Page 11 of The Plus One Contract

I tap my glass gently against his. “Mmhmm.”

“Good to know.” The way he says it sends a fresh shiver straight down my spine.

He's measuring me again, recalculating. It makes my stomach tighten because I feel the exact moment the air shifts from playful flirtation to something else.

“So,” he says, drawing the word out slowly, letting it linger between us, “tell me then.”

“Tell you what?”

“Why you're here. Why me?”

I hesitate. I should lie. But the way he's watching me makes me want to tell the truth.

So I do.

I exhale softly, waiting for my nerves to steady, but they stubbornly refuse. “I caught you looking at me.”

His smirk deepens, eyes glinting in amusement. He taps one finger against his glass before lifting it slowly to his lips, sipping, then murmurs, “I caught you looking back. I’ll ask again. Why are you really here?” He glances toward the empty space where Harper and the guys had been sitting earlier. “Didn't you have your pick of men?”

Heat flushes my cheeks, but I hold his gaze.

He's right. I had safer, easier choices tonight. Options that wouldn't make my pulse pound quite so dangerously, men who wouldn't look at me like they already owned my thoughts.

I lift my chin. “I did,” I admit quietly. “But I didn't want any of them.”

“You don't seem like the type to do something like this.”

“Like what?”

“Approach a stranger in a bar,” he says. “Flirt for sport.” I open my mouth to argue, but he smirks. “Don't get me wrong, you're good at it, but something tells me this isn't your usual Firday night.”

Damn it, he's right. Tonight feels entirely out of character.

“I'm trying something new,” I say honestly because I have a feeling this guy can see right through any of my bullshit.

“How’s that going for you?”

I bite my lip, considering my reply before letting my smile turn just a little wicked. “Well, I guess that depends.”

“On what?”

I lift my empty glass, tapping the rim against his. “On whether or not you're going to buy me another drink.”

His gaze rakes over me before he lifts a finger, signaling the bartender.

Heat coils low in my stomach.

God, this is actually working.

As he turns back to me, his knee brushes mine again, a deliberate touch that ignites sparks across my skin. My breath catches.

Tomorrow, I’ll face judgmental relatives and an ex who moved on without me. Tomorrow, I'll go back to being sensible, safe, predictable Sienna.

But tonight, none of that matters. Tonight, I get to choose.

I'm allowed one night of recklessness, right? A meaningless hook-up purely because I want it, because I deserve to feel wanted, if only for a moment.

Maybe it’s because he’s everything my mother warned me about, and I'm about to do everything she told me not to.

---