The hostess smiles in that overly bright way that’s almost hard to look at. “Sure, not a problem.”

She scans the reservation list.

“He said he’d gotten a table on the terrace,” Natalie adds.

“Oh, perfect. Stephanie can lead you up there.” She points to a brunette who’s just returned to the stand.

“You’re the best,” Natalie says, all southern sweetness.

Natalie follows the woman, and I head that way, too. The hostess gives me another look as I pass, but she’s smart enough not to stop me and cause an unnecessary scene. I’ve learned in life that if you act like you’re supposed to be somewhere, most people let you stay.

I trail after Natalie up a set of stairs, my dread rising. For Natalie’s sake, I hope the dickhead boyfriend isn’t really here, that he’s given the reservation to a friend or something. Birthday Girl has already had a shitty enough day. But I have a feeling that’s not going to be the case. And I have a feeling Natalie knows that.

When we reach the rooftop terrace, the hostess leaves us to get back to her post downstairs. The minute she’s out of sight, Natalie scans the dining area then stiffens like someone has run a rod up the back of her dress. Uh-oh. I follow her laser gaze and find the table she’s honing in on. A guy with a too-neat haircut and a navy blue blazer is sharing a candlelit table with a blonde in a tight black dress. Appetizers and a bottle of wine are already on the table, and lover boy has his hand draped over the girl’s. He leans forward and kisses her. On the mouth. With a little tongue.

Damn. Douchebag status: confirmed. I called it. But I hate that I’m right on this one.

Natalie hasn’t moved a millimeter. I touch her elbow. “Hey—”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she says in a dangerously calm voice.

“Natalie, maybe we should—”

But she shakes off my touch. “Oh, no. This is gonna get handled.”

She stalks forward, heels clicking on the copper stained concrete. Shit. This isn’t going to be good. I stride after her, hoping to intercept, but she’s already two steps ahead of me, target in sight. She reaches the table and the boyfriend, Caleb, glances up. His smile freezes in place then sags like a wilting flower.

“Natalie?”

“Caleb,” she says, all poise and icy resolve.

“Oh, crap,” the blonde says, looking panicked. “This isn’t—”

Natalie’s attention swings to the girl. “This isn’t what, Rebecca? You just kissed my boyfriend. What exactly is it? A dental exam?”

The girl looks ready to crawl under the table. “I was just . . . thanking him for helping me pass my econ exam.”

Caleb stands, putting a tentative hand out. “Natalie, baby, it’s fine. Let’s not make this a big deal.”

The chatter around us quiets and heads are turning our way, which seems to make Dickhead supremely uncomfortable. He offers the onlookers a weak smile but comes off looking constipated.

“Not a big deal,” Natalie repeats, her voice rising and some of that stoic mask cracking. “Not a big deal.”

Her tone says it all. I can hear the detonation clock ticking down like on that TV show 24. Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Exactly. You know you’re important to me.”

“Important,” Natalie repeats, as if testing out how the word rolls around her mouth.

“But, you know, we never really said we were exclusive, per se . . .” Caleb continues.

Boom! Bomb detonated.

The look on Natalie’s face morphs into quiet, seething rage. She reaches out for the lapels of Caleb’s jacket as if to smooth them. One, two strokes, totally chill, then she yanks him closer. The guy never sees it coming when her knee jabs upward.

I wince as the guy doubles over with a resounding groan. She hadn’t been kidding about going for the soft parts. But using the words per se in any context? The dude earned that knee to the nuts.

The other girl tries to come to Caleb’s rescue and sends an evil glare at Natalie. “Jesus, what is wrong with you? This isn’t the trailer park.”

Natalie’s expression is what I imagine a bull looks like when that red cape is waved. Wild, a little crazed. I kinda like it. And I’m not wrong; she’s ready to charge. Natalie plucks the bottle of wine off the table and steps around the girl’s abandoned chair. A big leather handbag hangs off it. Natalie opens the purse wide and pours.

The blonde screams some high-pitched primal shriek. “You bitch, that’s Coach!”

The girl launches herself at Natalie, nails bared, but I step in between them, blocking her attack. I catch her wrists and ease her arms down. “Back off, sweetheart.”

“And who the hell are you?” she demands, glaring and yanking out of my loose hold.

“Not your business.”

“The fuck it’s not,” Caleb says, his gaze going to Natalie. “You’re with Natalie, it’s my business.”

Natalie scoffs then sidles up next to me and grabs my hand. “He’s the guy who’s going to show me a good time on my birthday.”

Well, then. I school my expression into my poker face.

Caleb’s lip curls as he sizes me up. “Right. Who is he? Your cab driver? Or did you pick up a stray at the bus stop?”

My fist curls. I could take out this smarmy motherfucker with one swift right hook, but I manage to keep my control. Barely. I’d rather not spend the night in lockup.

Natalie looks to the girl, who’s back to having a hissy fit about her purse. “I won’t be home tonight. Touch any of my stuff, and I’ll call the cops.”

The girl is Natalie’s roommate? Ouch.

“Come on, Natalie, let’s not play this game,” Caleb says, moving closer. “You’re not going home with some stranger.”

“No?”

“No. You’re not like that.”

“I’m not, huh?” At that, she turns to stand in front of me. Our gazes collide for half a second and her eyes are . . . pleading for me to play along. Big, green, please-oh-please eyes. Like I could say no to that. Whatever she sees on my face she takes as consent because she reaches up and cups the back of my neck, dragging me down to her. I don’t resist when she presses her mouth to mine.

In fact, for a moment, I forget where we are and what’s going on because holy shit. She isn’t going for a peck; she’s jumping off the high dive and taking me with her. My hands lower to her hips, and I bring her up against me as she parts my lips, touches her tongue to mine, then strokes against it. Full, openmouthed assault. And I’m so totally down with this plan. Sign me up. Let’s do this.

Time seems to stop for long seconds as our tongues and lips tangle, and her fingers curl in my hair. My blood goes hot, and I have to remind myself that we’re in public and that I can’t grab her thighs and wrap her legs around me.

She pulls back with a soft gasp, leaving me blinking and a little stunned. Well, that hasn’t happened in a long time—a girl taking charge and leaving me speechless. I’m usually the one making the moves. But I’m definitely not complaining. She spins to face Dickhead again, and I keep my hands on her waist, unsure if I’m doing it to keep her steady or to keep me from tossing her over my shoulder and carrying her out of here caveman style.

Meanwhile, Caleb is doing an excellent impression of a fish, his mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out—the yuppie guppy. Finally, he seems to come back into himself. “You wanted to make me mad, fine. Mission accomplished. Now let’s go home.”

“I’m going home with him, not you,” Natalie says.

“For what? To prove some stupid point?”

“I don’t need to go home with him to prove a point. Apparently, I’ve been missing out on the benefits of our open relationship,” she says, her tone as sweet as Karo syrup. “I guess it’s happy birthday to me after all. Good-bye, Caleb.”

The staff has come up to intercept the disturbance, but Natalie’s already pulling me with her and striding for the stairs. Wide eyes follow our progress, but she doesn’t stop until we’re back on the sidewalk in front of my bike. Her proud shoulders sag instantly, and all the breath seems to wheeze out of her.