Page 49 of Love Me Tomorrow

“You’re not denying that you danced with her,” Lizzie drawls, eyeing me speculatively. “Interesting.”

I take a long pull of the soda. “You didn’t swing by today to tell me your butterfly tat achievement, did you?”

She doesn’t look even the least bit guilty. “I needed a subtle opening. Thought I’d bring it back to where it all began, when Gage inked a butterfly on my butt.”

“Lizzie,” I say slowly, “you’re about as subtle as that pregnant belly of yours. Do you even know how to be discreet?”

“I know how to spell it.” She winks at me. “That has to count for something.”

Letting out a groan, I thumb the metal tab and down the Sprite. “I need this to be stronger.”

“It’s noon and we both know you don’t handle day drinking well.” Before I can get a comeback in, she plows onward like a bull in a China shop. “Did you kiss her?” she asks point-blank, like she’s pulled the trigger on one of her husband’s firearms.

Boom.

Right through the heart.

I’m still struggling for an answer when she muses, “I’m guessing that’s a no.”

I sit up a little straighter. “I didn’t say anything at all.”

“You didn’t need to—your face did all the work for you.” Soda can balanced on her belly, she watches me steadily. Then, as though she’s actually angling to do me in, she announces, “I think you should have sex with her.”

Christ.

A startled cough lodges itself in my throat, and I’m forced to stare up at the ceiling to keep from choking. My sister-in-law may know a lot of what went down with me and Savannah, but she doesn’t know everything. “Lizzie, I’m not goin’ to force her to want me.”

If nothing else, it’s a matter of pride at this point.

Iput myself out there.

Iflew to California.

Sometimes you have to know when to call it quits and move the hell on.

And I’m doing just that before I end up in the same angry place I was back in November when I left thePut A Ring On Itmansion. Savannah and I, we’ve reached a truce of sorts. Why screw that up with messy emotions—or worse, getting naked? Nothing complicates an already complicated relationship faster than a one-night stand.

“You’re not forcing her to feel anything,” Lizzie says, struggling to her feet, phone clasped in her hand. She waddles over to my sofa, flops down beside me, and thrusts her cell in my direction. “The two of you hit the front page ofThe New Orleans Daily, Owen.”

Taking the phone from her, I tap on the screen to prompt the backlight.

“Fuck me,” I manage, under my breath, as I zoom in on the frame. Whoever captured this photo wasn’t messing around. The crowd surrounding us is blurred intentionally. Even the lower halves of our bodies aren’t as distinctively detailed as our faces. But there’s no hiding the fact that it’s me dipping Savannah or that it’s Savannah who is clutching my biceps, not because she’s worried that I’ll drop her, but because she’s totally happy to be where she is.

Caught in profile, her smile is wide, contagious.

In contrast, I’m looking down at her like I’ve captured my next meal and have no plans on letting her escape.

You’re not forcing her to feel anything.

Looking at this picture, I can almost believe that.

Lizzie nudges my shoulder with hers. “Make it impossible for her to walk away from you.”

I slide my thumb down to scroll to the top of the page to read the headline:New Orleans Heiress and Reality TV Star Spotted in the Arms of Local Tattoo Parlor Owner.In the grand scheme of things, the headline couldbe worse. At least they didn’t bring up my stint onPut A Ring On It.

Not that that’s saying much.

“You’re doling out advice like it wasn’t me talking you off the ledge just last year.”

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