Stealing Rose (The Fowler Sisters #2)(23)

I just stand there like a dumbass, watching her. My cock strains against the front of my jeans and my fingers are wet. I rub them together, bring my hand up to my face, and take a sniff. They smell like her * and still I can’t move. Go to her, what the f*ck?

“Did you just smell your fingers?” she asks incredulously.

I don’t answer her. Just continue to stare as she washes her hands and shakes them in the sink before she runs her damp fingers through her hair one more time. Then she grabs a hand towel and dries them off. A boring little ritual I’m oddly fascinated with. Finally she turns and looks at me, a pleasant smile on her face. Like we’re old chums versus newfound lovers who just messed around in a bathroom like sex-crazed lunatics.

“Um, thanks. That was … interesting,” she says as she starts to walk past me.

I’m not about to let her get away that easily. Reaching out, I grab hold of her arm, stopping her. “Interesting?”

“And satisfying,” she adds, that smile still on her face.

“I’m sure,” I say dryly, earning another laugh from her, surprising me. She’s treating this encounter so casually. I should like it. Prefer it. Most women would freak out or expect more. Not this one.

And I’m oddly disappointed.

“I need to get back out there before Violet starts looking for me.” Without another word, a glance, a thank-you, nothing from her, she walks away, head held high, a hum emanating from her as she unlocks and throws open the women’s bathroom door, exiting the room.

Shit, f*ck. I need to get the hell out of here before someone else finds me. I dash out of the women’s bathroom and go into the men’s, thankful I’m alone. The reflection in the mirror reveals the same old me, but I feel different. Stupid, I know, but I can’t help it. I am not the same man I was before that encounter with Rose. I appear calm on the outside but inside, I’m rattled. Thrown. Turned on.

Jesus.

Turning on the faucet, I splash cold water on my face, hoping it’ll slap me back into reality, but it doesn’t. My head feels like it’s in a fog.

A Rose Fowler–induced fog.

I wash my hands, fighting the bitter disappointment of replacing the scent of Rose’s * with the sterile disinfectant smell of the liquid soap. I dry them and take a deep breath, counting to ten before I exit the bathroom, making my way back to the table. Rose is sitting there between Violet and Whitney, her cheeks still rosy, her hair tucked behind her ears, showing off that beautiful face. She doesn’t so much as look at me when I sit in my chair on the other side of Whitney. I grab my beer and polish it off with one swallow.

“Want another one, mate?” asks Ryder’s friend … Nigel. Right. Nigel.

“That would be great, yeah.” I reach for my back pocket, ready to pull out my wallet, but Nigel waves me off.

“I’ll get this round. I’m out anyway.” He holds up his empty glass before he slides off the chair and heads toward the bar.

“Where were you?”

I turn to find Whitney studying me with a suspicious gleam in her eyes, her tone accusatory.

“Bathroom. Then I had a phone call I had to take.”

“Who was it?”

Since when is it her business to ask me questions like that? “No one you know.” I am a consummate liar. It’s so easy to slip into my lies, they feel like a second skin.

“Hmm.” She doesn’t look like she believes me. Like I give a shit. “Rose was gone too.”

Unease creeps down my spine. “So?”

“So you were both gone. For a long time. And her dress is buttoned up wrong. It wasn’t before.”

Fuck. I feel everything inside of me wilt at Whitney’s words. As discreetly as possible I check out Rose, my gaze falling to her chest. Yes, the buttons are done up wrong, and I feel like a shit that I didn’t catch that before she escaped the bathroom.

“Are you accusing me of something?” I ask Whitney, my voice mean. I’m irritated that she’s calling me out.

“I don’t know. Did you do something?” she returns.

“Just say what you want to say, Whit.” I sound weary. I feel weary. “Let’s get this over with.”

She parts her perfectly glossed lips, swinging her hair back in a calculated move I’ve seen her perform before. The girl is gorgeous and she knows it, but she’s also a world-class pain in the ass and has driven every guy who’s been remotely interested in her far away with her needy, bitchy attitude.

I’m a shit. I put up with her, give her what she wants in bed, and then move on. What she sees in me, I have no idea. I don’t deserve her kindness. I don’t deserve anyone’s kindness.

“Whitney.” Violet rests her hand on Whitney’s arm, startling her. “Tell my sister about the time you slapped that guy across the face at a party. I was trying to tell her about it, but I just can’t do the story justice like you can.”

Whitney’s eyes narrow as she contemplates me, her expression tight. She doesn’t have to say a word but I know she’s thinking, You just got off easy. She turns to look at Violet, her smile back in place, her voice light and with the slightest hint of a drawl. “Violet, darling, there have been two face-slapping incidents. Which one are you talking about?”

Violet tilts her head, her gaze traveling to mine for the briefest moment, sending me a knowing look. “Tell us about both of them,” she says encouragingly, sending me a wink before she returns her attention to Whitney.