A waitress appears by our booth. “Hey, y’all. What can I get for you?”

She’s pretty. Young and blonde and cheery. All four guys perk up, but her gaze is on Gray. Unfortunately, he’s the sort of attractive that is every girl’s type, that stands out in all the right ways.

Gray looks up from his phone and grins, a slow, lazy one that takes its time unfurling across his face. “What do you recommend?”

She cocks a hip. “What do you like?”

For fuck’s sake. “I’d like a whiskey sour, please.”

Reluctantly, the waitress peels her eyes away from Gray’s perfect bone structure to jot down my order. Sloane chimes in with her request, and the rest of the guys do the same.

“Got any plans while you’re back, Gray?” Noah asks once she’s left to fetch our drinks.

Gray looks at me, and for one wild second, I think he’s going to bring up his invitation to me to hang out. The one I’m almost certain wasn’t genuine. “Your little sister just got in the way of one.”

Nope, he’s talking about getting laid. As if he’ll have trouble finding another willing female to take home tonight.

I snort. “I’m thirsty. She was here to take our drink order. And if that was the extent of your game…you’ve got bigger problems than me interrupting, Phillips.”

Gray leans back and spreads one arm across the back of the booth. He’s still wearing the same light-blue button-down from the party. The move stretches the cotton material taut across his chest, teasing at what lies beneath. I have his full attention, and it comes with a heady, thrilling rush of significance.

“The extent? That wasn’t even the start, Collins.”

He says my last name with the same taunting lilt I spoke his in. I roll my eyes, acting unaffected by the erratic pounding of my heart. It almost feels like he’s flirting with me, which is an event worthy of a national holiday.

The first Saturday in June is now Gray Phillips Flirts with Evie Collins Day.

The parade I was planning is canceled when Gray gets lost in the waitress’s cleavage. Or at least, that’s what it looks like when she returns with our drinks and selectively bends over to deliver them.

I look away and sip my cocktail, hoping she didn’t spit in it. The whiskey hits my tongue with a smoky burn that sears my stomach and slowly trickles into my bloodstream. I down it quickly, mostly for something to do while I people-watch. The guys are discussing sports, and Sloane is messaging her surfer guy. I feel light and loose by the time the glass is empty.

“Come on.” I nudge Sloane’s arm. “Let’s go dance.”

She perks up immediately, giving me a delighted smile. “Yeah?”