He’s Not My Type

“Hello?”

“Blakely, it’s Huxley Cane.”

Sitting on a chair in my bedroom since there’s no bed, I try not to sound nervous. “Huxley, it’s so nice to hear from you.” Especially since I’ve been avoiding you.

“I’m going to get to the point. I want to know if my offer is of interest to you or if I should move on to finding someone else. As far as I’m concerned, you’re who I want for the job, but I don’t want to force you into anything.”

“I appreciate that,” I say as I stare at myself in the mirror across from me. I’m sitting in my robe with my hair and makeup done for the wedding. Just need to slip on my dress. “And I don’t mean to hold you up, but I guess I’m just trying to figure out what I want to do with my career. The direction I want to take.”

“Can I help in any way? I’d like to remain neutral. If anything, I can appreciate your ability not to jump headfirst into a new career.”

“Well, I do have a few questions.”

“Ask away.”

I play with the tie on my robe as I ask, “The moving thing. I don’t know if I want to leave Vancouver. That’s been a big holdup for me.”

“What if I said you could work remotely?”

My interest piques, but doubt also creeps in. “I don’t want coworkers to resent me if I don’t move to Los Angeles.”

“I’ll say this. We have people who work remotely as well as in the office. It’s really their preference. We run our business with the notion that not everyone can work productively in an office and not everyone can work productively at home. Would it be nice to have you in the office? Of course, but we offer both options for a reason, to see what best suits each employee. You being in Canada won’t be any different from someone else who lives in LA and works remotely. The great thing about technology now is that with a click of a button, you’re transported into the conference room whenever we need you.”

Relief fills me as I lean back in my chair. “And you mean that?”

“One thing you need to know about my brothers and me is that we’re not going to bullshit you, Blakely. If I say it, I mean it.”

“Of course, I’m sorry for even questioning you.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s a fair question. What else?”

I cross one leg over the other. “Will I be working directly with the athletes? Because right now, I work more with the VIP customers. It’s like seventy-thirty. I’d prefer to work more one-on-one with the athletes. It’s what I find the most fun. I wanted to get into player relations but slipped into VIP sales and marketing. I’ve learned a lot, and I’ve loved this job, but if I rotate to something new, I want to rotate into a direction that brings me the joy I’m looking for.”

“The only people you’ll be working with are the athletes signed up with The Jock Report and their appointed staff. It’s all about interacting with the players, ensuring their voice is heard and portrayed. There will be occasional travel requirements, but nothing that takes you away from Vancouver for long periods of time. A lot of the job can be done through online conferences.” He pauses, and I take a moment to think about that. It sounds ideal. It sounds surreal. “I chose you, Blakely, because you’re composed, professional, intuitive, and dynamic, and I know our athletes would thrive under your care. You’re what I’ve been looking for.”

“Thank you,” I say as I consider his words. “You’re composed, professional, intuitive, and dynamic. You’re exactly what I’ve been looking for.” I’ve held off answering for too long. Any other person would have moved on, but Huxley Cane sees something in me, something he likes. And honestly? I’m already thriving from that confidence in me. Imagine what it would do for me if I worked for him? If I had that level of professional guidance and encouragement daily? I like the idea of working more with the athletes. And I can’t beat the money and the financed housing. Not to mention, it might be fun working from home . . .

I close my eyes and before I can stop myself, I say, “I’ll take the job.”

“Good,” Huxley says, not even bothering to make sure I mean it. Probably because he knows it’s an offer I’d be stupid to refuse. “I’ll have HR send over the official letter. If you sign by Monday, we’ll include a signing bonus. I look forward to working with you. I’ll be in touch.”

And then he hangs up, leaving me feeling stupefied.

I slowly lower my phone and stare at myself in the mirror.

Holy shit, did I just accept a new job?

I bite down on the corner of my lip. What was I thinking?

I know what I was thinking . . . the job was too good to turn down but, God, now I have to tell Penny. I have to tell my boss. I have to tell Halsey. Not that . . . not that I’m sure he’d care. It’s not like I work directly with him. Still.

