“It’s complicated.” My gaze drifts across the bar and lands on Liz sitting in a booth with her sister, Maggie. “Let’s just say I’m holding out for the right thing.”

“Her?” Sabrina follows my gaze to Liz. “Really? So, what’s the holdup? Does she have a boyfriend? Married? Venereal disease? What?”

My stomach twists. I haven’t been with Liz since the night William and Cally got married. I’d all but given up on getting her to give me a chance, and then there she was the night of the wedding, offering herself to me like a gift and drawing me in all over again.

I haven’t bothered dating anyone else since. She’s all I want.

“She has a history with Connor, doesn’t she?” Sabrina asks.

“I guess,” I admit. “How did you know that?”

“Your sister found out about their hookup or whatever.”

When Connor took Lizzy’s virginity. Bastard. “Della wasn’t even with Connor then.”

Sabrina shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. She found out, and now she hates her a little.”

I don’t care about Liz’s history with Connor. Sure, I want to cut his dick off every time I think about that night, but I can hardly blame Liz. She was young, naive, and vulnerable.

The real thing keeping me from Liz is Liz herself. She doesn’t take me seriously. She doesn’t understand how much I want her. Or maybe she does, and the feeling isn’t reciprocal.

“Well,” Sabrina says, “good luck making it work.”

I nod, but I can’t take my eyes off Liz. “Thanks.”

* * *

Liz

Present day . . .

“I’m sorry I made you cry,” George says as we head back to our table. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He held me on the dance floor until my tears dried and I composed myself again. I doubt a single person even noticed I was upset. If anything, I probably looked a little too into my date.

“It’s fine.” We sit down, but the rest of the chairs at our table are empty. “I didn’t realize I was so transparent, I guess.”

Grace stumbles to our table and collapses into the chair next to me. Her dark eye makeup is smudged and her lipstick is fading. “Lizzy, Liz, Liz.” She leans her head on my shoulder. “I am so completely trashed.”

“I noticed.” I smile and smooth her hair back from her face. “Do you need a ride home?”

She lifts her head an inch and grins without fully opening her eyes. “No. I got a room at the Conrad. My father is loaded, ya know, and he might be tight with his money but if it’s for my”—she lifts her hands and makes air quotes—“‘career,’ he’ll pay for anything I want. So, ta-da, room at the Conrad.” She rolls her head back onto my shoulder. “But I didn’t think I’d be staying in it alone. Who knew that there wouldn’t be an assortment of single guys looking for an easy lay at this thing?”

“Even if there were,” George says, “we wouldn’t let you go back to your room with a stranger. Not in your condition.”

“Party pooper.”

“Come on.” I slide my arm under hers. “Let’s get you to bed.”

George helps me get her up and over to the hotel. Grace is sober enough—thank God—that she remembers her room number. I find the keycard in her purse and we take her to her bed, and George turns around to give us some privacy as I help her into her PJs.

“See,” Grace says, “even though I was totally hoping to spend the night with a hottie, I brought sleep clothes just in case. I’m always prepared.” She laughs as if this is the funniest thing she’s ever heard.

George helps me lead her to one of the two big beds, and we tuck her in.

“You need some water,” George says. He leaves for the bathroom.

“Don’t leave me, Liz,” Grace mumbles. “Stay and tell me a story. Or snuggle with me. Or something. I promise I won’t feel you up in your sleep.” She giggles and points to George, who’s returned with a glass of water. “I wouldn’t make the same promise to you, though.”

I look to George. “You mind if I keep her company tonight?”

“Promise to take pictures?”

“You can be our photographer, George,” Grace says.

I shake my head. Grace is like one of those college girls who has been sheltered all her life, and tries too hard to be cool and edgy once she’s out on her own. “Drink the water, Grace. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

I grab the key off the nightstand, and George and I go out to the hall.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” I ask when the door is closed behind us.

“It’s not a problem. You’re a good friend. She shouldn’t be alone.”

“Thank you. For understanding and for . . . everything else. I’m sorry tonight wasn’t a better first date.”

He arches a brow. “So this was a date. I wasn’t sure.”

“Sure it was.”

“In that case . . .”

I know what he’s doing before he does it. He gives me enough time to stop it, but I don’t. I let him slide his hand behind my neck, and when he lowers his lips to mine, I kiss him like a girl should kiss a boy at the end of their first date.

His lips are warm and soft, and he keeps the kiss brief, but when he pulls back my stomach falls because Sam is behind him, by all appearances attempting to burn holes into George with the intensity of his glare alone.