Page 32 of The Love Bandits

They walk off, and Elaine turns to me. Something flickers in her gaze. Then she swallows, and I can practically see her hardening herself. It would be fascinating if I weren’t worried about what she’s going to say next.

Studying me and finding me wanting, she says, “Why didn’t you announce yourself since you two are such good friends?”

“Jesus, you weren’t lying. You really do have trust issues.”

Hurt flickers in her eyes, surprising me and making me feel bad for half a second. Then I remind myself that she took mynecklace, with almost zero remorse. She’s the one person who can absolutely wreck everything for both Ryan and me.

“You don’t talk like any therapist I’ve ever met,” she says pointedly.

“And you don’t seem like much of a personal assistant.”

Her eyes narrow. Shit, this isn’t going well.

“I was giving them a moment alone,” I say, trying to appease her. “I know Anthony’s mother’s resistance to the engagement has been a source of stress. He asked me to help smooth things over. You heard him say that.” I cut off thefor fuck’s sake.

She tips her head up toward me, her expression defiant, and despite everything, I feel my body reacting to her. I only had a little taste of her, but I remember the needy way she ground against me, the pull of her teeth on my lip. And even though it was mostly an act, my ego wants to believe it wasn’tallan act. I want to believe she felt the bizarre electric pull between us as much as I did.

She leans in toward me, maybe to intimidate me, but all it does is light a fire under my skin. “Three weeks isn’t a very long time to know someone.”

I laugh bitterly, leaning in too. I tell myself it’s because two can play that game—not because I feel an unhinged need to be closer. “It took me less than three hours to know I wanted to stay away from you.”

“Is this what you call staying away from someone?” she asks, lifting her eyebrows. Her voice is breathy, contemptuous.

Hot.

Her lips are inches from mine.

Stand down, stand down. Ryan’s life might depend on it.

I gulp down air, then take a step back. I stop being an idiot, temporarily. “I’ll see you at dinner,Elaine. Will you be serving me lobster?”

“No,” she says with a feline smile. “But my friend Rosie will be. The one with the purple streak in her hair. She’ll make sure your food isextradelicious.”

And, because it’s obvious this conversation isn’t going anywhere good for me, I step away from her.

The seven-course dinnermight as well have been pulled from a kids’ menu at a two-star restaurant.

Most of the guests seem confused.

Anthony looks like he’s going to blow an eye vessel, but then again he’s sitting between his mother and his fiancée. He has a few friends here, but none of them have tried to intervene. One of them, a blond guy, looks noticeably amused by the whole thing.

The food looks pretty good to me, actually, and my stomach grumbles in complaint, but I’m not going to eat any of it. Because the woman with the purple streak in her hair served it to me, and when she caught me studying her, she winked.

“Not to your taste either, young man?” Mrs. Rosings says, from across the table. The “either” is because Nina hasn’t eaten anything except for a piece of parsley that came as garnish—something she did dramatically, as if hoping every eye in the room would watch her lift it to her lips.

Anthony perks up, like he thinks I’m going to solve his life for him.

Honestly, and I’m not saying this to be a dick, but this guy needs a real therapist. Maybe I’ll leave a note telling him so after I blow town with his mother’s multimillion-dollar necklace.

“The food looks great,” I tell her with a smile. “But I’m on a cleanse.”

She makes a sound that suggests she thinks as much of people who do cleanses as she does Red Lobster waitresses. “What a delight. Why don’t you tell us all about it?”

I make up a bunch of shit about resetting the limbic system with a diet of leafy greens, kale shakes, and protein powder. Half the table seems bored to tears; Elaine’s friend looks like she’s barely bothering to hold back laughter; and Anthony looks relieved that neither his fiancée nor his mother are currently talking to him. So at least I’m staying on his good side.

My eyes are on the clock over the door, ticking away the minutes before the “games.” Will Anthony flip the breakers then, or after the start of the slideshow? How much time should I give him before I resort to doing it myself?

Truthfully, I’d prefer to miss the “games”—Elaine and her friend are both probably watching me, even though I haven’t seen a glimpse of the former since our talk in the bushes. But I should try to mold my plan to Anthony’s.

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