I pointed at the sideboard where they’d set up the bar. Which was conveniently located next to Patrice. “I’m going to get myself another drink.”

This dynamic was becoming a pattern for us: Patrice momentarily letting his guard down and me pouncing.

Carmen scoffed, “We can tell you’re thirsty, Easton. You go and get yourself that drink.”

I started walking and turned to respond to Carmen, “You’re hilarious.”

I heard Jude and Carmen laugh as I made my way to Patrice.

When I got to him, he had an amused look on his face, obviously entertained by whatever those two were doing behind me.

I pointed my thumb in their direction as I stood next to Patrice. “Are they making fun of me?”

Patrice shook his head, and the sides of his mouth lifted enough that it could almost be considered a smile.

Almost.

“I wouldn’t call it making fun, but they seem to find whatever you said pretty entertaining.”

I looked over at the guy who’d been talking to Patrice and held my hand out.

“Easton Archer.”

“Peter Black. Nice to meet you.” I shook his hand with more force than necessary as Patrice stood there placidly, unaware that I was basically ready to challenge the guy to a duel over him.

The handshake went on a little longer than was reasonable and I barely refrained from grabbing my dick and posturing, all while Patrice looked at me like he was not sure what was wrong with me. But I’d seen that smile when he spotted me across the room a moment ago, so I was staying strong.

Fuck Pete and his sweater vest.

My death stare must have worked because after a quick goodbye Peter made his way over to another cluster of people on the other side of the room.

“Patrice,” I said smugly now that I’d successfully managed to get Peter to move on.

He looked me up and down. His eyes landing for just a bit too long on my mouth. I ran my tongue over my upper lip, which I hoped would earn me a reaction.

When we’d been together he nipped at my mouth all the time. Teasing me about how red my lips were. I was hoping, like me, he’d remember those moments. How good they were. I’d felt so close to Patrice on those nights last summer. Like he understood something essential about me and I’d felt like I did the same for him.

Right now, Patrice’s body language was mystifying me though. His shoulders were tight and tense and yet his eyes kept coming back to my face and my body. They were almost...needy. Like a kid who’s in a candy store without a cent to buy himself any of the treats he’s looking at. I brought my glass up to my lips and took a sip of my wine, looking straight at him. Letting him see in my eyes that everything he saw he could have, anytime.

All he had to do was ask.