Wicked Sexy Liar (Wild Seasons #4)(14)

I brush by him on my way to the cooler.

Fred finishes ringing up a customer and turns back to me. “So tell me. What point did he prove to you?”

I consider this while I open a bottle of Zinfandel, thinking back on what exactly it was about Luke leaving with the brunette that bothered me most. “I think it reminded me I need to trust my instincts.”

Fred’s smile softens. “We could probably all stand to do a little more of that.”

“Probably.”

After he opens a couple of beers for two guys at the bar, Fred turns back to me. “Who was that dragging him out of here?”

I laugh. It definitely didn’t look like Luke was being dragged anywhere. “I have no idea. Random Girl Number Whatever.”

“You two know each other pretty well, then?”

Giving Fred a little warning glance, I duck down to shelve the wine bottle, saying, “Don’t you have something else you should be doing?”

He looks exceedingly pleased with himself. “Something besides mixing drinks and hassling you?”

“Yeah.”

“Unless Harlow’s coming around, then not really.” He pauses. “But I am a bartender and have been told I’m a pretty good listener if you need to talk when things slow down a little.”

I lift my chin to him in thanks and move to the other end of the bar. The thing is, I don’t need to talk. Does it sting that Luke had sex with me less than twenty-four hours ago and just walked out of the bar with another woman? A little. Not because I feel like my honor has been tarnished or I wanted more of Luke for myself, but because it makes me feel a little disposable, and, despite my better judgment, I liked him.

I’ll get over it.



* * *



A COUPLE OF hours later, I walk out of the storage room carrying a case of hard liquor and see that Luke is back. Alone.

I slow my steps as I close the distance between us, trying to figure out how I’m going to get out of interacting with him, but he looks up at the sound of bottles clanking and his face lights up.

“If it isn’t my favorite bartender,” he says, flashing me his warm smile. “I thought you’d left, London.”

I feel my own smile flicker across my mouth when he emphasizes using my correct name, and he watches me balance the box on the sink and open it, pulling out bottles and setting them on the counter. My fallback persona is bubbly, but in this job—and especially with guys like Luke—I’ve had to train myself to be a bit more reserved. So far with him I sort of suck at it.

But what sucks even more right now is I’m a captive audience behind the bar, and I just don’t know what else we possibly have to talk about.

He’s still smiling as if he’s genuinely happy to see me, and damn if that same pull isn’t still there between us, drawing the hesitation out of me.

“Here all night,” I say, and I hope my smile is the appropriate balance of friendly yet distant. “I didn’t see you come back in.”

He’s in the middle of taking a drink when I say this, and his eyes widen over the top of it.

“?‘Come back in’?” Luke sets his beer down in front of him and spins the coaster so the logo is facing up.

My mom says when I was younger, she could always tell when I was lying or stalling for time: I’d frown and scrunch my brows together until I had this little line in the center of my forehead. Apparently I still do it; she says it’s my tell. I wonder now if Luke has a tell, too, and if that’s what I’m seeing in the subtle way he’s fidgeting. He’s been so calm and smooth all this time, seeing him like this is like watching a gazelle play cards with a lion.

“Yeah, I saw you leave with your friend. And yet, here you are.”

“You mean Dylan?” He turns his cocktail napkin so that it’s facing logo side up, too.

It takes me a second to realize he means Not-Joe. I smile, knowing I’ve inadvertently cracked an enormous mystery among my friends: Who in the ever-loving hell is Not-Joe?

“I think we both know I’m not talking about Dylan.”

Luke laughs and I know the second he’s pulled himself together because he smiles and it’s a magic trick the way the cocky-jock-curtain parts across his face. I have zero doubt Luke Sutter could charm his way out of almost anything.

“You mean Aubrey,” he says, nodding as if the pieces are finally coming together for him. “I just drove her home.”

I snort. “I bet you did.”

“I was making sure she didn’t try to drive,” he says. “Besides, you had your wicked way with me yesterday and then barely looked at me tonight. When could you possibly have noticed me leaving?”

Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Luke, it’s totally fine. There’s zero weirdness on this end because you know where I stand. I’m just giving you shit.”

“Come on now, Dimples.” He immediately reaches into his pocket and pulls out a dollar bill, stuffing it in the jar. “I was just being a friend.”

Unable to resist, I tease, “Is ‘being a friend’ code for getting your dick sucked in the backseat?”

A laugh bursts from his throat. “It wasn’t like that,” he says, and one side of his mouth ratchets up a tiny bit higher than the other. “I promise.”