After three hours at the club, we followed Amy and my mother back to the house. Thatcher drove the van since he was sober. I was not.

Well, I wasn’t drunk either. I’d taken his advice and avoided the jello shots, but I’d certainly made a dent in the wine. But if there was a line for sobriety, the fact that I’d done karaoke with Amy and her maid of honor, Bea, proved I was just on the wrong side.

I wasn’t sure if our rendition of I Will Survive was a reminder I’d get through the weekend. But I’d been constantly reminded I wasn’t doing it alone. I’d frequently looked for Thatcher. When I wasn’t looking for him, I wanted him. Because… yeah, he was gorgeous, and he was mine for the weekend.

It was obvious the difference bringing him made on my fun. I’d been included. Amy forgot I was fat or a lowly baker. My mother must have recognized Thatcher was a better catch than Franklin Pierce. Whatever their reason… I hadn’t cared. I’d had fun.

I’d actually had fun.

Again, the wine had helped.

Thatcher’s winks from across the room sure as shit made me feel wanted. Like I belonged to someone. That we were together. He made me feel wanted. Desirable.

Sexy.

“Astrid, dear. I’m sure Thatcher will want to stay in the guest room since your bed is so small,” Mother said, setting her purse and keys on the round table in the center of the entry. It was two stories, with marble on the floor and two staircases on the left and right that curved to the second floor central hallway in the middle. It was a little much, but I was used to it. I had no idea what Thatcher thought of my parents’ house. Mansion, really. But since Cutthroat was known for being the winter playground of the rich and famous, I didn’t think he was surprised.

“It’s a queen,” I countered. “I gave up my childhood twin size in eleventh grade.”

She looked me over. Ah. Even in my wine fog, I understood.

And I’d thought for a few hours that my family would be normal instead of petty. Stupid me.

“Don’t worry, Patricia, we don’t need a big bed.” Thatcher wrapped his arm around my waist, pulled me close. “I like Astrid close. Real close.”

As the evening wore on, my desire to be truly together with him grew. I liked him. He was nice. Friendly. He hadn’t run off for the Manning Ranch when I’d been in the ladies room.

He was here.

And when I said my desire to be truly together with him grew, I also meant more than just in the same room. I wanted to be with him. I desired him. The looks, the winks, the smiles… it was all foreplay.