I cut a quick glance around the table. It’s the same people from summer, plus or minus a few who returned earlier this week from Paris. Curiosity draws their future Botoxed faces tight.

How will such a conversation end?

They can’t read me, and I find that entertaining.

My lips begin to quirk, and not a moment later, a loud scoff leaves Scott. He glances from Dax to Amy to me.

He shakes his head, eliminating the space between us. “Man, fuck them.” He throws one leg over the seat, his knee now knocking with mine under the table. “Let them have their fantasies,” he says as if they could never fit in the world these people live in.

Amy and I meet eyes again, and the doubt flickering in hers pisses me off, but not as much as the inquisition behind them intrigues me.

What is it you’re searching for, Miss Priss?

I hold her gaze for longer than she’s comfortable with, then slowly draw mine to the boys of the hour and wait.

It takes several seconds, seconds I’m convinced are purposeful, and then Ransom’s eyes are pinned to mine.

With a flick of my finger, I call him over.

“Oh my god, what are you doing?” Cali’s panic is hidden behind her hand. “Jameson, he’s going to cover you in your coffee.”

I’ll admit, my pulse jumps at her words; she knows him better than me, right? Still, I don’t take my eyes off Ransom’s.

No one knows about our few, short meetings, other than the five seconds they saw us speak at the club, which I covered up, and the people I met mere hours ago have no sense of what I’m about, so, yeah. I’m sure I come off every bit the overconfident girl their twisted brows insinuate they see me as in this moment.

To be honest, I half figure I am and wholly expect the guy to turn away and ignore me because who the hell am I? The kicker, though, is the hint of the sassy smirks dawning each of their lips. They’re waiting to let them free and will the moment I fail to get Ransom to oblige, but those little grins are guaranteed to backfire as my sole reaction would be laughter, because again... who the hell am I and why would he come at my call?

Only Ransom doesn’t snub me.

He pushes to his feet, and without so much as breaking eye contact, stalks this way in all his six-four sexiness.

Amy sits up straight, a weary expression twisting her face, somewhat mirroring the others around us, while I lift my elbow to the table and press my chin into my open palm.

Scott shifts closer.

The table grows tenser.

Ransom steps up behind me without a care.