Christ, what’s wrong with him? He’s Seth Kincaid. He doesn’t do shit like this. But here he is, fucking tongue-tied over some girl who threatens to have him tossing out everything he knows. Who has him on his knees, who has him ready to do everything in life completely different.
Ready to figure out what happens after this. Because it’s driving him goddamn crazy not knowing where they stand.
Just ask her, you idiot.
The thought’s tempting as hell. To take her into a suite and figure out what they are to each other. But he can’t. It’s her party, and she deserves to enjoy it. Seth won’t be the asshole taking that away from her.
“There,” Lacey says, clearing her throat and making one final adjustment to the tie. She presses a hand against the silk fabric.
Seth swallows hard, swallows down his impatience, and instead flashes her a wild grin. “You ready to roll?” He offers her his arm.
Lacey’s eyes clear, shaking herself out of whatever daze held her. “Ready,” she says, hooking her arm through his.
Together, they descend the grand staircase. Lacey’s eyes glow as she takes in the gothic-fairy-tale-like scene. The party she planned, the mass of people gathering, snapping photos, sampling hors d’oeuvres.
“What do you do now?” Seth asks, honestly curious.
“We relax.” Lacey waves a hand around the space, sounding unbothered. “It’s mostly about keeping an eye open for any problems.”
“If you’re askin’ me, you already got problems.” He wrinkles his nose. “That band you hired needs to be put out of its misery.”
Lacey hits him with a glare. “Do not embarrass me tonight, Seth.”
He gives her a rueful smile. “Oh, you mean no doing the funky chicken?”
Lacey giggles, swatting him with her clutch. Seth breaks away, pretending to dodge her aim, but when he returns, he notes the way she opens her arm for him again, wanting to be near him, to keep by his side.
At the bottom of the stairs, they follow the path leading to the outdoor garden. Seth can’t help but gape. It’s like nothing he’s ever seen. Twinkle lights in every tree. Servers passing around whipped egg white protein shots. Coffin couches. A scene that could only exist in LA. Jace and Luke would shit themselves.
Seth groans when he sees a llama wearing a flower crown. “Please tell me there’s alcohol here.”
Lacey tugs him closer to her. She points to a spot across the courtyard where a line is forming. “The kiss and tell bar.”
“The what?”
She looks over at him with a sly smile. “The kiss and tell bar. It’s an open bar all night, but to get a drink you either have to kiss”—she leans close, her lips grazing his ear, and Seth’s heart lurches—“or tell the bartender a secret.”
He turns. “What kind of secret?” His eyes land on her lips. Glossy. Plump. Pink.
Fuck.
She shrugs, her green eyes shining. “That’s up to you.”
“For Christsakes,” Seth mutters, his gaze on the signs above the individual bar lines that read: GIRLS / GUYS / TELL ME NO LIES.
All he wants is a drink, all he wants is to hang here with Lacey, not play twenty questions with the bartender for a little tequila.
He spreads his arms, the smile on Lacey’s face goading him. “Fine, I’ll bite. What do you want? Tequila? Champagne?”
She shrugs, nonchalant. “I was thinking ... maybe whiskey?”
The out-of-left-field answer has his eyes popping open.
God, this girl.Lacey’s full of contradictions. Contradictions he wants more of. She keeps on confusing him, keeps him on his toes, and goddamn that’s hot.
“Whiskey, huh?” He considers the words, the look in her eye. Her drink order’s telling him something. Something he wants to get to the bottom of. “I’ll get a bottle.”
Seth takes a bracing breath as he strides away from Lacey and up to the bar. He evaluates the signs above, differentiating each line. Without hesitation, he steps into the line for TELL ME NO LIES.