The dinner stretched pleasantly, full of stories, little jokes, and the occasional gentle jab at Winn that he handled with good humor.
Ivy caught herself studying him between bites of food—the way his shirt strained against his broad shoulders when he leaned forward, the way his thumb circled her thigh beneath the table whenever conversation lulled.
By dessert, even Diane, who had sworn she didn't like Winn, seemed to be enjoying herself.
It was going fine until Winn heard Sylvia's voice slice through the hum of Mina's.
"Hey bro."
He stiffened, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth, and turned in his chair. The shock was impossible to mask. Of all places for her to appear, it had to be here.
Three reasons slammed through his mind at once: First, Sylvia wasn't supposed to be anywhere near alcohol. Second, he had absolutely no intention of her meeting Ivy. Third—and most dangerous—was the unholy cocktail of Sylvia, Diane, and Joey sharing the same oxygen..
