Chapter 15: Real Regrets: Chapter 14

Hannah appears in the living room while I’m scanning her bookshelf. If these are all hers, she has eclectic taste. It matches the rest of her house, in an odd way. I expected her space to be sleek and polished. Instead, it looks like every room is decorated in a slightly different style.

She hasn’t changed, like I thought she left to do. Still in worn jeans that show off a few spots of tan skin and a cotton t-shirt. She braided her hair, so part of it is pulled away from her face, but that’s the only change in her appearance. I hadn’t even realized I’d memorized every detail of what she was wearing until right now.

Her eyebrows rise as she glances at my clothes. “You’re changing, right?”

I look down at the navy suit I’m wearing. It’s not that wrinkled, which is impressive after a five-hour flight and lots of sitting in traffic. “Uh, no.”

“You’re wearing a suit to dinner?” Hannah raises her eyebrows at me, and I raise mine right back.

I wear a suit every day. Everywhere, unless I’m home. And sometimes even then.

I didn’t go into the office this morning. I put on this suit to fly here, expecting I’d wear it to dinner.

“We got married in Vegas, Hannah. I’m trying to make a good impression.”

Her mouth twitches. Almost a smile. “It’s a backyard barbeque. The only impression you’re giving is overdressed.”

“Well, suits are all I have.”

She glances at my suitcase, which is still sitting by the front door. “May I?” She nods toward my luggage.

“Sure.”

I watch her look through the contents of my suitcase. Two suits—one gray, another navy—socks, boxer briefs, undershirts, and a pair of flannel pajamas that was all I could find in the way of sleepwear. Hannah hones in on the last item.

“What are these?”

“Pajamas.”

“You sleep in these?” she sounds amused.

“I’ve never worn them,” I admit.

“What do you usually wear?”

I’m not sure if the truth is an appropriate answer to give a woman I hardly know, but I’ve basically left caution back in New York. Since I landed in Los Angeles, I’ve shed my careful, restrained inclinations.

“Nothing. I sleep naked.”

At least the truth has the satisfying outcome of realizing I can affect Hannah. She hasn’t looked at me with anything close to desire since she found that piece of paper in the hotel room. And since I’m wildly attracted to her, it’s nice to see a flush spreading across the small section of her cheek I can see.

She clears her throat—twice—which I’ve noticed is a nervous tell of hers. After zipping my suitcase up, she stands, glancing at me with her former mask back in place. “You should lose the tie and jacket, at least.”

I loosen my tie and then shrug my jacket off, holding eye contact with Hannah the whole time. This time, I can see the changes to her whole face. The way she bites her bottom lip and how her eyes look even bluer when they’re totally focused on me.

After tossing my jacket and tie over the arm of her couch, I take off my cufflinks and roll up the sleeves of my white button-down. Her throat bobs with a swallow before she looks away, walking toward the dish by the door where she left her keys without saying anything else. I take that to mean she approves.

It feels domestic, leaving her house together. My dating history has never included anything like this. All of the women I’ve dated were part of families I already knew. A big, official introduction like this never took place. And this is especially strange, since I’m going into it expecting to never see these people again. Intentionally striving for an imperfect impression.

“Anything else I should know?” I ask Hannah as we drive.

“Nope, I think we covered everything.”

“What about your job?”

She’s focused on the road, but her hands tighten on the steering wheel, the knuckles paling in contrast to her skin. “What about my job?”

“Well, that’s basically the one thing we did discuss before we got married.”

“They don’t know how I feel.”

There’s a warning note in her voice, so I don’t push. We ride in silence, until she pulls into a circular driveway and parks.

The house we pull up in front of a half an hour later isn’t as large as I’m expecting. It’s a beautiful home, welcoming and well-maintained. But after reading the report I received from the private investigator I hired—which included a rough estimate of Hannah’s father’s wealth—I know they could be living in a place five times this size.

“This is where you grew up?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

I’ve already known the answers to most of the questions I’ve asked her today, which is probably why I told her about Candace. It felt fair to bare something of myself after secretly invading her privacy that way.

Hannah’s fingers tap the steering wheel.

“Yep.” That’s all she says before climbing out of the car.

Silently, we walk up the path of gray stones that leads to a porch covered by a trellis dripping with verdure.

The front door opens before we’ve even reached it, revealing a smiling blonde woman.

Hannah shakes her head. “Were you seriously watching out the window, Mom?”

“Rachel was,” Hannah’s mom replies.

