Ten minutes later, Winter exits the hallway, eyes on the floor. She’s wearing a black minidress with side cutouts in the shapes of diamonds, and nude heels.

Fuck, she looks hot.

I watch her as she moves around our common space gathering her purse and lip balm, checking her phone and putting it in her purse, taking a sip of water, taking her sweet fucking time, all the while not looking in my direction even once.

“You look nice…” I poke the bear. Truthfully poke the bear, because she does, she looks fantastic.

No glance; no smart-ass remark; no blushing, pink-cheeked thank you. She sets her glass down and licks her lips, making my cock jump to attention in my dress pants. This little shit is acting nuttier than a barn full of coked-out squirrels, and fuck if it doesn’t make me want to stuff her like a Christmas stocking.

“Thanks,” she mutters finally, before opening the door beside me and exiting the suite.

In the elevator she stands approximately ten feet from me, which is really fucking strange considering the elevator cabin is no larger than six feet wide, tops.

“Did I do something wrong, Winter? I’m catching a hint of...” I feign thought. “An attitude.”

Listen, I get it. I understand the last thing I should do right now is push her, but it makes me feel good and, as we’ve discovered, I’m an asshole like that.

And she deserves it.

Winter finally looks up at me, her golden-brown doe eyes narrowed into sharp slits. Her beautifully full red lips lay in a hard line, almost a frown.

Hulk? That you? But I don’t say it. Fuck, even I know not to say it.

“Let’s just get through this evening, shall we? Take comfort in knowing the bride and groom are finally here. No need to babysit me any longer.”

My mouth opens to ask her what the fuck she’s referring to, but the elevator dings, then the doors slide open. I want to grab her arm and march her into a corner, demanding she explain herself, because what the fuck? But when we step out of the elevator we’re greeted by the smiling faces of our damn friends.

“There they aaare!” Preston sings like an asshole. Like a giddy, happy asshole. “Hey, man. Happy to see you!” He slaps his hand over my shoulder, then leans in for a hug.

“Hey, Press,” I say. “I have a car waiting out front.”

Everybody greets each other. Winter and her friends exchange hugs and kisses and loaded fucking glances all the way to the car.

If this has anything to do with that surfing son of a bitch, I’m having his ass audited.

Let’s not pretend I didn’t find out everything there was to find out about that asshat. He’s a fucking Kingsley. In this city, that means something. His family owns half the commercial real estate in Los Angeles. I’ve dealt with his shithead father a few times since I moved back, and if he’s anything like that elitist piece of shit, I won’t let him get anywhere near my girl.