Just the thought of Halsey, though, makes my stomach churn with nerves.

The past few days have been slightly eye-opening for me.

Halsey has been different. And not in a bad way, just, for lack of a better word, different. I know that makes no sense, but I thought I was getting used to his quiet spirit. That was until he spoke to my landlord and helped me pick out a dress. Now I don’t know how to act around him. I feel awkward because I liked it.

I liked the way he protected me.

The way he stood up for me.

The way he treated me like I was precious.

And what does that say about me?

As a woman in the sports industry, fighting and clawing my way through it, I’ve felt very strongly about lifting women up, protecting our fight for equal opportunity, and here I am, mildly swooning over him standing up for me.

There’s a light rap on my door. “Blakely, you okay?”

Speak of the devil.

I stand from the chair and open the door, poking my head out. That’s when I see him in a dark blue suit with a black lapel, black button-up shirt, and black shoes. His pants cling to his thighs and then stop just below his ankles, showing a touch of skin. His shirt isn’t fully buttoned, as the top two are left open, giving me a slight view of the impressive chest beneath his clothes. He’s left his scruff on his face but has cleaned it up, and his hair is gelled, faded on the sides with a thick tuft styled in a messy way, making him look so incredibly adorable . . . but also lickable at the same time.

“Hey, do you need help with your dress?”

His deep voice crests over me like a warm shower, heating the blood in my veins.

What the hell is happening to me with this man?

“Uh, yeah, do you mind?”

“Not at all,” he says as I open the door.

I give him another once-over, this time, lingering on that little patch of skin over his chest. Clearing my throat, I say, “You look nice.”

My palms start to sweat, which is insane because I’ve seen this man in a suit many times. So many times that I think I’ve seen him in a suit more than in a hockey jersey. So what’s different now?

I’ve said he’s attractive before.

I’ve noticed how hot he is when he takes his helmet off on the ice and his hair is wet from sweat, his eyes zoning in on his competitors.

And I’ve clearly lived with this man to know that he smells like a freaking dream fresh from a shower of aphrodisiacs.

So what’s changed? Is it because I’m no longer looking at him from behind my very clear I-have-a-boyfriend glasses?

He presses his hand to the buttons on his suit jacket and looks down at himself. “Thank you. I tried to pick something that would go with your dress but not be too matchy. I can change if this doesn’t work for you.”

“No, it works.” I wet my lips as I give him another scan. Oh, it works on so many levels.

“Good.”

And then silence falls over us.

Because I’m awkward. And now I’m thinking about him on another level.

A level I shouldn’t even consider.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again—Halsey is not my type. I’ve never thought of him as someone who checks the boxes. However, I’m learning that maybe my boxes have changed.

He’s . . . protective. Charming. Attentive. Engaged. Genuine. I don’t feel as though I’m competing with him like I did with Perry. He’s thoughtful. Contained. Generous. Handsome. And sexy.

It’s as though he’s got everything I never knew I wanted. Which means he currently checks all my boxes.

We stare at each other for a few seconds before he shifts uncomfortably and says, “Uh, your dress?”

“Right.” Shit, come on, Blakely.

Spinning on my heel, I grab it from the hanger that’s hanging on my closet door. I step into the bathroom and barely shut the door before tearing off my robe and tossing it over the sink counter. I slip into my dress, deciding to go without a bra, since the boned bodice does all of the work, and I zip the dress up as much as I can before I head into the bedroom again, where I find Halsey standing in my room, hands in his pockets, staring at the floor.

When he notices I exit the bathroom, his eyes slowly rise until they find me and then . . . they roam.

They roam from my feet, up my legs to where the slit stops at my upper thigh, to the waist of the dress, and then the bodice that clings so expertly to me. I catch his Adam’s apple bob before he steps up to me.

“Turn around,” he says in a low, dark voice.

My mouth goes dry as I turn around and then shift my hair to the side.

His hands find the zipper, and he slowly pulls it up until it’s fully secure. To my surprise, he takes my hair from my hand and drapes it back over my shoulders.

My eyes connect with his when I turn around, and I quietly say, “Thank you.”

