Henry began studying the menu but Will seemed less convinced, looking away only when Henry called his attention to a cart of flaming meat being rolled by our table.

Satisfied they were sufficiently distracted, I leaned toward Bennett. “Where’s Sara?”

“Wouldn’t you love to know?”

I narrowed my eyes at him, scowling. “Arsehole.”

“Hey, you started this,” Bennett said, reaching for my drink.

I smacked his hand away. “Me? What are you on about?”

“You know: Chloe? Here? As grateful as I am, don’t try and pretend it wasn’t you who suggested the whole lap dance thing.”

“For you.”

“For me,” he said, smirking. “Right. So I’d be distracted and you could be with Sara in that club.”

Maybe he had a point.

“You can’t tell me if Sara teased you for forty-five minutes in a strip club you wouldn’t immediately go find her and . . . fix things. Even if you were meant to be hanging out with the guys.”

I laughed. “Too right.” I leaned closer, voice low. The idea of being able to slip out of here and have Sara one more time was too delicious to pass up. “This dinner is going to take at least two hours. I could be back in twenty.”

This time when he reached for my drink, I let him take it. “She’s visiting a friend,” he whispered.

I paused. “Visiting . . . what?”

“Oh, that bothers you? Leaves you feeling unresolved? I’m not so sure I should tell you,” he said, studying me. “It’s pretty clear the start of this night has gone far better for you than for me. Maybe your focus should be on my bachelor party instead of what’s in your pants.”

“Or,” I began, “I could tell Henry about that time you shagged two girls in his bed when he was stuck working at school over the uni holidays.”

That sobered him up. “She has a friend that dances in some show at Planet Hollywood. Chloe mentioned something about Sara going over there for sound check or something between performances.”

Sara, sitting in a dark theater all alone? That was all I needed to hear. Pushing away from the table, I stood. Will and Henry looked up at me from their menus. “Where are you going?” Henry asked. “They have a forty-ounce rib eye!”

“Toilet,” I said, placing a hand over my stomach. “I’m, ah . . . not feeling well.”

“You, too?” Will asked.

I nodded, hesitating for only a moment before saying, “Back in a bit.”

And I was off, sprinting from the restaurant, blood pumping hot in my legs and that untethered need to be with her buzzing steadily under my skin.