She drags me further into the room, and I see familiar faces everywhere: Millicent Frost near the punch bowl, Harold and Lars beside her, both of them scowling at the lack of 'proper whiskey.'
Willa Jameson is deep in conversation with Coach Ashford by the ice sculpture, both holding champagne flutes and looking way too romantic. And Avery is near the stage with Morgan, who is already holding a brownie in each hand.
And then, right across on the other side of the room, I see the man who has made all this possible.
Colt is standing with Samuel and Big Mike near the stage. He’s in a gray suit, and the jacket is unbuttoned to reveal a crisp white shirt beneath. He's rocking the no tie look, and the way his slacks pull tightly across his hips suggests… well.
Let’s just sayI knowthe man is generously proportioned everywhere.
Samuel says something, and Colt throws his head back and laughs, the deep sound carrying across the room.
Then, as if sensing me, he looks up.
His mouth goes slack. Those bright blue eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, darken with something raw and hungry as they travel from the tips of my heels, up my legs and over the curve of my hips, following the dip of my waist as it meets the swell of my breasts.
He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move as his eyes finally land on my face.
Big Mike follows his gaze, raises an eyebrow, and smirks. He chuckles, clapping Colt on the shoulder, but Colt doesn’t even flinch.
He’s just…staringat me.
A slow, delicious heat spreads through my veins. My skin prickles under the intensity of his look, and he finally mouths a single word across the room.
Wow.
I give him a small, shaky smile.
“Okay,” Quinn whispers, squeezing my arm. “I take back every vaguely threatening thing I’ve ever said about that man. The way he’s looking at you right now? I think I need a cold shower. Or a Gabe.”
Colt excuses himself from Big Mike with a quick nod and starts cutting through the crowd toward me. Every step is strong, confident… his eyes never leaving mine.
“Incoming,” Quinn singsongs, releasing my arm. “Try not to melt into a puddle, babe. It’ll ruin the dress.”
She disappears into the crowd as Colt reaches me.
“Hi,” I manage, my voice embarrassingly breathy.
“Hi,” he echoes, his voice low and rough. His hand comes up, his knuckles brushing a curl from my cheek. “You look… Christ, Zoey. You look unbelievable.”
“Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself,” I say, letting my gaze wander over his suit. “The no-tie thing is working for you.”
A grin spreads across his face. “How are you feeling?”
“Terrified. Excited. Like I might throw up in the chocolate fountain.”
He laughs. “Don’t you dare. I have plans for that chocolate fountain later.”
He winks at me, sparking a rush of heat to my core, but before I can ask if I'm invited, a commotion erupts near the bakery table.
“I’m telling you, Millie, the brownie has a more robust mouthfeel! The tart is too…feminine.”
“Harold Frost, you philistine! The tart is elegant! It hasdepth!”
We turn to see Harold and Millicent nose-to-nose, each holding a sample plate, arguing as always. Millicent jabs a finger at Harold’s chest, sending the nearby stack of voting slips and tin of pens flying.
Colt chuckles beside me. “I think they’re taking the ‘finding a winner’ part of tonight very seriously.”
“They’re going to start a pastry war,” I groan.