That Secret Crush (Getting Lucky #3)(84)

From the disapproving glance Avery just gave me, I’m going to guess I’m not on her list of people she wants to catch up with.

I wish I was a smarter man, one who made decisions based off of confidence and facts rather than fear and uncertainty, because if I was smarter, I would be standing next to Eve right now, my arm draped over her shoulder, laughing right along with her while sneaking in little kisses here and there, showing Avery that I’m man enough to be with a woman like Eve.

As I approach, Eve looks to the side and spots me. Nothing in her face changes, no sign of excitement or disappointment—instead she gives me a small wave.

Taking that as an invitation, I step forward, hands stuffed in my pockets to keep myself from reaching out to touch her.

“Hey, Eve.” I smile at Avery. “Hey, Avery, it’s nice to see you again.”

Hard eyes take me in, a chastising purse to her lips. “Well, hello, Reid.” Yup, definitely on her shit list.

“How have you been? How’s New York?”

She sneers. “Yeah, no thanks. I don’t want to do this catch-up thing.” She leans in close, her voice just above a whisper. “Thank your lucky stars we’re surrounded by family and friends, or else the heel of my toe would be implanted in your scrotum right about now.”

Wincing, I try to curl my lips up in a smile. “Pleasant. Always nice to see you.”

Smiling sardonically, Avery clears her throat. “I’m going to go see if Harper needs any help with the food.” She excuses herself and leaves me alone with Eve—but not before shoving past me, her shoulder bumping into mine rather violently. Damn, someone has been hitting the gym. That fucking hurt. Tempted to rub my shoulder, I hold back, not wanting to reveal just how strong the girl is, while Eve stands there confidently, a brilliant smile on her face.

“Hey, Reid, how are you?”

Terrible.

Lovesick.

Desperate to feel your lips on mine again.

A little shaken from the minibrute who just blew by me.

“Okay.” I shift on my feet. “Uh, congratulations on graduating. Huge accomplishment.”

“Thank you. It feels good to have it all over with.”

“I bet.” I swallow hard, trying to manage the regret roaring through my body. “The party is—”

“Oh, there’s Krew and Jake; I’m going to go say hi.” She lifts off the counter and presses her hand to my shoulder. “Thanks for coming. Have some food, mingle.”

Excuse me? Krew and Jake take precedence over me?

Before she can get too far, I say, “Your present . . . it’s, uh, in the works. Sorry I don’t have it with me.”

She turns to me, hazel eyes bright. “You didn’t have to get me anything, but thanks, Reid. Have a good one.”

Looking positively radiant, she takes off toward Krew and Jake and wraps them in big hugs. Hugs I wish I received, hugs I would give anything to have at this point.

Fuck me.



Remember when I said I hit a new low? I was wrong. This is absolutely a new low for me.

This is probably the lowest, dumbest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life, but I’m fucking desperate. I struck out big time at the graduation party two weeks ago, and I need to make another move. We open in a few weeks, and I have yet to find out anything about Eve’s dating life. Whatever happened to the loose lips in this town? Just last week I heard about Mr. Thornton getting a bone spur removed and Dr. Bruin throwing up in the toilet once Mr. Thornton hobbled away.

Is that information you think I want engrained in my brain? No, but it’s there.

There has to be some sort of town-wide loyalty pact to Eve because no one is speaking up about her. I need to take matters into my own hands.

And before I get judged, I would like to state for the record that I have used every conventional tactic to find out information, including but not limited to the following:

Asking her.

Casually asking Eric.

Asking Harper.

Asking Rogan.

Embarrassingly asking my dad.

Scouring the town’s newspaper.

Peering out of Brig’s apartment.

Downloading the Hen Line app on my phone—but quickly deleting it.

And I struck out every single time. So here I am, reaching my new low, which consists of sitting at the Inn, incognito, at a table directly across from the bar so I can oh-so-casually watch Eve as she works.

See? I said it was bad.

But it’s not like I had anything else to do on a Friday night. I’ve put in weeks of late nights in the kitchen, and if I make one more blueberry-and-bacon compote I might chop off my own fingers. I needed a rest. Knight and Port is smoothly coming together. Between the two of us, Eric and I have come up with one hell of a menu. Construction has been seamless too, probably because Rogan has stepped in as well to oversee things with me, which I don’t mind—he’s an expert, after all. He’s well respected in town, so people work hard for him. Eve and my dad are handling the entire business side, and I still can’t quite believe that we’re almost up and running. But despite all the work we’re getting done, I haven’t really seen Eve at all. She’s been doing her thing, and I’ve been doing mine. It’s brutal and wearing on my sanity, but I can’t help but think about what life would have been like if we’d had this team the first go-around.