There’s a “Hey!” that echoes from somewhere inside the house. I don’t hide my smile, relaxing some despite my apprehension about this dinner.

The mother-daughter resemblance is obvious. Both women are blonde and slender. But Mrs. Garner’s hair is trimmed in a short bob and her eyes are a warm brown, not blue. She’s wearing a brightly patterned sundress, which helps me feel a little less overdressed.

Hannah glances to me. “Mom, this is Oliver. Oliver, this is my mom.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. Garner.” My manners kick in automatically, years of socializing at important events ingrained in me. No impression is irrelevant, my father always said. My grandfather said the same thing, so I know where he got it from.

“Cynthia, please.” Hannah’s mother shakes my offered hand. Her smile is friendly and open, but her eyes are curious, scanning me over with an unexpected intensity.

I have no idea what Hannah has told her family about me, and her mom’s expression gives nothing away. There’s only curiosity on her face, no approval or animosity.

“Come on in.”

I follow Hannah inside, glancing around the entryway. A staircase curves up ahead, leading upstairs. There’s an opening to the left that reveals the living room. Window seats run around two sides of the room, the panes of glass above the cushions showing off all the greenery surrounding the house. There’s a fireplace that looks like it’s never been used, the bricks beneath the grate spotless. The walls are plaster, painted in neutral, soothing shades.

We pass the living room and enter the kitchen. It’s long and rectangular, centered around the French doors on the far wall. Everything else is constructed of tile or wood. It reminds me of a winery.

Cynthia keeps walking through the open doors and outside. Wooden floors transition into terra-cotta tiles. The outdoor seating area is huge, the yard past it much larger than the front of the house suggests.

I’m distracted by the view of the sprawling yard by the woman who leaps up and approaches us. Her hair is the color of dark honey, a few shades darker than Hannah’s. And the wide, unguarded smile she aims my way is nothing I’ve seen from Hannah, either. But I’m certain this is her sister, Rachel.

“You came!”

“I was invited,” I answer, smiling at her exuberance. It’s refreshing, since I’m usually surrounded by people who hide their emotions. Including Hannah, who’s a rigid statue next to me. “Nice to meet you, Rachel.”

“I don’t know which is more surprising: that Hannah mentioned me to the guy she claimed to barely know or that you remembered my name.”

Rachel’s eyes bounce between us. I glance at Hannah in time to catch the wide eyes aimed at her younger sister. The universal stop talking look.

“I’m good with names,” I say. “Comes in handy at work.”

“What do you do? Hannah didn’t mention that either.”

“You didn’t ask!” Hannah says. There’s a note of exasperation in her voice. And also maybe a hint of embarrassment.

“I work for my family’s company.”

“With your family?”

I nod. “We’re not the only employees, but my brother and father both work there as well.”

“You and Hannah both went into the family business, then,” Rachel comments.

“We did.”

“Hey, sis.”

Hannah turns toward the dark-haired man lumbering toward us, clearly welcoming the distraction. “Hey, Eddie.”

Hannah’s brother has brown hair and a deep tan. Laugh lines crinkle the corners of his eyes as he hugs his little sister. I assumed Hannah was closer with her sister, but she beams up at her brother with a hero-worship I’m a little envious of.

He turns to me next and holds out a hand. “Hey, I’m Eddie. Nice to meet you.”

“You, too. Oliver.” Once our hands drop, I say, “You’re awfully tan for a doctor. I didn’t think operating rooms get much sunlight.”

Eddie chuckles, completely at ease. “They don’t. I go out surfing most mornings. Can’t get enough of it. You surf?”

I shake my head. “Never been.”

“Well, you should—” Eddie breaks off abruptly, hurrying over to a petite redhead who’s hugely pregnant and walking outside carrying a platter of cheese, tomato, and lettuce. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be carrying that!”

“I can’t see the ground anyway. Might as well make myself useful.”

Eddie takes the platter from his wife and sets it on the table before guiding her over to me. Her expression is a mixture of apprehension and admiration as she approaches, glancing between Hannah and me the same way Rachel did.

I smile at her. “Nice to meet you, April.”

She smiles back. “You did your homework, huh?”

“Oliver is good with names,” Rachel comments, cracking open a can of soda and taking a seat at the table.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you too, Oliver.”

“There you are!” Cynthia calls. “Where have you been, Dean?”

“I had to get more charcoal from the garage,” is the gruff response.

I turn to greet the one family member I haven’t yet met.

Dean Garner is hugging Hannah with one arm, while balancing a plate piled high with freshly cooked burgers in the other.