He moves his hand over his jaw. “You look gorgeous, Blakely.”

My cheeks flame. “Thank you. I, uh . . . I just need to slip on my shoes.”

“Need help?” he asks.

“Oh no, I’m good,” I say, fumbling to move around him and get to my nude-colored pumps. “Oh, sorry, just need to reach those.”

“These?” he asks, bending at the waist to pick up the shoes.

“Yup, those. Plan on wearing them unless you want to wear them.” I look up at him and swallow hard when I see his brow is raised in a cute, quizzical way. “Do you?”

“Do I want to wear your shoes?”

I laugh because, Jesus, am I nervous now. “I mean, of course you don’t. You would be at a high risk of rolling your ankle again if you did.”

“Yeah, rolling an ankle is the reason I don’t want to wear your shoes,” he says in a joking tone.

“Right . . .” I slip my shoes on and meet his eyes. Pull it together, Blakely. But I can’t. I’m all shaky and jittery inside and can’t stop myself from blurting out, “I’m nervous.”

His brow pinches. “Nervous. Why?”

I shake my hands out. “I don’t know.” Actually I do know. It’s you, you’re the reason I’m nervous. But I know I can’t say that to him. “I’ve never done this before. This fake dating thing. I’m nervous about seeing Perry. I don’t want him cornering me to talk. I don’t want people asking me questions. I don’t—”

His fingers fall on my lips, silencing me. And as the room goes quiet, our eyes connect, his hazels to my greens.

Slowly, he lowers his fingers. The air around us feels thick like it’s trying to pull us together.

Gently, he says, “Let me worry about Perry, and you worry about enjoying your friends getting married.” He entwines our hands together. “As far as the fake dating, that’s easy, just pretend you’re into me.” Pretty sure I don’t have to pretend that. “Hold my hand, lean into me, dance with me. Unless you find me so repulsive you can’t do those things.”

“I d-don’t find you repulsive,” I say. Quite the opposite actually.

“Then you should be good.” He tugs me toward the living room, but I pause to pick up my phone and put it in my clutch before we keep heading toward the front door. “You ready . . . babe?”

And goosebumps just broke over my skin . . .

He winks and, dear God in heaven, help me get through this night.

We move past the couch and because I’ve clearly lost all faculties, I call out, “Bye, Sherman.” The plant now has a permanent scarf around the base of his pot and a picture of my dead cat next to him. I think it’s cute that Halsey rolls with it and doesn’t mind the new additions.

Halsey pauses to glance at me with a humorous twitch to his lips. “Do you always say goodbye to him?”

I press my hand to my chest. “Of course. Don’t you?”

He peeks over his shoulder at the plant and then back at me. “No.”

“Well, looks like the nanny has become more of a mom. Maybe I need to take custody.”

“If he starts wilting when you’re gone, then maybe you will.”

I smirk and let Halsey guide me out the door. This man’s dry sense of humor. Interestingly, the nerves slip from my shoulders.

The job.

The stress of Perry.

The awkwardness.

It all slides away as Halsey takes my hand and leads me to his car. He really is a wonderful man.

Maybe this will be a fantastic night after all.

“OH GOD, THERE HE IS,” I say as I spot Perry out of the corner of my eye.

The wedding was breathtaking. The venue is an old, renovated warehouse with the original brick painted white. All the ducts are exposed, giving more height to the ceiling, but they’ve been painted black and have scattered bulbed lights under them. The dim lighting and original hardwood floors give it a romantic feel.

Arlene and Marco easily spent around one hundred thousand dollars on flowers because rows and rows of pink peonies are draped everywhere. Down the wall, from the ceiling, gathered into vases surrounded by votive candles floating in water, and strung together in rows draped over every doorway.

Never in my life have I ever been to a wedding like this, so romantic, intimate, but also large with so many guests.

And of course, Marco had to meet Halsey right away, and when I say right away, I mean before the wedding. Slipping him in as a guest was no big deal. Guess it pays to be one of the best hockey players in the game.

