Summer had lived with that, knowing she was an afterthought, a result of their bond but not really part of the circle. She even understood it, though she’d never really felt such a bond herself. And she’d decided life was too big, the possibilities too endless to tie herself down to one person to the exclusion of everything else.

She’d been told more than once that she had a rather masculine approach to relationships. She was fine with that. Had always been fine with that. Until now. Being here reminded her how nice it could be to have those ties she always avoided like the plague. Being here reminded her that love could be a nice, warm, sort of fuzzylike emotion that maybe could grow on her quite nicely.

At the thought, a little tiny flicker came from deep inside. Maybe she could want to belong to a specific place rather than roam, be part of a group that didn’t change with each trek she took, to be a part of a relationship that mattered, that stuck. “You’re definitely the strong one here,” she said to Chloe. “Being able to admit what you want, being able to go for it.”

“Wow, look at us,” Chloe said. “Bonding. Who’d have thought?” She tipped up the glass, downed it, then slapped it down to the bar. “We should go get inked together next time.”

“As in tattooed?”

“Yeah.”

“Um…thanks, but no.”

Chloe shrugged and topped off their glasses with the last of the pitcher. “We could go get a Brazilian wax. I’m due.”

“Ouch.”

“You get used to it.”

“Really?”

“Well, no. But then I reward myself by getting a massage and Sven is so gorgeous…”

Summer choked on her drink and Chloe’s grin nearly split her face.

“And you think I’m crazy,” Summer said.

“I’m plastered,” Chloe said cheerfully.

“I can tell.” Feeling superior, Summer pushed her empty drink away, then swayed. She put a hand to her head. “Whoa.”

“The drinks were doubles. And we had two. Or four. So that’s like…” Chloe began counting on her fingers, weaving a bit in her chair. “A lot.”

The bar had begun to fill up. People shifted in closer, and Summer wasn’t so far gone she couldn’t focus on the faces. An unmistakable desire to giggle overcame her. “Uh oh.”

“Huh?” Bleary-eyed, Chloe took a look and gasped. Braden was heading purposely their way, his mouth grim, his face granite.

Nothing unusual there.

But his eyes. Those dark, usually unreadable eyes blazed with hunger, with need and temper and heat as they lit on Chloe and no one else.

“Chloe,” Summer said carefully, enunciating each syllable. “That’s not the look of a man who doesn’t give a shit.”