For a man who must be in his mid-fifties, he’s in excellent shape. He could easily pass for a decade younger. Eddie is a younger version of him, the same way Hannah favors her mother. Rachel has more of a mix of her parents’ features.

I’m not a parent, so I don’t know if you have favorites. My father has vacillated between me and Crew too many times for me to tell if he genuinely prefers one of us to the other. But it’s obvious Hannah and her father have an especially close bond. It’s clear in the way he squeezes her, then turns a stern gaze on me.

I make the first move, holding a hand out to Hannah’s father.

His grip is firm, his expression steely.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Garner.”

Unlike his wife, he doesn’t offer a less formal address.

“Dad, this is Oliver,” Hannah says, as the silence of us staring at each other stretches and stretches.

I hold Dean’s gaze the whole time. I’m no stranger to intimidation tactics. I’ve used plenty of them myself. And despite how this meeting won’t mean anything in the grand scheme of my life—not to mention, Hannah’s intention it goes poorly—I want Dean Garner to like me. Respect me, at the very least.

He finally speaks. “Oliver…”

“Kensington.”

Hannah didn’t mention my last name. It’s obvious in the upward creep of his eyebrows, a reaction he doesn’t fully manage to control. Coming from a man who has made a career of being successful at bluffing and negotiating, the tiny motion says a lot.

Dean glances at Hannah, who avoids her father’s gaze, looking at Rachel instead. She’s eating a piece of cheese and watching us, same as everyone else.

I’m realizing I read this situation wrong.

I thought Hannah was inviting me to save face with her family, to show them I’m the reason our pretend relationship and real marriage will never work, not her. Now I’m realizing she would have rather I never met them at all. The concept of parents taking a genuine interest in their child’s life is a foreign one to me. My father only cares about what serves his interests. What benefits him. What he can control.

“Well,” Mr. Garner finally says, after another long pause. “You hungry?”

“Yes, sir.”

He nods and continues toward the table with the burgers.

Everyone else follows him toward the table, grabbing plates and taking seats.

Sir? Hannah mouths at me.

I shrug before walking toward the table.

“Can I get you anything to drink, Oliver?” Cynthia asks.

“I’m good with water, Cynthia. Thanks.”

All of the glasses at the table have already been filled. I take a sip as soon as I’m seated in one of the wooden chairs.

“You live in New York?” Hannah’s mother asks, before I’ve had a chance to set down my glass.

“That’s right. I grew up there and returned after college. It’s a great city. Wonderful place to live.” I glance at Hannah, hoping I’ve accurately conveyed my love of the east coast. She rolls her eyes and takes a bite of her burger. I hide a smile before refocusing on Cynthia.

“Where in the city do you live? I haven’t been to New York in years.”

“I live in the Upper East Side. Carnegie Hill.”

“Oh, that’s a lovely area. Right by Central Park, right?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have roommates? Pets?”

I shake my head. “No. I live alone. I travel a lot for work, so it would be hard to leave a pet. My brother has a dog, so I watch him sometimes.”

“What kind of dog?” Cynthia asks eagerly.

“He’s mostly golden, I think. They’re not entirely sure. He was a rescue.”

“Is your brother married?”

I nod. “Yes. He got married a couple of years ago.”

“And is he your only sibling?”

“Mom!” Hannah cuts in. “Really, with the twenty questions?”

“I’m simply trying to get to know your husband, Hannah.”

There’s a sincerity and a hurt in Cynthia’s voice that reminds me—again—how different Hannah’s family is to mine. The last two times I was alone with my father, he told me to marry a stranger. The time before that, he punched me in the face. I can’t even remember the last time my dad, Crew, and I ate a meal together, just the three of us. Our version of family dinner is our weekly meetings that are totally focused around work and my father’s agenda.

“I don’t mind the questions,” I say, breaking the awkward silence that’s fallen.

It’s the first time anyone has acknowledged the real reason I’m here. That legally speaking, I’m a part of this family I’ve never met until now.

“You work at Kensington Consolidated?” Surprisingly, Mr. Garner is the one who speaks first.

“Yes.”

“That sounds fancy,” Rachel says. “What does your family’s company do?”

I shift in my seat. I was expecting this to come up, but I’m not thrilled now that it has. Too often, it feels like that’s all I boil down to: my family’s company. My last name.

“It’s a multinational conglomerate holding company. We have a broad portfolio of subsidiaries in several different industries.”