Now that the ceremony is over, I sit on a stool in front of a high-top table while Halsey stands next to me. He slips his arm around my waist and leans in close to my ear, the move once again creating a wave of goosebumps. That’s how it’s been through the whole ceremony.

He’s put his arm over my shoulder, held my hand, and spoken closely to my ear as if it’s just the two of us in this room. He’s invaded my senses with his touch, his mouthwatering scent, and his whispers.

He’s pretended to be madly in love with me.

He’s protected me.

Paid attention to me.

He’s claimed me.

“Where’s Perry?” he asks, his lips almost touching my ear.

I compose myself and say, “Brown suit by the bar. Brown hair.”

Subtly, Halsey looks over my shoulder, and I know the minute he spots him because his hold on me tightens. It’s as if he’s warning all men in the building that I’m not to be touched, let alone looked at. “He’s headed over here.”

“What?” I panic. “Seriously?”

He smooths his thumb over my hip. “Blakely . . . I’ve got you,” Halsey says as if this is no big deal. He lifts his beer to his lips and takes a larger gulp than what he’s been nursing. When I asked him if he was going to drink tonight, he said since it wasn’t a game night, he thought that he would . . . despite possibly having a game tomorrow. He’s not sure if he’ll play, but we’ll see. I don’t blame him for the liquid encouragement. I need it too.

“Hey, Blakely,” that familiar voice says from behind.

Here we go.

I plaster on a smile and turn toward Perry.

In the month or so I haven’t seen him, his hair is longer, his beard is shaved, and he’s tanner. Probably that Australian sun he’s been soaking up. Whereas Halsey has sharper, more precise features with his carved jaw and sinful eyes, Perry is the boy next door with a rounder nose and youthful cheeks. Comparing the two side by side, I can see Perry’s appeal—he’s a good-looking man—but Halsey has the face and body of a man you’d find on a magazine cover.

“Hey, Perry,” I say. Just as he goes to lean in for a hug, Halsey steps in and holds his hand out for a shake.

“Halsey, nice to meet you.” Perry abruptly steps back and looks Halsey up and down. Perry’s six foot wilts under Halsey’s six foot four.

He stumbles for a second, but Perry takes Halsey’s hand and shakes it.

“You must be Perry,” Halsey says as I watch his grip grow tighter on Perry’s hand.

Perry’s jaw firms up as he nods. “And you’re . . . you’re . . .”

“Her boyfriend,” Halsey says, the title sending a chill up my spine.

Perry’s brows rise as he looks at me, and I know what he must be thinking.

Wow, that was fast.

That or . . . was she cheating on me, and that’s why she didn’t move with me?

I’m about to set the record straight when Halsey says, “New boyfriend. Still fresh.”

“Oh, I see.” Perry releases Halsey’s hand. “Well, I guess congrats. You’ve got a good one.” Perry gestures toward me as Halsey moves to my side and wraps his arm around my waist again. And then he does something unexpected, he leans into me and presses a kiss to the top of my head as he squeezes me tight.

“A really good one.”

Perry clears his throat, obviously caught off guard by this new development. Well, I was caught off guard too. Looks like we’re both feeling the same way. “Hey, boss, think I can talk to Blakely for a second by myself?”

Halsey shakes his head. “Nah, we’re good.”

The shock on Perry’s face almost makes me burst out in laughter. There’s no way he expected that response.

“We’re actually going to dance, so if you’ll excuse us . . .” Halsey helps me off the stool and connects our palms, hand in hand, but Perry steps in front of us.

“Only for a minute.”

“I’m sorry, but what did you not understand when I said we’re good?” Halsey asks, his voice turning menacing.

Perry’s eyes narrow. “I’m not trying to start a scene. I just want to fucking talk to her.”

Keeping his expression neutral, Halsey replies, “And I said we’re good. Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of me.”

“Blakely, surely you won’t let this asshole stop you from talking for yourself? When have you ever accepted that?”

