Fearing a beatdown, Luke sprints out of the room before Coen can retaliate.
Coen sighs. These two really are best friends—they're equally punchable.
Left alone in the expansive lounge area, Coen feels the surrounding noise fade away. The only thing piercing his awareness is the faint, silvery sound of Bianca's laughter drifting from across the room, poking at his eardrums like tiny needles. He picks up his nearly full glass, the amber liquid clinging to the crystal, reflecting his dark, stormy gaze.
After waiting and stewing for a while longer, his patience finally snaps. He stands up and marches straight toward Bianca's table.
"Not bad, Ms. Turner," he drawls. "Going on a blind date during the day, acting like you're dying to marry the guy, and then out drinking with other men at night."
Bianca, who had just been flashing a brilliant smile, nearly drops her glass in sheer panic. Guilt washes over her instantly.
"Uh, hey, Coen, it's a misunderstanding," she stammers, trying to recover. "I just got here. I was supposed to meet up with Tara and Tricia, but they were busy, so I—"
"You don't need to explain yourself to me. Who you drink with is your own business." He cuts her off before she can even finish her sentence.
"Of course I have to explain!" Bianca insists earnestly. "You're my blind date now, after all."
"A blind date doesn't mean anything. You and I have been set up with plenty of people," Coen counters coldly, completely rejecting her reasoning.



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