Angelo just watches me with an unreadable glimmer in his eyes. My face feels flushed as the laughter subsides. He’s doing—s**t, I dunno, but he’s doing something with his eyes that’s getting me extremely hot and bothered.
“What?” I say uncomfortably. “Stop looking at me like that.”
He waits a beat before he smiles and raises his champagne glass. “To strong women,” he says. “May we never fear them.”
“To assholes,” I counter. “May we never marry them.”
“Too late for you, I think,” he fires back.
I laugh again. I’m starting to feel a little drunk, actually. How much champagne have I had? The stuff goes down way too easy. Because, with the alcohol bubbling in my system and the charm and raw s****l appeal rolling off Angelo in waves, it feels like I’m actually…having a good time? That can’
