Page 16 of The Party Plot

“The deposit,” Laurel said, sitting up. Sparks were going off in his belly, and his fingers dug into the seat cushion. “They haven’t gotten it yet.”

“Why do you care?”

“Well, it’s just a little strange. Seems like my mom has given youcarte blanchewith her credit card. Seems like she just trusts that the money will make it to the right place. I’m only looking out for her.”

“It slipped my mind,” Casey said, an annoyed little tic appearing between his eyebrows. “I’ll pay it after I’m done wasting my time here.”

“Wasting your time? Come on, don’t you think it’s a little romantic? You and me, in a horse-drawn carriage, learning about murder and mayhem?”

“You have a weird concept of romance.” Casey looked him up and down, narrowing his eyes. “And a weird concept of keeping things discreet.”

“I don’t know.” Laurel licked his lips, feeling a little giddy. God, he had to stop flirting, he really did. But was he imagining it, or had Casey’s gaze lingered on his crotch, his thighs? “We keep running into each other. Maybe—”

“It’s a small town, like you said before.” Casey looked back out the window.

They were passing the Belmont Hotel now, and Mr. Petrowski was telling them about its resident ghost, a phantom dog that would press up against the legs of people it liked. Pretty adorable as far as hauntings went. Laurel tried again to get Casey’s attention.

“Do you like dogs, Casey?”

Casey shrugged, an irritated frown on his face. “They’re fine, I guess.”

“Wow, what an enthusiastic endorsement. Not exactly what a dog lover would say.”

“My grandmother had birds when I was a kid.”

“Birds?” Laurel hadn’t been expecting that. He sat up, curious about what else Casey might reveal.

“Parakeets. And love birds. They were—” Laurel might have been mistaken, but his face seemed to soften for a moment. Then the frown was back. “Loud. They were really loud.”

“God. I don’t know how I feel about you being a bird person.”

“Says the guy who gives off big Horse Girl Energy.” Casey crossed his arms. “And it was my grandma, not me. I just had to put up with them. Like I’m having to put up with you. Why are you so obsessed with me, anyway?”

Because it was hard not to be. Because Casey had been starring in his dreams for the last three months, had been a constant in the back of his mind. Every shock of bleach-blond hair he’d seen across the room, in clubs, in airport lounges, had made his stomach drop and his skin feel hot all over. Every time he put on a tie, he could feel it wrapped around his wrists, could close his eyes and inhale Casey’s scent, the salty, intimate scent of his skin beneath the cologne.

Laurel swallowed, feeling desperate and pathetic, feeling like a dog ghost plastering itself to Casey’s leg. “I just want to get to know you.”

“Well, I don’t.” Casey looked at him for a long moment. Outside were the footsteps of the horse, slow and deliberate. The sounds of the city waking up. Mr. Petrowski was telling another story, but all Laurel could hear was static, his heart pounding, his tongue heavy in his mouth. Casey held his gaze as he slid across the seat toward him, and then his hand was on Laurel’s thigh, his breath against Laurel’s ear, and Laurel barely kept himself from gasping. His skin was on fire, his scalp tingling and his dick stirring to life as Casey whispered, “I already know everything I want to know about you, Laurel Van Marcke. I know that you’re spoiled, and useless, and not as smart as you think you are. I know that you’re used to getting what you want. But this time, you’re not going to, because it’s run its course. I’m not interested. And when this party is over, I’m looking forward to never having to think of you again.”

“Ouch,” Laurel said, not sure why excitement was bubbling in his chest, not sure why—God—he was still hard. Somehow his hand had found its way onto Casey’s collar, and he could smell the coffee on him, feel the quickness of his breath.

“Are we clear?” Casey asked.

“Sure.” Laurel struggled out. “So clear. Crystal.” Casey’s lips were so close, and he knew how he would taste. Bitter, then sweet and familiar.

“Good,” said Casey, and moved away, going back to looking out the window.

Laurel’s ears were ringing, moths fluttering in his stomach, his thigh throbbing where Casey’s hand had been. So this was it, then. Casey wasn’t interested in playing nice; he’d said it himself. If there was no hope of being friends (or more, so much more), then there was no reason not to go scorched earth. Figure out what he was hiding once and for all. Laurel cleared his throat. He could still feel the roughness of Casey’s collar between his fingers. “I actually am very smart, you know. Despite evidence to the contrary.”

“Could you stop talking?” Casey pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Ooh, I’m not good at that. Not good at stopping in general.” He felt a smile sliding across his face.

“You’re going to have to be.”

“We’ll see,” Laurel said, tapping his fingers on the seat. “We’ll see.”

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