I accept my phone back. “I doubt anything will come of it.”

“We’ll see.” He’s just rooting for me, but his smile does look flirty, and I’m grateful for it.

“Thanks again.” I wave goodbye at him and push away from the wall. When I navigate to my contacts, I find a new name: Scarlett.

Chapter 21

I pass the bar on my way back to the table. Conor is downing a glass of something clear that looks like water, but could probably disinfect an entire sewage system. With his head tipped back, I expect him not to notice me walking by.

When his arm snatches out to block my path, I gasp. “What—?”

His forearm presses horizontally against my abdomen. One hand locks around the curve of my waist, the grip not painful, but too tight for me to wiggle free. I try to walk, but I’m stuck in place.

“What are you doing, Maya?” We face opposite ways. With him leaning on the stool, his lips are level with my ear.

“I am attempting to go back to the table.”

“You know what I’m referring to.”

I pause. My heartbeat speeds up. Grows louder. “Do I?”

“I just saw you exchange numbers with some horny twenty-year-old who thinks Axe body spray is the epitome of class and uses dirty socks instead of condoms.”

I have to nip the inside of my cheek to avoid laughing at his assessment. Poor German. “And?”

“And.”

I slow-blink, hoping to look confused. Negronis, it appears, do wonders for my acting chops. “I don’t know what you are—”

“Not this fucking week, Maya.”

“Why? Are you under the impression that Eli would care?” I shift in his arms, just enough to meet his eyes. His grip adjusts, but doesn’t relax. “I guess we could ask my brother. See if he would mind me hooking up with a nice boy I just met. But I know he wouldn’t.”

“Maya.”

“What about you, Conor? Would you care?”

His nostrils flare. I wait for him to glance away and let my lips curl into a small smile when he doesn’t.

“Honestly,” I say quietly, “I thought you’d be happy.”

“About you behaving unsafely?”

“About me directing my focus to someone who’s age-appropriate.”

His eyelids flutter closed. When he opens them again, his voice is little more than a rough whisper. “I want you to delete that number.”

I let my mouth fall open. “You do? I’ll get right to it, then.”

“I’m serious.”

“Are you? Because when an adult man who has adamantly refused to have a single conversation with me for the past ten months thinks he can tell me what to do with my time, with my body, or with my phone…” His hold on me hardens, and my heart skips. A gust of euphoria blows through me, and this time, I don’t bother holding back my laughter. “Conor, you have to be joking.”