Joseph is closer to Lauri in age than my dad is. And she didn’t flat out say she was involved with Joseph. More that he’s always making moves on her. That’s two very different things. Do I really want to open up this can of worms when I have no proof that anything’s actually going on?
Not really.
Sighing, I turn and head for the outside patio to get some fresh air. There are other people out there too, most of them couples who are probably seeking privacy, but I won’t stay long.
I just need to collect my thoughts first.
I’m heading toward the farthest right corner of the terrace when I spot him. Sitting on a chair all by himself, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. It’s rare to see someone my age actually smoke a cigarette. Everyone I know vapes. And I’m not one to find smokers attractive. Smoking kills. It’s the worst. A nasty habit.
But Tony Sorrento slouched in a chair in a full suit and a loosened tie around his neck with a cigarette between his full lips is something I cannot resist.
“Tony Sorrento.”
He glances up when he hears his name, a faint smile curling his lips as he plucks the unlit cigarette from his lips. “Hayden Channing.”
Hmm, someone mentioned me to him. “You know my last name.”
He tips his head. “You know mine.”
“My father told me,” I admit.
“Same.” He hesitates for only a moment. “My father hates your father.”
“Mine hates yours too. I think they’re mortal enemies.” I take a few steps closer, so I’m standing directly in front of him. A breeze picks up, catching my skirt so the hem grazes his knees.
“Did yours forbid you from talking to me?” He raises a single dark brow, his expression questioning.
I burst out laughing. “No. Though he did call you, and I quote, ‘bad news’.”
“I’ve never met your father before in my life. He doesn’t even know me,” he says with a grimace.
“That’s what I told him! How could he know you’re bad news if he’s never even met you?” I shake my head.
“Exactly. People are so judgmental.” His gaze rakes over me, lingering on my chest for a little too long and making my skin warm. Guess he’s not put off by my natural breasts. “Can I confess something to you?”
If he confesses he’s attracted to me and wants to sneak away into a secret closet somewhere, I’m going to readily agree, no questions asked. “Sure,” I say, my voice cool. Like he doesn’t affect me whatsoever.
“Today is the first time I’ve seen my father in years,” he admits. “We talk on the phone, or we text, but that’s about it.”
Oh. That’s not even close to what I expected him to confess. Though he did mention he was seeing his father for the first time when we were at the dealership. “How long has it been?”
“Give or take six years,” he says with a shrug.
“Really?” I practically squeak. When he nods, I continue, “If you haven’t seen him, how did he get your cars to you?”
“He had them sent. He has everything sent. He sends me gifts in the mail. Deposits money in my account. Makes sure my mom and I have everything we need. When I moved out for college, he took care of my tuition, my living expenses, everything.” He looks off in the distance, the breeze ruffling his dark hair. “He gives me everything but his time.”
My heart pangs for him. I know what that feels like. “I assume he’s busy.”
“Yeah, with his new family,” he mutters with seeming disgust. “Today is the first time I’ve met my stepmom too. Though she’s not that much older than me.”
Interesting. No wonder she acted like he was a brand-new toy for her to play with. “Guess it’s been a big day for you then.”
“Yeah. Sure.” He shifts, digging through his front pocket before he pulls a lighter out, settling the cigarette between his lips before he brings the lighter to the end and lights it. He immediately blows out a hazy string of smoke and I can’t help but frown. “I’m guessing you hate smoking.”
“It’s a dirty habit,” I say without hesitation.
“I’m sure you’ve got a few.” He sends me a knowing look.
Ooh. That was kind of hot.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I tease, hoping I sound sultry, though maybe my response is silly. I don’t know.
He smiles, but says nothing, and his lack of response is unnerving. Look, men don’t scare me. They never really have. I’ve always been a flirt. I can admit I like a guy’s attention, but I don’t need it twenty-four/seven. Yes, I had the typical relationships in high school, but once I got into college, I became selfish.
Who needs a relationship? Not me. I’m too young. I’d rather be free. Look what happens when people fall in love and get married?
They lie. They cheat on each other. They fight. They get divorced.
No thanks.
That’s why I always keep it light. I don’t let men intimidate me or push me into something I’m not interested in.
This guy, though? He leaves me on edge. Worse, he makes me curious, and I don’t quite understand why. Maybe it’s the intense way he’s watching me right now. Smoking is gross. I’ve never understood the appeal, but I’m kind of attracted to the way he keeps putting that cigarette in his mouth, his lips pursed the slightest bit before he pulls it away and exhales.
It’s—oh God, I can’t believe I’m thinking this—sexy.
“Why do you smoke anyway?” I ask, sounding annoyed. I clear my throat, hoping he didn’t notice.
“I only do it when I’m stressed,” he answers.
I’m frowning. “You’re stressed out right now?”
“Fuck yeah I am.” He grimaces. Scrubs a hand along his jaw. “Sorry. It’s a lot, having to deal with my dad and his new family and being at this stupid party or whatever the hell you want to call it. Wearing a Gucci suit and acting like a man for my father’s sake, when I feel like a kid playing dress up.”
Aw. This is an incredibly honest moment we’re sharing, and that was such a vulnerable thing to admit. Unable to stop myself, I go to the chair next to his and sit on the edge of the cushion, turning my body toward his.
“Would it make you feel any better if I told you that you look good in the Gucci suit?” I ask him, my voice light. A little flirty.
I’m trying to shift the mood. We don’t need to get serious right now. I don’t do serious. Not really. Serious means something, and right now I’m looking for…
Nothing. Just a little fun.
He smooths his long fingers along the jacket’s lapel, and I get the sudden image of him trailing those fingers on my skin. “I guess the Gucci suit paid off then.”
I laugh. He chuckles.
We stare.
And it doesn’t even feel uncomfortable. Not one freakin’ bit.
“I’m not supposed to like you,” I admit softly.
“Back at you.” His eyes crinkle at the corners when he faintly smiles, and I exhale softly at his confession.
“But I do,” I whisper.
He slowly leans forward, stubbing the cigarette out in the ashtray on the table in front of us. I didn’t even notice it, I’m so hyperfocused on him. He’s so close, he could touch my thigh. My hip.