are nothing but friends. I just don’t want to look at Caden for fear I’ll be unable to stop staring.
I already know he changed into fresh jeans and a black knit shirt, the bands tight over his muscled biceps. He’s so damn gorgeous, and it won’t be long until the girls flock to him. He’s new and exciting in a town where not much changes. I can’t blame them; I just don’t want to bear witness to it.
As Scarlett O’Hara would say, with God as my witness, next Friday I am staying locked in my room.
Gabe plays with the ends of my hair, leaning in closer. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”
My irritating attraction will never be voiced out loud, to anyone, regardless of how close I am to them. “I’ve got no secrets to tell.”
Gabe kisses the top of my head. “Kit-Cat, you’re a vault just waiting for the right man to come along and crack it open.”
Maybe there’s truth to that, but Caden Landry is not that man and never will be.
Caden
I’m gripping my beer far tighter than I should, and because I can’t stand the sight of Cat in Gabe Levorn’s arms, I turn away. I know they’re friends and nothing else, but his arms around her strike me as wrong.
Gwen distracts me from the sight, climbing up on the railing lining the bar to lean over and yell at Beau. “We need a table.”
The older man beams at her like he’s a proud father. “Fend for yourself, red. Not a seat open tonight.”
She swivels and drapes herself over Jackson, using him as a prop to survey the crowded room. “Oh, I think Sally in the corner is leaving. She’s waving.”
Jackson slides an arm around her bare stomach. She’s wearing a crop top, short shorts, and cowboy boots.
Jackson tugs the hem down over her navel. “Gwyneth, you’re five seconds away from flashing your tits to the place, and I had enough of that at Mardi Gras.”
She points and yells across the bar. “Save that booth for me, Sally.”
The woman in the back booth, who is apparently Sally, raises her beer. “Sure thing, honey.”
Gwen hops down and grins. “Got us a spot.”
“Course you did, darlin’.” Jackson gives her top another tug and smooths it in place. “Now I can rest easy.”
“Stop exaggerating.” She smacks him across the stomach. “Don’t say you didn’t have a good time.”
“I’m not exaggerating.” Jackson shakes his head at me, but when he speaks, his tone is amused. “We went down with her best friend and husband from Chicago this year. I’ve never gotten so many beads chucked at my head in an effort to get to her.”
I laugh, thankful for the story to divert my attention away from Cat. I take a sip of beer and slide my hand into my pocket. “That so?”
Gwen shrugs. “We might have caused a bit of a stir.”
Jackson raises a brow. “Is that what you call it?”
“Yeah,” Gwen says, her voice full of sass.
Jackson sighs as though he was put out by the whole ordeal. “Unbeknownst to me, her friend Jillian has an exhibitionist streak a mile wide, and Gwen decided it would be fun to catch it. It was a madhouse.”
“I bet.” I don’t know what the friend looks like, but after being around Gwen, I understand she knows how to cause a stir. But it’s not enough of a vision to keep my focus from sliding back to the dance floor.
A muscle in my jaw jumps at Gabe’s hands now low on Cat’s hips. I tear my gaze away to catch him watching me, a lopsided, shit-eating grin on his face. The bastard works his fingers under her top.
I turn away. I’m pretty sure the desire to break his fingers is not a great sign.
I’m not going to look back, not going to watch her. I’ve been a saint, keeping my distance, being professional, and now is not the time to backslide.
Five minutes goes by, and it’s an effort not to see what Cat’s up to, but I manage. I pretend to listen to the conversation, nodding at what seems an appropriate time, even though I have no idea what they’re talking about.
Gwen smiles and waves at someone behind me. “Over here, Cat.”
My muscles tighten at the sound of her name, but somehow I manage not to turn and watch her approach.
But when she comes to stand next to me, I feel her presence, the warmth of her body, that fresh-cut-grass scent. I