Page 52 of You, with a View

Theo’s seated at the bar with his hand curled around a glass. He’s watching a baseball game, eyes glazed with boredom. He looks down at his phone, illuminating the screen with his knuckle. Whatever he finds there—or doesn’t—makes his mouth pinch with displeasure. His attention drifts back to the television.

Until it snags on my approach.

Surprise flashes across his face, his eyebrows pulling up. But he recovers quickly, and watching the awareness sink into his gaze sends white-hot power surging through my veins.

There’s a confidence in the way his eyes drop down my body, a confession that he’d know exactly what to do with me. That I’d like it; he’d make sure of it. He traces the shape of my hips from twenty feet away. My breasts and neck from ten. By the time I’m standing next to him, his gaze is bouncing up from my mouth.

It pulls up under his attention. “Hello.”

“Hello,” he echoes in a smoky voice. “Couldn’t manage a text back?”

“Figured it’d be redundant, since I made it down here so quickly.” I slide into a seat, tilting my head to appraise him. The sweep of my hair over my bare shoulder pulls goosebumps onto my skin. “Unless you were checking your phone waiting for my response or something.”

He grins, caught. “Such a little stalker, Shep.”

I give him a cheeky wink. “What’re you having?”

“Bourbon.” His dimple pops as his mouth pouts into a smirk. “Two fingers.”

I lift my hand to get the bartender’s attention. “I don’t respect a man who can’t handle three.”

Theo chokes on a laugh as the bartender approaches. If this were a tennis match, the point would go to me.

I nod toward Theo’s glass. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

He leans in as the bartender moves away, his shoulder grazing mine, breath brushing my ear. “Two fingers are enough to satisfy you tonight, huh?”

A quiet chuckle follows the shiver I fail to stave off. I dip my chin, leveling him with a look. “We’re supposed to behave, Spencer. Don’t get all riled up.”

He grins. “Who’s riled?”

Our noses are practically touching. He has the faintest scar just above the severe stroke of his right eyebrow.

A glass slides into my periphery—my drink. I pull it toward me.

Theo mirrors me, pressing his glass to mine with a soft clink. “Cheers, Shepard.”

“What are we cheersing to?”

“Looking, I guess.”

I can’t help my laugh. “To looking.”

With our eyes locked, he takes a slow sip. I follow, imagining the bourbon on my tongue is from him.

Theo breaks the connection first, setting his glass down and swiping his tongue along his bottom lip. I shove my hand under my thigh so I won’t run my thumb over his mouth to feel the dampness there.

“Have you recovered from the excitement of today’s letter?” he asks.

My chest warms at the question. Maybe he’s simply moving us into neutral territory, but at the very least he cares enough to want to hear my answer. “Mostly. Is this boring for you, since you know their story?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t really. Like I said, Kathleen wasn’t a secret, but my granddad didn’t go around dropping tons of details.” His gaze moves up to the TV. “I like learning about it like this. On the road, I mean, with him.”

His eyes move to me. He doesn’t say it out loud, but I can read it on his face anyway:with you.

Another little pebble. My heart shimmies nervously. “When you say she wasn’t a secret, what do you mean?”

“She was a point of contention between Granddad and my biological grandma, apparently. He met her right after he graduated.” One side of his mouth quirks up. “It was supposed to be a one-night thing, but she got pregnant.”

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