He’s got a point, but I can’t help but love the freedom of not having to deal with this, of leaning on someone else to protect me, to keep me safe from whatever Perry has to say. Because I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to know what’s on his mind because, whatever it is, it can’t be good for me mentally. And Halsey seems to get this without me saying a thing. Strange as it seems, I feel like I’ve already mourned losing Perry. Seeing him feels uncomfortable, but I’m certainly not pining for him. Which I’m glad to know about myself. I’m okay without him, after all. Something he didn’t think I would be. Interesting. Yay for me.

Halsey steps in close to Perry and says in a dark voice, “Calling me an asshole is not going to guarantee you leave this wedding unharmed. She asked me to speak for her tonight because she’s mine, so like I said, whatever you have to say, you can say to us both.”

Mine.

That one word vibrates through me as the tension between Perry and Halsey grows.

Perry would never have taken this track. He would have told me to talk to the guy so we don’t create a scene. Not Halsey. He said he’d shield me, and he’s keeping to his word.

“Fine,” Perry says before looking me in the eyes. “Blakely, I’m moving back to Canada and want you back. I made a huge mistake, and as we speak, my things are being shipped here. I got our apartment back, and now I need to find a way to earn your forgiveness.”

I blink.

A few times.

I was not expecting him to say that.

Maybe a sorry for moving to Australia or possibly wishing me the best of luck.

But he’s coming home, and he wants my forgiveness? Wow, just wow.

Halsey grows more tense as he steps in even closer.

While I’m reeling with this new information, Halsey mutters, “Too little, too late. Leave her the fuck alone.”

And then he pulls me out onto the dance floor.

He tugs me in close, rests his hand on my hip, and grips my hand tight as he slowly starts moving us to the music. My heart races as he leans in close to my ear and says, “If you want him back, tell me right now and I’ll step aside. If not . . . then I’m going to make sure I spend the rest of the night showing him exactly who you belong to.”

Do I want him back?

I . . . don’t know.

I wasn’t expecting Perry to ever stake claim over me again. Not after the way we left things.

And when he left, I wasn’t entirely heartbroken, more confused . . . maybe slightly relieved.

But relieved from what?

That’s what I don’t understand.

Did I not love him?

Because I thought I did.

I thought we were going to be married.

So why did I think losing him wasn’t a heartache? The music plays and we move together, almost as if we’ve danced together a thousand times before. It’s nice. And it’s giving me space to be with my thoughts for a little longer.

Halsey’s finger slips under my chin, forcing me to look him in the eyes. “Do you want him?” he asks, his expression soft as he speaks to me, nothing like the hard stone Perry had to face.

Do I want Perry?

I don’t think I want him the way I want the man right in front of me.

The desire isn’t there.

I don’t get goosebumps when he’s around.

And I sure as hell don’t feel weak-kneed whenever he speaks to me.

I bite the corner of my lip as I swallow. “I . . . I don’t think so.”

“I need a solid answer, Blakely. Do you want him?”

From the way Halsey holds his breath and grips my waist so tightly, it almost feels like my answer rests heavily on his heart.

I wet my lips delicately, then say, “I don’t want him.”

He slowly nods and whispers, “Then you’re mine for the night.”

And before I can ask him what that means, he leans down, closing the space between us. To my utter shock and surprise, he gently presses a kiss to my lips.

It’s so faint, so featherlike, that I almost feel like I’m imagining it until a bolt of lust spikes through me, awakening a sleepy sexual beast that’s been in a slumber for quite some time.

Oh my God . . .

He pulls away and whispers, “Let’s get drinks.”

Yes . . . drinks.

Please drinks.

“WOOOOOO!” I shout as Arlene and Marco kiss, thanks to Arlene’s aunt clinking her wineglass for the tenth time during dinner.

Not sure who is more drunk at this moment, Aunt Glass Clinker . . . me . . . or Halsey.

Perry sent us both into a tailspin, well, Perry and the kiss. The kiss heard around the world!

Maybe not around the world, but that’s what it felt like, a smack of all lip smackers. Does that make sense? Either way, Halsey kissed me, and I swear I could hear a pin drop at that moment.

I could actually feel the pulse between my legs.

Yup . . . this girl, your girl, she was turned on.

