What the fuck? I need clarity on this.

Brooke moves back into the kitchen and waves at me. I watch her as she reaches for a tall cocktail on the counter, one resembling Joey’s. It’s a pale green color with a cherry floating at the bottom.

She spins around and closes a cabinet. I study her, resting my chin on my hand. Her long hair falls down her back, curling against her black tank top. Loose trackies hang low on her hips with the words Team Pink covering her arse.

She brings the drink to her mouth and takes a sip. Our eyes meet. I smile, and she cutely waves at me again.

A door slides open behind me and draws my attention.

Billy looks up, places his hand on Joey’s shoulder, and muscles him outside. He looks to be struggling with it.

“We’re . . . go, will you? Jesus! We’re going to go sit on the balcony. Give you two a little privacy for a while.” He jerks his chin and then steps out onto the terrace, pulling the door closed and drowning out Joey’s flippant protest.

“Goddamn it, Billy,” I faintly hear through the glass.

Brooke’s quiet giggle turns my head as she sits beside me, her bare feet swinging in the air. “This is my fourth apple martini.” She takes a small sip, licking her lips. “It’s apple.”

Laughing, I twist off the cap on my beer and take a swig. “How’s your leg?”

“Mm. Good! Look.” She sets her drink down and pulls up her pants. “It’s not even red anymore. Not that you can tell ‘cause of the Band-Aid, but still. I cleaned it like you said and put some Neosporin on it. Billy said it looks fine. He’s had tick bites before.”

I wrap my hand around her calf and examine her leg, slowly running my thumb along her smooth skin.

Images of Brooke on the rock, scared and trembling corrode my mind. Her broken voice fills my ears.

“You know how sorry I am for this, right?” I quietly ask, looking up into those big, curious eyes. I tug down her pants to her ankle and release her leg. “I’m so fucking sorry, Brooke. I should’ve never taken you there. I shouldn’t have made you do that.”

She gives me a lopsided smile. “I liked the swanky tent. Remember what we did in there?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t make me do any of that.”

Straightening with a quick breath, I look down as her hand finds mine under the lip of the bar. She squeezes my thumb.

I close my eyes.

Fuck, she’s so different with me right now. When has she ever reached for my hand, or displayed any sort of honest affection for me in front of people she knows? Is it the alcohol?

Christ, just enjoy it, will ya? Stop analyzing everything.

“I thought it was over today,” I softly admit, brushing my fingers against hers and staring down into my lap. “I was shocked when you called. I thought I was dreaming.”

“Maybe you were.”

Our eyes lock, and she breathes a laugh, taking another sip of her drink and then tipping her head down. Her eyes flutter. “Dreaming about me is kind of your thing, isn’t it?”

“You are kind of my thing.”

“And yoga.”

“Yeah.” I reach up and grab a piece of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. My phone beeps with a text alert, and I pull it free from my pocket and place it on the counter.

Tessa: Well?

I quickly type my response.

Me: Crisis averted.

“Who is that?” Brooke asks, leaning close to see my screen as I set the phone back down. She studies it for a moment. “Tessa?” Our eyes lock. Hers narrow. “Mm.”

I turn my head, smiling as she rights herself on her stool and shrugs indifferently.

“She’s a mate from Alabama. I’ve told her about you.”

Brooke lifts her glass to her mouth. “Oh, really? And have you seen her vagina? Because I’ve never seen any of my mates’ vaginas. Just saying. Or their penises, before you ask. No penises or vaginas between mates.”

I rub at my neck, watching her, uncontrollably smiling at this development.

Now this is quite interesting.

“Are you jealous, Brooke?”

Her head snaps in my direction, eyes heavy with disagreement. She lowers her glass to the marble. “Jealous? Me? Of who? That ugly bitch who just texted you? Why would I be jealous of her if you’ve never seen her vagina, which you have yet to confirm. Please confirm that before I toss my drink in your face.”

I take another swig of my beer, letting her stew a bit next to me before I respond.

“Tell Theresa to find her own Australian.”

I nearly choke.

Wiping at my mouth after my coughing fit, I turn to Brooke and set my beer down, reaching for her hand. She fights my hold for a good three seconds before letting me have it, but keeps her gaze fixed behind the bar.

“Tessa, not Theresa, and I went out on one date months ago. I never even kissed her, Brooke. She’s just a really good mate.”

“You don’t need to explain your relationship or whatever with her. I really don’t care.”

“No?”

She shakes her head.

I lean forward to see her face. “Because I would really fucking care if you were texting some bloke and I didn’t know who he was to you. I’m not a jealous guy, but I think for you I would be. It’s staggering how you make me feel.”

She turns her head, watching me press a kiss to her palm.

“And I rather like thinking you might be right there with me, willing to be jealous and crazy for only one person.”

Her face relaxes the longer she stares at me. She wets her lips. “You never even kissed her?”

“No.”

“Did you want to?”

“Not like I want to kiss you.”

Slowly, like she’s fighting it, a gentle smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, then pulls across the rest of it. She shakes her head through a quick exhale, giggles quietly, then slides her warm body into my lap, squeezing my neck and pressing soft kisses to my jaw.

“Tell me something in Italian again,” she whispers as her fingers slide through my hair. “I liked it so much before.”

I drop my head beside hers. My arms tightly coil around her back. “You like not knowing what I’m saying?”

“Mm.” She nods and kisses my neck.

“I could say anything, you know? Maybe something you aren’t ready to hear.”

“I know.” She moves back and stares at my mouth. Her eyes darken, liquid desire swirling in those wild green and brown irises. She wets her lips and grabs my face. “I think I’m drunk.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, she leans in. “Definitely.”

Her lips press against mine. I open my mouth and take her tongue, sucking off the bitterness from the alcohol. Letting her taste saturate my soul.

God, what this woman does to me.

She moans and presses her chest closer, kissing me hard and unhurried, stroking her tongue against mine, sucking on my lips and wiggling in my lap.

I both hate and love how Brooke’s being with me tonight, so unashamed with her affection. Abandoning all her doubts. Exactly how I want her to be with me all the time. Exactly how I am with her, all the time.

It’s bloody torture, knowing why she’s acting so free with me, but fuck, it’s hard to pull away from.

This is what it can be like. And this, goddamn, this is what I’m missing.

“Mason,” she groans, digging her nails into my neck, rocking her hips against my erection.

I snap out of my haze and slow us down, moving my lips to her cheek and kissing her dimple.

“Voglio che questo non finisca mai,” I whisper against her skin.

I won’t ever want this to be over.

She stills in my arms, her breath blowing hot and sharp against my ear. Then, with a quiet sigh, she drops her head to my shoulder and goes limp.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I won’t remember that tomorrow.”

Laughing, I lean back and push the hair out of her face.

“Are you spending the night?” she asks, her fingers dancing along the back of my neck. She looks excited for that possibility.