“Thanks,” I say with as genuine a smile as I can manage, trying hard not to look too obvious as I move what distance I can from him. “You look … drunk.”

He chuckles, and in the process, he somehow loses his balance and uses the opportunity to reach out and grab my arm to steady himself. His touch is soft, but there’s a contradicting roughness to it and, when he doesn’t let me go despite the fact he’s clearly regained his balance, I can’t help but look down to where his hand is wrapped around my elbow, almost possessively.

“We had a shotgun competition while you were getting ready,” Nash explains, his words evidently slurred. “I lost.”

I don’t miss the hiccup he tries to conceal. Again, my eyes look down to where he’s still holding me, and I wish he’d take the hint and move a few feet away. It isn’t right that he’s touching me again. It isn’t necessary, nor is the way his gaze is lingering resolutely on my lips.

“Have you heard from Anna? Is she having fun at the retreat?” I ask, hoping the mention of Anna might remind him that he’s engaged to be married in just a couple of days, and he most certainly shouldn’t be looking at me the way he is.

He shakes his head, and much to my disappointment he actually moves closer instead of moving away, his hand trailing from my elbow to my waist as he leans in. “Did you and Harley sort everything out?” he whispers so close to my ear I can feel his lips brush against the shell.

Involuntarily I snap back, away from him, my face stark when I meet his red-rimmed eyes. I want to push him away, tell him to back the hell up, but before I have the chance to say anything, I’m stopped by a strong pair of hands snaking around my waist from behind, effectively forcing Nash away from me. I turn my head to see Harley looking down at me with a playful grin despite the furrow between his brow and the knowing look in his eyes as he casts Nash a furtive once-over.

“Where were you?” I find myself asking as I turn in his arms, cowering slightly closer in an attempt to get farther away from Nash.

“I was getting ready in the downstairs bathroom because you were taking forever,” he says, his eyes fleeting momentarily to Nash who seems to have otherwise forgotten about his advances toward me and is suddenly joking and laughing with the guys.

I exhale a harsh breath, my shoulders sagging in relief at his distance, but then I meet Harley’s eyes to find a confused look within them as he studies me. “What?”

“A-are you okay?” he asks, nodding his chin in Nash’s direction.

I manage a smile and a shrug. “Yeah. He’s just drunk.”

“He is …” Harley nods, but his eyes are still shrouded in confusion, and I’m fully aware of his arms still protectively wrapped around my waist, holding me close.