Page 4 of Tips and Trysts

“You weren’t going to hurt my wife, were you, Tyler? You wouldn’t do something so unbelievably reckless—not a smart guy like you. You know if anyone were to come near her without my permission, he would regret it for a long, long time. You know I would make him pay a thousand times over. You know I would viscerally destroy him, right?”

Tyler shakes his head.

Barely moving, Everett digs into his pocket, takes out his phone, and snaps a picture of Tyler. He glances at his screen.“Hey, this is a good picture of you. Super clear and identifiable. Do you want me to text it to you?”

Surprised, Tyler blinks. “No,” he finally stammers. “I’m good.” His eyes drift to me, pleading briefly before he realizes—oh yes—my fucks are still out of stock.

“Great. Well, take it easy.” Everett raises his chin.

I’m dumfounded, but Everett’s expression doesn’t betray his emotions: I can’t read a damn thing on his face.

Without a word, he leads me to the dancefloor with his arm still wrapped around me.

Once we’re in the fray, he keeps one hand on the nape of my neck and the other on the small of my back. We haven’t been this close to each other since the night we met.

That night, like tonight, the club was dark, the music was pounding, and he held my hand far too long for a handshake. Later that night, he insulted me to my core—and I poured a gin and tonic over his head.

After a beat, he nods and says, “He’s gone,” before he separates from me.

Now, I can see Everett more clearly. The green bar lights illuminate the angles of his face, making him look like a neoclassical sculpture of an elemental god. And like a god, he’s handsome—and pissed off. “You’re getting a restraining order.”

“You’re a psychopath,” I snap. “What the hell was all that?”

“I’ma psychopath? You’re alone on a Saturday night, drinking in what simply has to be the smallestcrop top in the District, and you’re goading dangerous men.”

“Leave my crop top out of this,” I warn. “If I have to waste my time being stalked, I may as well look hot while I do it.”

Everett inhales so forcefully through his nostrils that I hear it. “He probably had a knife in his pocket.”

“Spare me the histrionics. He was probably just happy to see me.” I wave my hand. “I’m a woman, Everett. I’m vigilant. I knew he wasn’t going to hurt me. I was fine. Irritated, yes, but fine.”

Everett’s shoulders dip minutely. He releases another slow exhale through his nostrils, the kind that would propel smoke if he were a dragon. He steps forward. “How often does this happen? How often dofansapproach you like this?”

He’s not going to like my answer, which is precisely why I gleefully respond, “A few times a month.”

Sure enough, Everett’s broad shoulders tighten once again and he straightens his spine, giving himself the height to stare down his nose at me. “For fuck’s sake,” he grits. “A few times a month?”

“I know you don’t actually care.”

“I don’t,” he snaps with far too much force for someone who doesn’t care. He notices it too. He raises his hand, hovering it in the air between us and centering himself before he says, “You’re getting a restraining order.”

“You have no say in anything I do.”

Everett’s eyes continue to bore into me. I stare back, waiting for something to dissect—an expression or a shift in his movements—but the guy is good.

If I want to dissect him, I’ll have to rattle him.

I take a step closer, keeping eye contact. “Let me clarify, Everett. Itolerateyou. I grin and bear it because I love my best friend. I waited my entire life to find someone like Valeria Fuentes, and if enduring your insufferable presence will allow her to marry your best friend, I’ll do it because I would doanythingfor someone I love.”

He bows to put himself level with me. “Letmeclarify,” he counters, speaking slowly, letting the syllables drag. “The way you love Valeria is child’s play compared to how much I love Lander Dawson. I would raze cities to the ground and salt theearth for him. I would crawl over broken glass for him. I would readily give him any of my organs if he needed one to live.”

“Hopefully he takes your heart,” I cut in, unimpressed.

Everett’s brow lifts. “Clearly, we have one thing in common: We’ll sacrifice for the people we love. So yes, I also tolerate you. I grin and I bear it, and I will continue to grin and bear it—”

“And stalk me on the streets of Dupont, apparently—”

“Tonight was my last night out,” he blurts out, and it’s the first time I’ve ever heard Everett raise his voice—albeit barely. “My campaign begins next week, and this was my last chance to go out and drink like a civilian. Lo and behold, there you were, talking to some degenerate.”

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