The problem was he didn’t know what Cherisse’s intentions were. Had she agreed to the date because of pressure from her mother? Did she genuinely like Jerome? His cousin was a great guy, so it wasn’t that unbelievable, but where did that leave him and Cherisse?

They’d had amazing sex, which he’d never expected in his wildest dreams, but it didn’t give him the right to expect anything from Cherisse. His jealousy was his problem, but damn if hearing about these dates didn’t chafe. He could admit he wanted that, too. Seemed unlikely he’d get it.

Scott rooted around in his container. “Sorry, man. I know you really like her.”

Like? What a joke. His heart hammered in his chest from just watching her smiling with her sister, who’d joined the conversation with Reba. He was screwed. He should’ve shut everything down before it had gotten this far. Adding sex just revved up all the twisty annoying feelings that had been simmering since they’d come back into each other’s orbit. Now, he knew how she tasted beneath his tongue, felt in his hands, and sounded when she came. He shrugged like Scott’s words weren’t a dagger to the chest.

“It is what it is. I’ll live.”

Scott leveled him with a look heavy on the skepticism but kept on eating the rest of his popcorn, not saying a word. Keiran told himself to go check on the status of the games, anything but standing here feeling sorry for himself while Scott patted his shoulder.

“It’ll work out, somehow,” Scott assured him. “By the way, your FWB’s heading this way, so good luck with that.”

“Scott, what the f—” Too late. Scott had already sailed off, stopping briefly to wave at Cherisse before he power-walked away like whatever was happening on the other end of the room was so important.

“Hi.” Her smile was a little frayed around the edges, but Keiran chose to pin that on tiredness—they’d been here late last night and early this morning setting up—rather than I know what you look like naked awkwardness. It was possibly a mix of both. “Everything okay over here?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” She tossed him a questioning look. His tone had been a bit curt. His brain supplied nothing else. Well, nothing except wanting to ask her about Jerome and why she hadn’t mentioned the date. It did register how good she smelled, though. Vanilla. She always smelled good, sweet. Today, she smelled all vanilla-y, like... “Cookies,” he blurted out.

“Cookies?” Her brow furrowed because, obviously, that made no sense.

“No, I meant you,”—Jesus, he was going to sound like a fool—“smell like cookies.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. Her snort made him drag his hand away. She was smiling at him, at least, a real, full-on, genuine, make-his-heart-beat-faster smile.

“I get that a lot. Sorry to disappoint, but it’s just my perfume. I didn’t make any cookies for this thing. I did the, uh...” She cleared her throat. “The red velvet shooters that you liked so much, and other desserts, obviously.” Her hand swept the table behind him.