“Hey,” he says with his southern drawl, the syllable a little tired around the edges but still irreplaceably lovely. “There you are.” I blink, and I jerk my gaze away from the spot above his hip and back to his face. He must have caught me staring, because he smirks and tilts his head to the side, a twinkle behind the dark brown of his eyes. “Hi,” I say, and my throat goes dry. “If you’re going to eye-fuck me Maven, you could at least buy me dinner first.” “I am not eye-fucking you,” I say, and I play with my necklace. “I’ve just never seen you without a shirt on, and it’s revolting.” “Tell
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