Page 38 of The Neighbor Wager

“It might.” He takes another sip.

Well, I’m not about to let the dorky boy next door out-drink me. I bring the glass to my lips and take a tiny taste. The cocktail is good. Great, actually. The perfect mix of tart and sweet, with only the faint taste of alcohol. “The blue-eyed blonde… That was Grace Kelly?”

“Am I supposed to blush?”

“Lauren Bacall maybe?” I offer.

He doesn’t take the bait.

Of course it was Lexi. Who else would it be?

“How long have you been drawing her?” I ask.

“What does it matter to you?”

“She’s my sister,” I say.

He doesn’t reply. He takes a long sip. He swallows hard. He sighs.

I copy the gesture, but I don’t have the patience to hold a staring contest. And, really, there’s something about his dark eyes. They’re intense. The eyes of a tortured artist.

Plus, the dark hair, the strong shoulders, the tattoo peeking out from the V-neck collar of his T-shirt.

As if he’s reading my semi-dirty thoughts, he slides off his leather jacket and drapes it on the bench next to him.

Tattoos. A full sleeve on his left arm. The right arm bare. Why is that so sexy? Something about the commitment. Or the asymmetry. As if he’s too beautiful to need symmetry.

“Why were you drawing Lexi?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

“With Alice. You were dating someone else, but you were still drawing Lexi. Isn’t that as good as cheating?”

“Cheating is an action.”

“Oh, so it’s only cheating if you touch someone else?”

“Yes,” he says.

“Really?”

“Really.” He nods.

“It’s just…that’s such a stereotypical male take.”

His laugh diffuses 5 percent of the tension in the air. “That’s what surprises you?”

“Maybe it shouldn’t. Maybe your grandma has the same take.”

“I know what you’re doing,” he says.

I take a long sip. Let the mix of cranberry, citrus, and vodka dissolve my inhibitions. I don’t want to crush the poor guy, but maybe that’s what I need to do. “What am I doing?”

“Trying to distract me.”

“From?”

He sighs. “Lexi isn’t coming, is she?”

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