Val and Marks were deep in conversation about the pros and cons for the solicitation notice of the 9mm pistols versus our standard issue Smith & Wesson. Thomas was on the other side of the L-shaped bar, standing in the middle of a small herd of California girls any Beach Boy would be proud of. The women were all giggling as they drank and took turns at the dartboard, clapping and cheering every time Thomas hit a bull’s-eye.

Thomas didn’t seem to be overly flattered by the attention, but he was having a good time, glancing over at me every now and again with a relaxed smile.

He had taken off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his oxford, revealing several inches of his thick tanned forearms. His tie was loose, and his top button had been left undone. I willed away the jealousy threatening to bubble to the surface every time I looked over at his new fangirls, but I could still feel those arms around me, pulling me into different positions and watching as they flexed while he—

“Liis!” Val said, snapping her fingers. “You didn’t hear a flippin’ word I said, did you?”

“No,” I said before finishing my drink. “I’m going to head out.”

“What? No!” Val said, pouting. Her protruding bottom lip pulled back in as she smiled. “You don’t have a ride. You can’t leave.”

“I called a taxi.”

Val’s eyes reflected her feelings of betrayal. “How dare you.”

“See you Monday,” I said, situating my purse strap.

“Monday? What about tomorrow? You’re going to waste a perfectly good Saturday night?”

“I have to unpack, and I would actually like to spend time in the condo I’m paying for.”

Val was back to pouting. “Fine.”

“Good night, Lindy,” Marks said before turning his attention back to Val.

I pushed the door open, smiling politely to the patrons sitting outside on the patio. The multicolored string lights hanging overhead made me feel like I was on vacation. I still wasn’t used to the fact that the balmy temperature and camisoles were now my normal. Instead of trudging through the frozen tundra of Chicago in a down coat, I could step outside in a summer dress and sandals if I wanted, even in the wee hours of the morning.

“Leaving?” Thomas said, seeming rushed.

“Yes. I’d like to get completely unpacked this weekend.”

“Let me drive you.”

“You look”—I leaned over to peek at his groupies through the window—“busy.”

“I’m not.” He shook his head as if I should have known better.

When he looked at me that way, I felt like the only person in the city.

My heart fluttered in my chest, and I begged any hatred I still had for him to make itself known.

“You’re not driving me home. You’ve been drinking.”