“Miller Lite!” Kevin and Seth yell out over the music, holding an empty pitcher in the air. I roll my eyes, laughing at them as I take the jug with me, snaking my way through the crowd toward the bar.

And, that’s when I spot him, behind the bar, serving a line of customers waiting at the counter. For a moment, I just stand there, on the spot, watching him. The way he moves so effortlessly, reaching for glasses up above, and bottles behind him, pouring shots like some professional mixologist as he laughs casually with his customers like they’re his very best friends. I clamp my bottom lip between my teeth as I continue staring at him from across the bar.

He looks good tonight. His wayward curls are contained by a backward End Zone cap, his strong jaw shadowed with a smattering of stubble. His dimples pull into his cheeks as he laughs at something someone says to him, adding a hint of boyish charm to his already charming exterior. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat with every word he says, and the tattoos inked into the smooth skin over his forearms seem to dance with every movement of his strong hands and long fingers. I’m not normally attracted to tattoos, but the longer I find myself unable to look away from him, the more they taunt me, hypnotizing me. I have to force myself to snap my gaze away, my eyes widening at my own thoughts.

Oh no. Please no. This isn’t right. It can’t be. Despite the dread sitting at the bottom of my belly, I convince myself to continue ahead and, by the time I come to stop at the counter, I find Harley right there, smiling down at me with a grin that only causes his green eyes to sparkle deviously like he knows a secret, and that’s literally the last thing I need to see right now. I shake my head in an attempt to push him and his beautiful eyes to the very back of my priorities.

“You told Emma?” I hiss over the counter, placing the empty pitcher on the bar.

“Yeah.” He nods, looking at me with a crease of confusion pulling between his brows. “Isn’t that the point of this whole thing? To … tell people?” He shrugs a shoulder.

“Yeah, I guess.” I sigh, not realizing until this very moment just how soft and full his lips seem to be up close. Again, I shake my head at my own thoughts. “But Emma? She’s your … your smash buddy. You said so yourself.”

He shrugs again, focusing on the beer tap in front of him as he fills a new pitcher. I take a seat at the bar in an attempt to catch my breath a moment, and when I glance back over my shoulder to see Anna and Nash kissing passionately for all to see, his hands groping her ass over the tiny satin slip she’s wearing as a dress, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I can’t stop my face from scrunching up in disgust. I guess it’s safe to assume their differences from yesterday are forgotten. And, for a moment, I wonder if the same goes for mine and Nash’s moment together on the balcony last night.