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what she loved about her relationship with Ian. It was easy and carefree, fun and comfortable. This was what had gotten her through more breakups than she could count, what had gotten her through her father’s death in college, and the one time she’d ever been fired in her adult career. His constant support and love had helped her through the hardest times in her life.
    She couldn’t— wouldn’t —jeopardize that. Not for anything.
    * * *
    After twenty minutes of easy conversation with Olivia, Ian hung up the phone and tossed it to the couch cushion beside him. He let his head fall back as he stared at the ceiling. Taking a deep breath, he brought his hands up and scrubbed them over his face before linking his fingers together and resting them on top of his head. He’d spent the night before at his parents’ house not sleeping, worrying over what was going through Liv’s head, what he was going to say to her when she called— if she called. To say he was relieved by what had transpired during that call would be an understatement of epic proportions.
    Last night, he’d been close. Too close. With her body pressed to his, her scent filling his nose, her laughter in his ear, he wanted her like he’d never wanted anyone before. If he’d had even two more seconds, he knew he would have kissed her. After watching Liv rush away from him, then proceed to get trashed at the reception, he got the message loud and clear. She did not want to be with him, couldn’t see him like that, and was doing everything in her power to avoid him. Probably to avoid hurting his feelings, knowing her.
    On the phone, their natural banter and friendly conversation had still been present, much to his relief. They’d talked about everything they normally would have, teasing and bickering just like always. The one thing they hadn’t talked about was their almost-kiss, and noting how she’d studiously avoided any mention of their dancing or what had nearly happened, he figured she didn’t want to talk about it at all.
    Which was fine. He’d had years of experience keeping his feelings to himself. What were a few more?

Chapter Seven
    Wedding number two—she wore a little black dress, heels Ian knew were made to have sex in, and there weren’t enough martinis for him to get even a kiss on the cheek when he walked her to her door at the end of the night.
    Wedding number three—she looked uncomfortable, gaudy, and still fucking beautiful in a bright pink bridesmaid’s dress—strapless, which he had silently thanked the bride for—with her hair pulled up. He couldn’t stop staring at her shoulders all night, wondering what they’d feel like against his lips, if her skin would taste as sweet as she smelled.
    Wedding number four—she knocked him off his feet when she answered the door in a floor-length red dress with a slit to her upper thigh (high enough that he kept praying he’d get a glimpse at the panties she was wearing) and a plunging neckline (low enough that he didn’t have to pray—he knew damn well she wasn’t wearing a bra with it). She had enough martinis that night to get her dancing again, though only to fast songs, and she gave him an awkward kiss on the cheek and a brief hug at the end of the evening.
    He’d been going a little more insane with every single wedding that had passed. At each one, whether she was dressed to kill in her own clothes or dressing up in whatever horrid concoction the bride had chosen, she was still unbelievably sexy.
    He’d thought he’d moved on during the seven years he’d been away. While he still cared for her as one of his best friends, he’d assumed his love for her had faded with time. But being thrown back into her life like this, being around her so much after such a long reprieve, was having the effect any sane person would have anticipated. Apparently, he was batshit crazy because he hadn’t expected his reaction to be so volatile. Somehow, despite his best efforts, he was