“You’re not starstruck with me,” he fished shamelessly. Hell, he’d been the one struck dumb. He’d been the one who’d kissed her before thinking it through. He could blame decades-old claustrophobia and proximity all he wanted, but deep down he knew why he’d done it.
He glanced at her lips. He’d just...wanted to.
The waiter arrived and they both ordered cheeseburgers. Pres opted for sweet potato fries while he went for the beer-battered onion rings.
“Do you eat here often?” she asked.
“Never.” He sipped his iced tea.
“Is the food bad or something?”
“Not at all. Mags Dumond owns it.”
“The First Lady of Beaumont Bay?”
“One and the same.”
Her lips quirked. Mags’s bulldozing personality was infamous ’round these parts.
“You should have told me. We could have eaten anywhere.”
“Yeah, but you wanted to eat here.” And he’d liked giving her what she wanted. He’d liked seeing that sparkle of excitement in her eye.
“The name is like her record label,” Presley said, figuring it out. “I should have put that together.”
“I can’t forget. She asks constantly if I’m going to jump ship at Elite and record with her instead.”
“Even though your own brother owns the studio?”
“Even though.”
“That’s...ostentatious.”
“That’s Mags.”
Presley’s pursed pink lips wrapped around her straw and she sucked down some water. That wasn’t so much cute as it was hot. Made him remember kissing her. Made him think of doing other things with her. And to her. He forced his eyes away.
“Weren’t you at one of Mags’s parties the night of the DUI?”
He stiffened, caught off guard by her inquisitive tone. He should have expected that question. Presley, a reporter, was doing her job. “Yeah. Black-tie fundraiser.”
“Fancy.”
“Around here, fancy’s commonplace.” He nodded in the direction Asher Knight and his wife, Gloria, had gone. “That wasn’t the only celebrity in town who doesn’t live here full-time. People clamor to be added to her guest list.”
“Including you and your brothers?”
“Nah, we’re permanently on that list. She keeps her enemies close,” he said, only half joking. “And so do we.”
“We’ll fix it,” she said, sounding confident.
“My reputation?” He let out a humorless laugh. “Unless you can erase the media’s memory, not sure you can fix a bogus DUI.”
“Bogus? So you’re innocent?” She lifted her water glass.
“I’d never make that claim.” He sent her a cheeky smile. “It was late. I was tired.”
“Maybe you should’ve been charged with driving while up past your bedtime instead.”