And it was such a simple kiss. Barely a kiss. A peck. I’ve had more intimate kisses with an ice cream cone.

But after the kiss, we headed to the bar, took two tequila shots, courtesy of my order, and then I grabbed a special wedding cocktail designed for the bride and groom while Halsey grabbed another beer.

With empty glasses now in front of us, our plates have just been delivered, and we’re feeling good.

Really good.

I turn toward Halsey, my knees pressing against the side of his leg, and I say, “He’s scowling again.”

With a goofy grin, Halsey places his hand on my thigh and says, “Good. Let him fucking scowl.”

Perry sits across from us at the same table, something I know Arlene probably couldn’t avoid. I’m okay with it; this was all last minute, so I’m not going to complain. Thankfully, the peonies are giving us an ounce of privacy.

“Want some more mashed potatoes?” Halsey lifts his fork to my mouth.

“I have some on my plate.”

“Yeah, but eating it off my fork is better.”

“Is your fork magic?” I ask.

He nods. “Yup.”

“Then put the magic in my mouth.”

He smirks and slides his fork past my lips. I wrap my mouth around the tines, and as he pulls the fork away, I suck on it, hollowing out my cheeks.

His brows raise as he says, “That was fucking suggestive.”

“Well, you can’t be the only actor between the two of us. I’ve got to throw in some moves for at least the supporting actress nomination. I feel like you’re carrying the team on your back right now.”

“I’m glad you see it that way.” He takes a mouthful of his mashed potatoes. “Because that’s exactly what’s happening. About time you carry some weight around here.”

“Are you saying I’m not holding up my end of the bargain?”

“I’m saying you can pretend you like me more.” He takes a sip of water from the glass in front of him and sets it down.

“My body language is pointed toward you, and that’s a good sign. What more can I do without making a scene . . . like dry-humping your lap?”

“Dry-humping at a wedding? Class, Blakely. Show some fucking class.”

That makes us both laugh.

“My apologies. How about this.” Bringing my hand to the back of his neck, I lightly play with the small hairs at his nape. “Does this work?”

“It’s a start,” he says as he places his hand on my exposed thigh from my slit and then slides it high, making my entire body twitch with anticipation. “This is better.”

“Oh, I see,” I say as I move in closer, causing his hand to move higher, almost to the juncture of my thigh. I move my other hand to his chest, where I undo another button and slide my hand along his exposed skin. “God, you’re so muscular,” I say, loving how his heated skin warms my palm. When our eyes connect, I ask, “This better?”

“Much,” he says, his thumb sliding over my thigh.

No one can see his hand—it’s blocked by the chair and the table—and nor can they see his thumb moving back and forth, but it feels right, like that minor stroke is playing the part.

And that’s what we’re doing, right? We’re playing a part.

We’re acting.

Yet when he looks into my eyes, it doesn’t feel like he’s acting. It feels like he’s seeing straight into my soul.

“I bet he’s watching,” I say.

“How could he not?” Halsey says. “You’re breathtaking.”

Butterflies erupt in my stomach because, oh my God, he’s playing with my freaking heart.

Does he mean that? Is he just saying that in the hopes that Perry can read lips? Because he can’t, not that I know of at least.

Unsure of what to say, I reply, “You’re breathtaking.”

He chuckles. “Yeah? You think so?”

I smooth my hand over his rock-hard chest. “Yes, just feel this, it’s so strong. Who knew a chest could be like this?”

“Perry wasn’t much of a weightlifter?” he asks.

I glance over at Perry who’s speaking with the older woman next to him. I shake my head. “More of a runner. He kept in shape, but he didn’t lift or anything like that.”

“What do you prefer?”

“This,” I say, running my thumb over his chest.

“Good.” He turns toward me and interlocks our legs so one of mine is between his. He keeps his hand on my thigh as he says, “What else do you prefer?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, wondering if this intimate conversation is part of the show. Is he trying to make me blush, make me swoon for the show of it, or is this real?

Why am I even thinking it’s real?

He’s way out of my league. No way would someone like Halsey even consider me for anything intimate.

Yet . . .

