Page 16 of Nothing Left to Lose

Was he . . . ?

Was that sexual? Was he flirting with me?

Why was it so hot?

I opened my mouth like the desperate idiot I was and he slid the fork between my lips.

A few people laughed and I glanced over to see the closest tables watching us. Watching our every move, apparently. Like fucking weirdos.

Jesus H. Christ on a cracker.

“Fine,” I mumbled to Miller. “We can practice.”

He smiled as he chewed, pretending his meal was the most interesting part of this whole conversation. “How’s your dinner?” he asked, blasé as hell.

“You mean my anticipation and regret salad? It pairs so nicely with my glass of what the actual fuck,” I said, taking my said glass and downing it.

Miller laughed so loud that people looked at us. I mean, the people who weren’t already watching us. But then he did that laugh and lean-into-me thing he hadn’t done in months...

God, I’d missed him.

I’d missed our closeness and the touchy-feely way we used to be that, for some reason, in the last few months, he’d shied away from...

I put my drink down and put my arm around his shoulders instead, keeping him close.

“Anticipation and regret salad, huh?” he repeated as he stabbed some lettuce.

“Sorry,” I tried.

“Oh, don’t be. The regret’s a given, but the anticipation is... unexpected.” His eyes met mine then, and my heart damned near stopped.

“Unexpected,” I squeaked stupidly, because he had no clue how unexpected this whole mess was.

Just then, a waiter appeared with a tray. “More champagne?”

“Yes, please,” we both said at the same time.

“Keep them coming,” Miller added. “We’re gonna need them.”

What was that supposed to mean?

“What was that supposed to mean?”

Miller put a glass of champagne in my hand. “To regret and anticipation,” he said, raising one eyebrow at me. “And to a whole lotta what the actual fuck.” Then he clinked our glasses and drank.

We lasted as long as waspolite, then got the hell out of there and made our way through the anonymity of the slots and the crowds to the bar.

It’d been a busy day. Early start, the flight in, the stress of it all, two public appearances, a nap, and more alcohol than was probably wise.

“Two vodkas and soda,” I said to the barman, throwing some cash on the bar.

“Was the champagne we drank today not enough?” Miller asked.

“No, it was not,” I replied.

“So, is this drink to regret, anticipation, or what the fuck?”

The barman put two tumblers on the counter and I collected one, holding it up for Miller to cheers me. “I’m still going with all three.”

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