“They just bought part of Thompson & Thompson,” Hannah contributes, dipping her burger in a pile of ketchup without looking up.

“You handled that deal?” Mr. Garner asks.

“I had a team working with me,” I reply.

“You got thirty percent?”

“Twenty-six point five.”

“That must have cost you a pretty penny.”

I nod but don’t disclose the figure. I’m certain everyone here has figured out my family is wealthy, but specifics seem unnecessary.

Maybe Dean senses that. Or maybe he’s testing me, trying to figure out whether I’m just a figurehead who does nothing but expects everything.

“You cleared two hundred billion in revenue last year, right?”

Across from me, Rachel’s eyes grow huge.

“We ended up just over two fifty,” I answer, not looking at Hannah. Thanks to Crew, I’m sure she has an idea about how much my family is worth. But concrete numbers are different.

“Holy shit,” Rachel comments. “So you’re very rich.”

“I work for a profitable business,” I reply, then take a bite of my burger.

“Do you follow baseball, Oliver?” Mr. Garner asks.

After hastily swallowing, I shake my head. “Not really, sir.”

“I have a box available at the Condors’ afternoon game tomorrow, if you’re interested.”

“Sure, that sounds great.” I don’t hesitate in my response, even realizing it will require changing my flight back to New York. I was supposed to leave at two-thirty, and one thing I do know about baseball is the games are long.

Mr. Garner nods. “Good.”

“Is this a guy thing or…” Rachel says.

Hannah’s father smiles. “You’re always invited. The whole box is available.”

“You hate baseball,” Eddie comments.

“Hate is a strong word,” Rachel replies. “And Dad invited Oliver. No way am I missing it.”

Eddie shakes his head twice, but then quickly glances at his father. “Okay if we come too?”

Hannah’s father looks amused. “Yes.”

Hannah is the only one at the table who looks less than enthused about the baseball game. Her eyes remain on her plate as the conversation shifts to a discussion of April’s pregnancy and Rachel’s stories about her high school students.

As soon as everyone is finished eating, Hannah suggests croquet. It elicits a stronger reaction that I would have guessed. Dean looks thrilled. Rachel grumbles loudly. Eddie appears resigned. Cynthia and April carry their drinks over to the lawn chairs just past the edge of the patio overlooking the yard.

“I’ll play,” I volunteer.

Hannah meets my eyes. She avoided looking at me for most of dinner, and I didn’t realize how much it bothered me until we make eye contact again. It feels like that first breath of oxygen after swimming underwater.

There’s a challenge in the blue. “In your suit?”

“You think jeans are an advantage?” I reply.

My expression stays serious, but I’m tempted to smile.

The last time I played croquet was years ago, in the Hamptons. I avoided the Kensington house whenever I was there, since it holds the strongest memories of my mother, ones I’m not willing to risk overwriting. But there are always certain society events that take place there in the summer which are impossible to avoid, like the Ellsworth’s Fourth of July party. And while it’s been a while since I played croquet, I’ve had a lot of practice at golf.

I get last pick on color, meaning I go last in the order.

Everyone watches me as I line my mallet up with the starting stake. There’s a shift in the air when the green ball flies through the first two wickets. I sink it through a third, passing Eddie. A fourth, passing Rachel. And then I aim straight for Hannah’s ball, glancing it with a satisfying tap.

All the side commentary that filled other turns dies away, as I walk over and line my ball up next to hers. I hold mine down with my shoe, then swing.

I grin as Hannah’s ball flies away with a satisfying thump.

Hannah gapes at me, her mouth literally open. Everyone else looks surprised, but Hannah’s expression is the only one frozen with horror. “You did not just do that.”

I just continue grinning at her. “Better start walking.”

“Cheater,” she hisses, then heads for her ball.

“It’s in the rules, Hannah!” I call after her.

“Hannah is kind of competitive,” Rachel tells me conspiratorially, stopping beside me.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Rachel laughs before walking to take her hit.

Hannah manages to knock her ball back into play faster than I’m expecting, and then becomes hell-bent on revenge. Fortunately for me, her annoyance affects her accuracy, so I’m spared from her ire for two turns before she taps me. With a triumphant smirk, she sends me flying into the bushes.

“Oops.” Hannah feigns a regretful expression, and I want to kiss her. I probably would if we were alone right now. Her blue eyes are full of laughter, sparkling mischievously.

I shake my head before trekking into the flowerbeds to find my ball.

