My phone drops onto the lawn with a soft thump but my heart hammers within my chest because, that scent? I recognize it.
Need slithers up my spine as his chest rises and falls against my back, his arm a heavy band across my exposed midriff. I twist my neck just slightly to glance up at Cal when he lets go, brushing against me as he leans forward to place thesamosashe saved on the table. From this angle, my eyes are aligned with the base of his neck. His Adam’s apple bobs with a swallow—the mere action unjustifiably attractive and masculine. I inhale deeply and, instead of oxygen, my lungs fill with the scent of wood and vanilla. The cologne he wears must be catnip to the ladies, because I have the insane urge to bury my nose right at the nook of his throat and breathe him in.
He straightens and I realize I’ve been staring. At his neck. My eyes shift up. Now I’m staring at his lips.
I should say something, but words have deserted me. I know four languages and I can’t seem to recall anything appropriate to say in any one of them.
Say hi. A word. Any word will do. Just grunt, for goodness’ sake!
I jump when my phone vibrates angrily at my feet. Before I can, Cal swipes it up, pausing momentarily before handing it to me.
“Thank you,” I murmur breathlessly. I sound like I’ve run a mile, and all Cal has done is exist near me. Blindly turning toward the table, I shuffle over to grab a cooler from the bucket of ice. I tuck the bottle opener under the cap’s teeth and lever up, taking more time than I need so my nerves settle.
“Connor1288 messaged you.”
The bottle cap pops off into the air as I whip my head to look at a stoic Cal, his usually smiling face devoid of any friendliness.
“You read my message?” I squawk indignantly—not that it makes Cal contrite in the least. If anything, he has the audacity to glower at me.
“I landed upon information I found. . . concerning.”
“Good thing that it’s none of your concern.”
I turn away, hoping that he’ll drop it.
“ChatTrick? Really?”
“Not gonna talk about it with you,” I hiss out of the side of my mouth while furiously avoiding looking at him. God, why was it that this man of all people had to be the one to see those messages?
“Didn’t think you were looking for a hookup,” he mutters, swiping a drink for himself.
The struggle to maintain the blatantly false smile on my face is real. I don’t need anyone glancing our way to think we’re involved in anything other than a polite conversation about the weather. When it becomes clear everyone is occupied in their own little groups, I pin him with a frown.
“It’s a dating app.” My hand tightening around the cold glass bottle. “Even if I hook up with someone, so what? If the internet is to be believed, you’ve dipped your pickle in enough mayo.”
He coughs. Or chokes. Either way, I’m not taking it back.
Cal looks flustered for a moment by my vehemence. Good. I’m irritated with him and in no mood to deal with his disapproval.
“I don’t know what I want to focus more on. That you looked me up or that you confirmed you’re hooking up with someone tonight.”
“Didn’t say tonight.”
“Didn’t say never,” he argues.
“I’m single and available. Never saying never.” I attempt to walk away, but a gentle touch on my arm makes me pause. “What now?”
Cal opens his mouth and instantly snaps it shut, blinking so rapidly I think something might be wrong. His hesitation confuses me because, for as long as I’ve known him, the man’s shown enough confidence for seven people, with more to spare.
“Your. . . you. . . your dress,” he stammers.
I clutch my baby blue skirt with gold accents that passes for a Princess Jasmine costume. “It’s a lehenga,” I explain.
“And your. . .” He swirls a finger in the air in front of my face, gesturing to my hair, and my stomach sinks. I’m wearing amaang tikkaandjhumkis. I’d gotten a trim a couple days ago and Irsia convinced me to get curtain bangs. It’s a change from my usual ponytail and I thought I was carrying it off well. Then again, the male gaze is different.
“Spit it out,” I snap, anxiety making my voice sharper than I intend for it to be. “If it doesn’t look good, I’d rather hear it from you than on a date.”
At that, he straightens, eyes flaring with something bright and indecipherable.