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Her eyes widen.
“No, you did not.”
I want to move closer, but I know that’ll be it. Just one inch, and it’s all over. I want that, but I’m also wary of changing things so absolutely.
“Yes, we did. The bartenders were in on it. You were so drunk you had no idea.” She’s still scowling at me in a way that suggests she’s not convinced I’m telling the truth. “Do you remember asking if we switched to tequila?”
She squints her eyes. “Vaguely.”
“Yeah, well. That was beer.”
When she bites her lower lip, I’m lost. Standing, I take a deep breath and fetch another drink. This is going down way too smooth.
“Are you teasing me?” she asks.
I return to the couch with my refill, settling in next to her.
“I’m not. Ask Devon. I’m surprised he never told you.”
That’s all it takes.
During dinner, we carefully avoided the subject. We played catch-up with each other’s lives, talking about the company and Chari’s job. How much she loves her students, something I’m particularly grateful for. Everything I learned confirmed that Chari is the same amazing girl I knew, now a fucking gorgeous woman.
But neither of us mentioned Devon’s name after that first moment in the Skybox.
Until now.
“I think I’ll pass. But speaking of . . .”
Chari finishes her drink, putting the empty cup on the glass table in front of us. “Oh, sorry. Do I need a coaster or something?”
I put my drink next to hers to show her that, no, a coaster isn’t necessary. The move brought me closer to her, and I catch a whiff of vanilla coconut.
“We should talk about that.”
I don’t need to ask what she means—we both know. And while I’m no more eager to discuss it now than I was earlier, she’s right.
I nod, and she says, “I know you’re worried about Devon, but you shouldn’t be.”
“No?” I ask, surprised by her response. Based on what I’ve seen, she’s nervous about him too.
“No.”
“How do you figure?” I inch just a little bit closer.
“I know you guys are besties . . .”
I laugh. “You say it like we’re two seventh-grade girls.”
Chari’s smile reaches her eyes. Hazel. Like her brother’s.
“But we are our own people. And you’re more like a brother to him than a friend. No matter what happens with us . . .” She shrugs.
I edge closer again, until her knee touches mine. I’ve got to control myself here. Although I get why she’s acting like we can take a casual approach, this is not just any date. Or just any woman.
“Us?” I say, feeling the pull to tease her a little, if only to calm her nerves. And mine. “So we’re not just two old friends, catching up?”
The idea is preposterous. Every single time we’ve been in each other’s presence recently, the rest of the world falls away, leaving only the two of us behind. We both know it. We both feel it.
