“Are you still trying to play the whole ‘we’re just friends’ card?” Stormy filled a mug from a tap and held it hostage while she waited for Morgan’s answer.

“Shut up.”

“Just promise me you’re not lying to yourself, at least.”

“Give me the beer, Stormy.”

“She could be good for you.”

“Do I give you shit about your love life?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Please?”

Stormy sighed dramatically and released the drink, accepting the cash Morgan handed her in return. “Oh, and Morgan?”

Morgan turned back to the bar. “What?”

“I closed up a little early the other night and took a walk by the water.”

“That sounds nice.”

“Emilia sounded pretty nice, too.”

Morgan opened her mouth to say something, anything, but the blood overtaking her cheeks and throat made it impossible to speak.

“I won’t tell anyone.” Stormy shooed her away and turned to her next customer.

“You okay?” Lillian asked when she sat back down.

“Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “Swallowed wrong.”

She set the beer in front of Emilia and willed her face to regain its normal complexion. Stevie patted her on the back.

Stormy’s words stuck in her head as she rejoined the conversation. Embarrassment warred with vivid memories of the sounds Stormy referred to, and when Emilia shifted closer in her chair, Morgan laid her hand on her thigh, unable to stop herself.

Emilia uncrossed her legs and laughed at whatever Lillian had just said. Morgan slipped her hand between Emilia’s thighs and stroked the fabric slowly, grateful their seats were against the wall. The only way someone could have seen was if they ducked underneath a table. Emilia tightened her thighs around Morgan’s hand as she moved farther up, trapping her against her heated center. Morgan gulped more of her own beer and hoped the cold liquid would cool her off. It didn’t. Emilia arched her hips so subtly none of the others could possibly have noticed, but it sent a shockwave through Morgan.

“Anyway, my mom sent Emilia enough food to feed an army, so feel free to invite yourselves over any time.”

“That reminds me,” Morgan said to Emilia while Stevie inquired about the exact nature of the feast. “I mentioned to my parents that Ray’s daughter was in town, and my mother ordered me to invite you over for dinner. You don’t have to come,” she added, “all things considered.”

She moved her hand with the last word, and Emilia covered her sharp intake of breath with a fake cough.

“I’d love that.” The eyes she turned on Morgan were half-lidded with desire, and the color in her cheeks could have been from the beer. Morgan suspected it had a lot more to do with the gentle, insistent pressure she was currently exerting on Emilia’s clit through her jeans.

“Stevie was invited too,” she said. “It wouldn’t just be you.”