The dressing room.

Him zipping me up.

That kiss.

It feels so real.

Then again, I’ve been drinking. Maybe that’s all this is, my drunk mind wandering on me.

I’m exposed right now and slightly raw from my ex being in the same room and his announcement that he’s moving back here. It’s been an attack on all fronts. So maybe I’m just clinging to any feeling I can grasp . . . including Halsey’s heady caresses.

“What else do you prefer in a man?” he repeats as his thumb runs across my exposed skin.

A thrumming erupts between my legs when his eyes connect with mine. His hand moves up another inch, and I can feel everything twitch inside me with anticipation.

“Umm . . .” I wet my lips. “I prefer someone attentive. Someone who likes to have fun. Someone who cares about me and our relationship.”

He nods. “What else? Be more specific.”

“More specific?” I ask. “Umm . . . I guess someone who’ll challenge me but also go along with me when I need it.”

“Like ordering cheese pizza because you love it and don’t want to pick off the pepperoni?”

I smile. “Exactly. I also want someone who isn’t afraid to show me who they really are and what they really want in all aspects in life . . . including the bedroom.”

His eyes turn dark, and I know that reaction isn’t acting. There is no way.

“And what do you like in the bedroom?” he asks, his hand moving up another inch.

My heart rate kicks up as I quietly say, “Everything.”

One of his brows lifts. “Everything?”

I slowly nod. “Everything.”

The smallest of smirks falls over his face before he pulls away and lifts from his chair. Confused, I’m about to ask him where he’s going, but he holds his hand out to me. I take it, ready to walk away with him anywhere.

The dance floor has started to fill as people have finished their meals. The lights have dimmed, and the music has grown louder. Halsey walks me over to the bar, pressing his hand to my lower back and leaning into my ear. “Want another drink?”

“Yes,” I answer without even thinking about it.

And I want him to have another drink, because I like this looser side of him.

“Mind if I order for you?” His hand rests above my ass now.

“Please do,” I say, my voice coming out breathless.

He turns toward the bartender while keeping his hand possessively on me and holds up two fingers. “Two shots. Tequila with lime.”

He releases me for a moment while he pulls a twenty out of his wallet and sticks it in the tip jar, then he moves us to the end of the bar, where he leans against it and pulls me between his legs and holds me there at the hip.

“Tequila shots?” I ask with a raised brow.

He grins. “Can you handle it?”

“I can, but can you? You’re the one who doesn’t drink as much.”

“Consider it my last drink of the night.”

“Are we headed home after those?”

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

“No? What do you have planned?” I ask as he brings my hands to his chest, where I keep them and lean into him. I catch him glancing over at our table for a moment, and then he returns his attention to me.

“We have an ex to make jealous,” he says before he thanks the bartender for our shots.

He holds one out to me, and I take it despite the weird sensation spiking through me from his comment.

We have an ex to make jealous.

I know that’s why Halsey’s here with me. I’m well aware of his purpose, but . . . I don’t know, a small part of me thought that the touches, the grazes, and the kiss were all maybe something a little more.

But his comment brings me back to reality.

He’s here for a reason, and if Halsey’s anything, he’s a man of his word. We will make Perry jealous.

Hiding my sigh of disappointment, I clink my shot glass with Halsey and take the shot down before biting on the lime, skipping the salt altogether.

When I set the glass down, he says, “Want to dance?”

I shiver as the burning liquid flows down my throat. “I need to go to the bathroom first.”

“Hurry up.” He winks before releasing me.

On steady yet slightly wobbly legs, I move away from him, only to glance over my shoulder once to find him watching me walk away, those soulful eyes fixated on me and me alone.

God!

He’s good.

He’s really freaking good.

He’s truly making me feel like I’m the one who matters the most in this room. Not the newly wedded couple, not the single girls bouncing around looking for his attention, or the guys, for that matter, but me.

Just me.

Too bad it’s not real.

I head into the bathroom, move by a few girls fixing their makeup, and take care of business, being extra careful with my dress so it doesn’t fall in the toilet somehow. Once finished, I stand in front of the mirror, where I wash my hands and look at my reflection.

