“Why are you scowling?” Wren asked as she approached.
Delilah watched her friend, trying her best to keep her expression neutral. “I’m not scowling.”
“You so were.” She handed Delilah a cold bottle of beer. “Drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”
“Thanks.” They clinked their bottles together before they both took a sip. “I guess I was just thirsty,” Delilah said once she swallowed.
Wren laughed and shook her head. “What, thirsty for my no-show brother? That’s one way to describe it.”
It took everything in her not to frown again. This is what happened when a woman revealed all her secrets to her closest friends—and said closest friends never forgot them. And constantly gave her shit for them too.
“I’m over him,” Delilah said stiffly, wishing she could chug the beer and grab another one. And then another immediately after that. She’d give just about anything to forget her man problems for at least one night. Maybe longer.
Maybe forever.
“Sure you are,” Wren drawled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Unrequited crushes suck.”
“We’re not in high school.”
“No shit, Sherlock. So why do you act like you are? Forget him!” Wren gestured wildly with her beer bottle still in hand, her fingers clutched close around the long neck. “There are too many fish in the sea. You don’t need to pout over one dumb guy who’s too blind to see the perfect woman is standing right in front of him.”
Delilah placed her free hand directly over her heart. “Aw, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“It’s the truth.” Wren pointed her bottle at Delilah. “Seriously, forget Lane. Find some hot firefighter to chase after. This place is crawling with them tonight.”
“You’re right,” Delilah said. “There’s one in particular that I’m interested in . . . ”
“Who?”
“Tate.” Ha. Take that, Wren Gallagher. Delilah knew her friend was secretly lusting after that particular firefighter, though for some weird reason she acted like she hated him.
Wren’s mouth popped open. “Seriously?”
“Oh, yeah. He’s gorgeous.” This wasn’t a lie. Tate was very handsome. And nice. And funny. But Delilah wasn’t interested in him. Not at all.
“He’s a jerk,” Wren retorted.
“He is not.” Delilah shook her head. “You’re right. I’m going to take your advice and forget Lane. I think I’m gonna go look for Tate. I bet he’d talk to me.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Watch me.” Delilah smiled and turned, heading toward the back door of the condo. Wren didn’t stop her, didn?
?t even say a word.
Wimp. They did this sort of thing to each other all the time. She’d tell Wren later that she was totally messing with her.
Instead, she went to the kitchen in pursuit of Harper or West—only to run into the guy who’d been watching her outside.
“Hey.” He grabbed a beer out of the cooler and offered it to her, his gaze locked on hers. “Thirsty?”
Delilah held up the beer in her hand, smiling. “I already have a fresh one, thanks.”
He nodded, twisted the cap off, and took a swig. She watched him, appreciating the way his T-shirt formed to his muscular chest, the grip of his hand around the beer bottle. This guy was majorly attractive and had a glower that should’ve melted her panties at first glance.
But.
He wasn’t the one she wanted. And since clearly she wasn’t over that particular guy, she’d have to fake it. She could smile faintly at Mr. Mysterious and pretend that she wanted to talk to him, all the while discreetly sneaking peeks outside to see if Lane had arrived yet.