Page 34 of Due Diligence

It took me a moment to realize I was biting my lower lip. When I came to my senses, I quickly released it and respired out—wondering when it got so freaking hot in here.

“That’s quite a show,” Craig muttered, glancing back at me once before he looked at Marcus again. “Can’t remember the last time I danced like that.”

“We can dance if you want,” I offered. Suddenly, that seemed like the most brilliant idea I’d had all night. Suddenly, all I wanted was Craig to put his hands all over me—to touch me shamelessly in public with no concern whatsoever for who was watching us.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” he admitted, oblivious to the sound of my heart breaking at his response.

I took one last look at Marcus, who was leaning down and whispering into his dance partner’s ear. She was laughing and nodding, one hand curled around his bicep. I couldn’t help but wonder what he was saying to her—if he was inviting her back to his place or asking her to go to another bar with him.

And slowly, with painstaking clarity, I realized my suspicions were wrong: Marcus obviously didn’t come here for me. His appearance was just another bizarre New York coincidence, and I had the unfortunate privilege of witnessing it.

I didn’t know why that disappointed me so much.

Forcing myself to tear my eyes away from Marcus, I turned back towards the bar. Craig did the same and motioned for the bartender to get us another round.

That was perfect. That was exactly what I wanted: more liquor to help make this night just a little fuzzier. If I screwed these guys sober, the details stayed too clean. Then I had to replay them. No, I wanted it hazy. I wanted it blurry. I wanted just a couple moments of it to stay just out of reach.

When our second round of shots arrived, Craig and I tapped them together and shot them back. Whiskey burned its way down my throat, stinging as it went. I chased it with more whiskey and coke. I tried not to grimace, but the taste was cheap and harsh. Breathing out, I focused on the warmth rising in my stomach and the gradual onset of drunkenness.

With his eyes fixed shamelessly on my chest, Craig leaned close to me. “How are you feeling?”

“So good.”

“Yeah?”

I was nodding, sinking into delicious inebriation. “You?”

“Good. I’m thinking we take another shot and then make our next move. What do you think?”

“I have a better idea,” I countered silkily, returning my hand to Craig’s knee. His skin was hot below my hand, tensing as I touched him.

He wet his lips again as he leaned even closer to me, leaving only a couple of inches between our noses. I smelled whiskey and cigarettes clearly now, promising me the kind of night I came here for. His own hand came to rest on my thigh, stroking my bare skin. The touch made me shiver, sending waves of alert to the rest of my body:We’re screwing tonight. Stand by.

His touch was tentative though, almost not enough. I wanted his full hands on me—palms and fingertips—maybe even fingernails. I wanted him to explore me from one end to theother—to really stake his claim over me. I wanted his hands to be possessive and unyielding. Bold. Filthy.

Hell, I wanted him to touch me like Marcus was touching that woman on the dancefloor.

The thought entered my psyche and it clearly had no intention of leaving. It made itself at home, opening up my fridge and eating my leftovers without asking. It was a harsh reminder of the pitfalls of my infallible, Funes-memory: I couldn’t just ignore what I saw—even if it was the inexplicably sexy sight of my enemy touching another woman.

I rested my hand on Craig’s, flattening it against my thigh.More. I need more.“Actually, why don’t we skip all that…and you take me back to your place?”

The elation practically radiated off him. Craig lifted both eyebrows and that was all the response I needed to know this was going to go down. “Let me close my tab.”

He turned to the bartender, waiting for a moment to grab his attention. I took the opportunity to text a message to Bethany, letting her know I wouldn’t be coming home until the early hours of the morning.

Once his tab was closed, Craig turned back to face me and he wiggled both eyebrows again. “Do you want to call us a ride, or do you want to walk?” he asked.

I forced a laugh, mostly because I didn’t know what else to do with my face now that this guy had all but admitted we were walking back to his apartment orIwas ponying up for the Uber—and those were the only two options.

God, I knew how to pick them.

And the sad thing was, I was about to volunteer to pay for the Uber when someone said, “Hey.”

I froze, stopping what I was doing when I heard that voice. It collided into me. It made my heart flip upside down. I knew that voice. I spent all day with that voice—that insufferable,condescending, vindictive voice. I couldn’t believe how happy I was—for once—to hear that voice.

He came here for me. And I was going to haveso much funwith him.

Chapter 12: Marcus

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