when Baileys Irish Cream and peppermint schnapps are involved. I bow out after only one round, then turn to look for Alex, finding him leaning against the back of a couch talking with someone. He spots me immediately, like maybe he’d been keeping an eye out, and beckons me over. When I reach him, his arm fixes right back around my waist. Tighter this time.

Once we’re alone, I say, “Sorry I left you.”

“It’s okay.” Alex squeezes my hip. “I just know you, and I wanted you to feel good about tonight.”

A cascade of affection pours from my heart straight to my core, and all I want is to return the favor, give Alex whatever he needs to feel good right now. Suddenly I can feel all the places we’re touching, the way his fingertips have worked under my sweater to play with the skin at my waist. I can feel every hour since the last time we made love, and they are tallying up my desire all at once.

I move between his legs. “I am having fun.”

“Good. That’s good.” His hand skates up my arm, followed by goose bumps. “I suppose that means you’re not ready to leave?” He’s staring at my lips.

“Ready when you are.” I lean forward, brushing up against him, letting our bodies remember.

“Ready,” he practically groans.

He kisses me the minute we’re out the door—on my peppermint-stained lips, then my cheeks and jaw and ears. He laughs lowly and picks me up, throwing me over his shoulder fireman-style, and carries me to the elevator down the hall. By the time we’re inside it, the elevator operator has retired for the evening—which is for the best, because Alex is hard. He nudges me against the wall, hikes one of my legs up around him.

“This is what I imagine every time we’re in that goddamn office elevator,” he rumbles. “Even the first time, beautiful.”

His fingers push against my core, slipping past my underwear, feeling for himself how ready I am. He sighs softly and presses his body closer to mine.