Mr. Garner ends up winning the game. Hannah and I vote for continuing and seeing who takes second and third, but we’re overruled by everyone else. They’re probably worried how long it will take, considering Hannah and I have volleyed between knocking each other off course ever since the first hit, and Rachel and Eddie’s balls have both been collateral damage.

“Let’s go to Canyon!” Rachel suggests. She glances at Eddie and April. “You guys in?”

Eddie looks apprehensive. “I don’t know if that’s—”

“Absolutely!” April says.

Rachel looks to Hannah next. “How about you guys?”

It’s strange to realize she’s grouping me and Hannah together the same way. Even weirder to comprehend we’re married, same as Eddie and April, so it makes sense to couple us.

“Um…” Hannah looks to me.

I’m exhausted. I got up at five a.m. and it’s now ten here, which is one a.m. my time. In a few hours, I’ll have been up for twenty-four straight. But I nod because I’ll go along with whatever Hannah wants to do.

“We could get one drink, I guess,” she says.

Rachel claps her hands. “Yay! Let’s go!”

After saying goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Garner, we climb into cars. Eddie and April drove here too, but Rachel took a rideshare, so she comes with us. I climb into the backseat, letting the sisters sit up front. Rachel chatters away as we turn out of the residential area into a more commercial stretch of street.

About five minutes into the drive, my phone rings.

I recognize the number. It’s from a Kensington Consolidated work line. I sigh and answer. “Oliver Kensington.”

“Hi, Oliver. It’s Scott. Do you have a minute?”

“What the hell are you doing at the office this late?”

He chuckles. “What the hell are you doing answering your phone at this hour?”

“I’m on the west coast. It’s only ten here.”

“That’s not much better.”

“I’m not at the office. You are.”

“Acquisitions wants a recommendation on the Porter account Monday morning. So I’m researching the stock options and reviewing the last proposal we received from them.”

“You have copies of their quarterly statements?”

“Not the most recent ones. We requested them, but they haven’t been sent yet.”

“That’s unacceptable. Tell them to get them to us by tomorrow, or any offer is off the table.”

“I don’t have the clearance to issue that kind of ultimatum.”

“I do. Draft an email, send it to me, and I’ll get it to their chairman.”

Scott’s exhale is loud and relieved. “Thank you, Oliver.”

“And then leave, okay?”

“Don’t have to tell me twice. Thanks again.”

Scott hangs up. Seconds later, my phone rings again. This time, it’s Garrett.

“Hey, man,” I answer.

“Hey. I just realized I never sent you the restaurant name for tomorrow night. I’m driving so I thought I’d just—”

Fuck. “I totally forgot about dinner. I can’t make it.”

“No worries. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. All good. I just…something came up this weekend. I’m sorry I forgot to tell you. Work’s been so hectic, and—”

“It’s fine, Oliver. No problem. I’ll move it to next weekend?”

“Sure. I’ll have to check with—yeah, that should be fine. I’ll let you know if not, okay?”

“Sounds good. Bye.”

“Bye.”

I shut off my phone and lean my head back, mentally berating myself. I can’t believe I forgot about dinner with Garrett. If I’d ever gotten around to inviting Quinn, I probably would have forgotten to let her know I couldn’t make it too, which is a terrible first impression. Or second, technically.

Work is always hectic, and I’ve stayed on top of the rest of my life just fine.

It’s Hannah—our marriage, our divorce, just us—that’s been occupying most of my time. I spent an entire day obsessing over a text message I sent her.

I’m distracted enough that it’s a surprise when we’re suddenly parked and climbing out of the car. I trail behind Hannah and Rachel, exhaustion and worry surrounding me like a haze.

The walls inside of Canyon are decorated by earthen murals. Meant to look like its namesake, I guess. The booths are brown leather, just a few shades darker than the paint. A long bar top runs along one wall, with tables scattered across the floor.

April heads for the bathroom as soon as we’re inside. Eddie and I take seats at an open booth, but Hannah and Rachel stay standing.

“We’re going to grab drinks,” Rachel says. “Usual, Eddie?”

“Yeah, thanks. And a ginger ale for April.”

Hannah glances to me. “What do you want?”

“A beer?”

My usual surety comes out like a question, confused by her shift in attitude. When we left her parents’, Hannah was smiling and teasing. Since we arrived at Canyon, she’s been stiff and unamused. Did she not want to come? She’s the only reason we’re here.

“What kind of beer?”

“Uh…” My mind goes blank, every brand name slipping away like water through a sieve. I haven’t ordered anything except whiskey in years. “Whatever.”

