Page 90 of Tempting Rowan (Trace + Olivia 3)

Olivia’s eyes widened and her cheeks turned even redder than they had been. Poor girl.

“And that,” Trent said without turning around, “is Avery.”

The woman appeared at our table, draped over a tall brawny guy. She had pretty red hair, styled in waves, and her red dress was beautiful but skin tight. I was surprised her boobs didn’t fall out. The man beside her—Luca, I assumed—was tall with wide shoulders and shaggy dirty blonde hair that fell over his forehead. A black fedora was perched on top of his head.

“How was the honeymoon?” Olivia asked as the couple pulled up two chairs to the already crowded table. “I didn’t realize you were getting back today.”

“It was beautiful!” Avery exclaimed loud enough that people at other tables heard her. “I didn’t want to come home! It was so nice to be at the beach, and now we’re back home to this crappy snow,” she frowned. Noticing me, she leaned over the table and raised a brow, “Who the hell are you?”

Olivia let out a sigh. “Avery,” she muttered, “manners.”

“It’s fine,” I smiled at Olivia. “I’m Rowan. Who the hell are you?” I mimicked her words and tone.

She smiled. “I’m Avery, this one’s wife, so don’t get any ideas,” she grasped Luca’s shoulder in one hand, and let the other venture territorially over his crotch area. Ew.

Luca, who sat beside me, gave me an apologetic smile but didn’t speak.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” I assured her.

“Good. We can be friends then,” she flipped her hair so that it cascaded over her chest, and went back to talking to Olivia.

“Sorry about her,” Trent murmured. “That’s just how she is. Don’t take it personally.”

“I didn’t.”

“This is Luca,” Trent pointed to the man beside me, who I’d already figured out the identity of. “He doesn’t talk much, so don’t expect him to introduce himself. I think I’ve only heard the guy speak a total of twenty words since he and Trace became friends.”

“Uh…” That was strange and I had no comment. I scooted my chair a little closer to Trent’s and he chuckled.

They all continued to chat effortlessly, and while Trent tried to engage me in conversation I just wasn’t feeling it.

I felt so disconnected and out of plac

e.

“Where’s the bathroom?” I asked Trent, interrupting whatever he had been saying.

He gave me directions and I muttered, “Thanks,” as I pushed my chair away from the table.

I walked briskly out of the ballroom and down the hall.

Luckily, the bathroom he’d given me directions to was empty.

I closed the door behind me and started counting.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

The counting didn’t calm me the way it normally did.

So, I counted again and again and again, until I thought I might go crazy.

I paced the length of the bathroom, muttering under my breath.

Finally, I stopped, grasping the pedestal sink in my hands.

I glared at my reflection.

I didn’t recognize the girl I saw there.

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