The Anti-Boyfriend(51)

He hadn’t noticed me yet. I waited in one spot for a bit, observing his interactions with his friends. He sipped some amber-colored liquor and seemed a little off—his smile forced as he made conversation. I wondered if the impending departure had him on edge. He looked around mid-conversation, as if searching for something. Or someone. Is it me? When his eyes found mine, he smiled wide and immediately excused himself to walk over. Maybe it was me he’d been looking for.

To my surprise, he leaned in and pulled me into a tight hug, whispering in my ear, “Thank you so much for coming.”

His hot breath sent chills down my spine. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

When he let me go, he took me in from top to bottom. “Carys…you…” His words trailed off. “You look absolutely stunning.”

Feeling my cheeks heat, I looked down at myself. “Thank you. I tried. I wanted to look good for your party.”

“You don’t have to try. You’re so beautiful. Always. Even when you’re in a fucking T-shirt with coffee stains or food stuck in your teeth. But right now, you’re taking my breath away.”

I didn’t know what to make of this, except to say that for several seconds, it felt like we were in our own world. Everyone faded away.

Then he took my hand. “Come on. I want you to meet my friends.”

I relished the warmth of his hand as we made our way across the room.

Deacon brought me over to a group in the corner and introduced me to several friends and a few people who also worked for the same company he did.

A handsome man with dark, curly hair and broad shoulders joined us. “You must be Carys.”

Surprised that anyone knew my name without being introduced, I smiled. “Yes.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you.” He held out his hand. “I’m Adrian.”

“It’s really great to meet you. Deacon talks about you all the time, too.”

“I don’t know if I like that.” He winked. “Anyway, really happy to put a face to the name.”

“You, too. And thanks so much for letting us use your family’s cottage. We had the best time.” The reminder of our overnight trip to the Hamptons made me momentarily sad.

Deacon spoke in my ear, “What can I get you to drink?”

Again, feeling his breath against me put my body on alert. This “celebration” definitely called for something stronger than my norm.

“A dirty martini?”

“You got it.”

Deacon left the private area to head over to the bar in the next room. Things felt colder in his absence, a taste of what was to come in just a couple of days.

When he returned with our drinks, he must have noticed my somber look. “Everything okay?” he asked as he handed me my martini, which had several Spanish olives floating in it.

“Yeah…I guess it just hits me in waves that you’re actually leaving.”

He nodded slowly. “It’s strange that we’ve never been out like this together in all the time we’ve known each other.”

Forcing a smile, I replied, “Better late than never?”

“I guess. Yeah. Just wish we had more time.” Deacon took a long sip of his drink.

I stuck a toothpick into one of my olives and popped it into my mouth. “How are you holding up?”

He sighed and stared blankly into his glass. “Honestly?”

“Yeah...honestly.”

“Not good. This party is great.” He looked around. “But it feels surreal. These last hours are moving too fast.”

“I know. I don’t think it’s really going to sink in until after you’re gone.”

He stared at me, and his eyes wandered down the length of my body. “You look so beautiful it hurts, Carys.”

My nipples hardened, and my heartbeat accelerated, but before I could respond, one of his friends interrupted.

“There’s the man of the hour,” the guy said, patting Deacon on the back. “Come on, we need your input on a bet we’re placing.”

“I’m sorry,” Deacon said as he got dragged away. “Be right back,” he mouthed.

“It’s okay.” I laughed it off and tried to do something other than ruminate over what he’d just said to me.

While Deacon was talking to his friends, a guy approached and held out his hand. “Hey. I’m Scott.”

“Hi,” I responded uncomfortably, not in the mood to make small talk. “I’m Carys.”

“Karen?”

“Carys…like Paris.”

“Ah. Pretty name. Are you with Deacon Mathers?”

“I’m a friend of his. We live next door to each other.”

“I see. Well, I couldn’t help admiring how lovely you look tonight. That pink is definitely your color. I was kind of hoping the D-Man hadn’t claimed you for himself.”

When Deacon noticed him talking to me, his eyes darkened and he moved away from his friends to rejoin me. His eyes shot daggers. “What’s up, Scott?”

“Nothing much. Just chatting with Carys here.”

Deacon grabbed my hand. “Can you excuse us?”

The next thing I knew, he was ushering me to the bar area in the next room.