My cheeks are flushed.

I have a slight smirk to my lips.

And I look . . . happy.

Not sure the last time I sported this kind of grin, even when I was dating Perry.

Maybe I wasn’t in love with him the way I thought I was. Perhaps his moving was a blessing I didn’t know I needed.

Yet he’s back . . .

He’s back, and I feel nothing toward him.

After so many years of being together, you’d think there would be a twinge of emotion from seeing him, but . . . nothing.

And that right there says everything.

I exit the bathroom and head down the hallway just as a tall figure steps in front of me. Startled, I let out a squeak as my eyes lift and find Perry standing in my way.

Ahh, of course. He couldn’t make it easy, could he?

“Sorry, did I startle you?” he asks.

“Yes,” I answer, hand to chest.

“Excuse me,” a lady says from behind. Perry grips my arms and moves me to the side so I’m up against the wall, and he’s in front of me.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I wanted to talk to you without your bodyguard.”

“He’s not my bodyguard, Perry,” I say with an eye roll, even though he kind of is.

“He can’t be your boyfriend. There’s no way you moved on that quickly unless you were cheating on me.”

My eyes narrow. “I would never, and the fact that you’re even accusing me of that is proof that you didn’t know me as well as I thought you did.”

He pushes his hand through his hair in distress. “You’re right, that was uncalled for. I’m sorry. I’m just . . . fuck, Blakely, I’m confused.”

“What are you confused about?”

“What am I confused about?” he asks as if it’s not so blatantly obvious. “How about how you could move on so fucking quickly?”

“Did you expect me to sit back and mourn while you lived your life in Australia? Perry, you were the one who decided to leave. You were the one who wanted to break up.”

“I didn’t want to break up. I wanted you to want to be with me.”

“And I did,” I say, keeping my voice low so as not to cause a scene. “But I told you, I didn’t want to move. My life and job are here.”

“Which are more important than I am.”

“Perry, you chose a job and a new country over me . . . how is that any different from me choosing my job and my comfort? It’s not. And now you’re coming back, so was it worth it?”

“It wasn’t,” he says, moving in on me. “I realized that the fucking moment I arrived in Australia. I thought that maybe I was just nervous, but the more time I spent there without you, I knew I made a goddamn mistake. That’s why I’m back.” He smooths his hand up my arm. “It’s why I want you—”

“I suggest you remove your hand from my girl before I fucking do it for you,” Halsey says just as he comes into view. And oh my God, does he look furious.

Perry looks over his shoulder but doesn’t stop touching me. “I was with her ever since college. I reserve the right to talk to her alone.”

“You reserve the right to talk to her,” Halsey says right before pushing Perry’s hand off me. “But you sure as fuck don’t reserve the right to touch her.” Halsey approaches, towering over Perry and me, and pulls me into his side. “Especially when she belongs to me.”

Perry shakes his head and takes a step back. He then gestures to Halsey and says, “You like this? You like this sort of asshole behavior? Jesus fuck, Blakely. What happened to you? I leave for just over a month, and you lose your goddamn—”

Before Perry can finish, Halsey has him by the collar of his shirt, pressing him against the wall, which startles the few people heading to the bathrooms.

“Halsey,” I say, startled and scared at the same time.

“Watch what you fucking say to her,” Halsey seethes. “Nothing is wrong with her. She’s perfect, and you’re the douche who didn’t realize it. So leave her the fuck alone, or next time, this isn’t going to end with you only walking away with some broken pride.”

Halsey releases him, then grabs my hand and tugs me toward the dining room. We head straight to our table, where he picks up my clutch and hands it to me.

He pulls me in close and speaks directly to my ear. “I can’t fucking stay here with him lurking. If you want to leave, I’m leaving now. If you want to stay, you can stay. But . . . I . . . I can’t.”

I can feel him shaking with anger, and I’m not sure what has gotten into him or made him this charged up, but I do know I don’t want to stay here without him.

“Let’s go,” I say.

And with that, he leads me out of the venue and straight to a taxi.