Page 3

My stomach drops.

Nadia's smile becomes positively radiant.

Traitor.

I turn.

Wyatt is standing there.

Up close, the shirt situation is worse.

Much worse.

I have to tilt my chin to meet his eyes, which unfortunately means my gaze has to travel past his chest first, and there is absolutely no reason a polo shirt should be doing that much work.

His green eyes flick over me, slow enough that I notice.

Then his mouth curves. "You look like you just smelled something bad. Is that your happy face?"

"Oh, great. It's you." I make my voice pleasantly flat. "I was having such a nice night."

His grin widens. "Honey, you wound me."

There’s that stupid, easy charm I know so well.

The thing is, I've seen Wyatt flirt before. With waitresses. Reporters. Women at team events. A seventy-year-old season-ticket holder who pinched his cheek and told him he needed to eat more.

It's effortless for him.

Which is exactly why I refuse to attach any meaning to the fact that he's standing close enough for me to smell his cologne.

Nadia gets to her feet.

"I need funnel cake."

"Nadia."

She ignores me and looks at Wyatt. "She's all yours."

Nadia gives me a tiny wave and disappears into the crowd.

I'm going to murder her.

"So." He slides his hands into his pockets. "Are you going to pretend you haven't been avoiding me all night?"

My eyebrows shoot up. "I haven't been avoiding you."

"You saw me twenty minutes ago. You looked right at me and turned around."

Damn.

"I remembered I needed food."

"Uh-huh."

He watches me for a second, and something about his expression makes me suddenly aware of the space between us.

Or lack of it.