“You keep staring at Larry.”
I don’t even try to deny it.
“Her name is Hilary. And I’m not staring,” I mutter.
He snorts. “Yeah, okay. And I’m not hosting a baby shower right now.”
I drag a hand down the back of my neck, exhaling slow. “She just caught my eye.”
“That so?” His tone shifts—less teasing now, more watchful.
“Yeah. Whatever.”
A beat.
Then Nate straightens, “Look, Larry—Hilary—is my wife’s best friend. She’s not from your world, man.”
I stiffen slightly.
“And? I know that.”
“Do you?” Nate pushes off the counter, turning fully toward me now. “Because I know the crowd you run with. I know the scene you live in. And that woman in there?” He shakes his head. “She’s not built for that.”
Something in my chest tightens.
“I didn’t say she was.”
“And she’s not one of those girls you’re used to either,” he continues, voice low but firm. “She’s not bouncing from club to club or bed to bed chasing a name or a moment.”
I don’t like the edge that creeps into my tone. “You think I don’t know the difference? Fuck, Nate.”
“I’m not trying to be a dick, but I think,” Nate says evenly, “you’re used to a certain kind of attention from a woman. And she’s not giving you that. Which probably makes you want her more.”
Damn. He’s not wrong.
I look past him, straight back to where she’s sitting with Adrianna, laughing softly at something, her shoulders relaxed now, sunlight catching in those wild curls.
She looks happy.
Innocent.
Untouched by all the noise I came from.
“Yeah,” I admit quietly. “It does.”
Nate watches me for a second, then sighs, scrubbing a hand over his jaw.
“I’m not saying don’t talk to her,” he says. “I’m saying be real clear with yourself before you do.”
I don’t respond.
Because what the hell am I supposed to say to that?
That I felt something the second I saw her?
That it hit harder than anything I’ve felt in years?
That just standing next to her made everything else go quiet?