Hannah snorts, then spins and walks away. Rachel follows her, after shooting a confused look my way. Good to know I’m not the only one taken aback by Hannah’s attitude shift.

Eddie notices it too. “Everything okay there?”

I shrug.

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” He chuckles. “I couldn’t believe it, when my mom told me Hannah had gotten married.”

“It was a surprise to me too. It’s a weird situation.”

“What’s weird about it?”

I glance at him, and he grins.

“Kidding. I get what you mean. But I doubt you guys are the first Vegas marriage to not go the distance.”

“I didn’t mean that. I meant this part. Honestly, I thought you’d all hate me.”

Eddie shakes his head, grinning. “We all know Hannah. She’s never done a single thing she didn’t want to. If she married you, she had some reason.”

“Neither of us were thinking straight.”

“Well, you’re doing fine, Oliver. Dad never invited Declan to do anything.”

“Who’s Declan?”

Eddie huffs a laugh, scratching the side of his jaw. “Uh, Hannah’s last ex. They were together for about a year.”

“What happened?”

“He proposed. And she said no.”

“Oh.” There’s an uncomfortable twist in my stomach. Hannah has always sounded resolute in her anti-marriage views, so it’s not a total surprise she rejected a proposal. I’m more thrown she was in a serious enough relationship to get to that stage—and how much that bothers me.

The foreign feeling—jealousy, I guess—is amplified when I glance toward the bar and see Hannah talking to a random guy.

I can’t see her expression from this angle, and there’s no sign of Rachel.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell Eddie, barely catching his nod before I’m cutting through the crowd toward the blonde head standing at one end of the bar.

It’s crowded in here but not packed. It takes me a couple of minutes maneuvering around tables and patrons before I’m stepping into the empty space behind Hannah. My hand slides around her waist automatically, like it’s a move I’ve made a thousand times before.

Hannah’s body tenses as she looks over one shoulder. Her blue eyes are confused at first. But then her body relaxes, leaning into me. My thumb rubs back and forth over her stomach, savoring the way her lips part and her throat bobs with a swallow. My blood heats, reacting to the sudden shift in energy between us. Instead of annoyance, Hannah is looking at me with heat.

“Nice talking with ya.” The guy who was talking with Hannah grabs his glass and makes a quick exit.

Hannah turns so she’s facing me. I should drop my hand, which is now resting on her back, but I don’t. I like the way it feels, the soft fabric of her tee and the blazing heat of her skin soaking through the cotton.

“Did you need something?”

If she were anyone but my wife, I’d kiss her. I’m tempted to kiss her despite that. This is a better location than her parents’ backyard was.

But I don’t have the excuse of too much alcohol or letting loose in Vegas tonight. I’m here to clean up those consequences, not complicate everything.

And coming here complicated everything, I’m realizing. It was supposed to be stilted and uncomfortable, two strangers who are polite and distant. It wasn’t supposed to be the best night I’ve had in a long time. And this moment—the staring into her eyes and thinking about how she looked naked—was never supposed to happen.

It’s here, though, and I have to decide how to react.

“No.” I finally answer her question.

“So…you just came over here to chase him off?”

Two fingers slip beneath the hem of her t-shirt, grazing her lower back. It’s the barest of brushes, but Hannah shivers, goosebumps raising on her skin.

I’m playing with fire, but I don’t want to stop.

“You left me with your brother so you could flirt with some guy?”

She tilts her chin. Even in sandals, she’s tall, easily meeting my eyes. “If you’d taken a little longer to come over here, we’d probably be fucking in the bathroom by now.”

My inhale is sharp, like she just landed a blow.

“You could watch, if you want.”

She’s pushing me, and I can’t figure out why. I shouldn’t care. The whole point of this visit was to show off our incompatibility to her family. And instead, we’re ignoring her siblings, ensconced in what feels a lot like sexual tension.

I drop my hand and step away, immediately missing the warmth of her skin. I stuff my hands in my pockets, so I’m not tempted to touch her again.

“What? Infidelity bothers you?” There’s an exaggerated note of surprise in her voice, so I know exactly what she’s referring to.

It’s like a bucket of ice water. I’ve heard enough about my sins from my father, and sharing one of them with Hannah was clearly a massive mistake.

I swallow the hurt, the same way I stuff away everything else. Shake my head—stiffly—until it turns natural. “Doesn’t bother me at all. If you really hit it off with someone, just text me and I’ll go to a hotel.”

I force an indifferent smile, then turn and walk back toward the table.