Free No Sweeter Love (Sweeter in the City Book 3) by Olivia Miles

in it, and a security he hadn’t felt in a while.
    He pushed that thought away. No use going there, not when no good could come of it.
    “Come on. We’ll see enough of everyone over the next few days.” He winked, and Claire’s blue eyes sparkled as they turned and marched casually across the sand, through the mingling guests, and farther into the growing darkness, until the party was just a strange glow in the night, far behind them.
    He dropped her hand, feeling a strange distance from her when he did, and stared straight ahead, aware of her body next to his with every step. The big house that he’d grown up in loomed at the top of the dunes, just ahead. Ethan tipped his head toward it. “It’s still early. Let’s grab a drink.”
    They hurried the rest of the way to house, and Ethan didn’t exhale until they were finally inside, the door closed firmly behind them. The house seemed quiet and eerily still without the usual boisterous activity that filled it. The light in the kitchen was still on, and Ethan grabbed a beer from the fridge, holding it out to Claire. She wrinkled her nose, as he knew she would, and he offered her the next best thing.
    “A wine cooler?” She turned it over in her hand, mesmerized.
    “It was that or hard lemonade. It appears all the wine has been rounded up for the festivities.” He pulled open a drawer and found the bottle opener.
    “I haven’t had one of these since high school,” Claire laughed, popping the top.
    Intrigued, he leaned against the counter, studying her with interest. “You mean to tell me that you, Claire Wells, actually drank in high school?”
    “I didn’t drink .” She flushed. “I mean, once. I went to a party one night with Hailey and . . .my friend’s older sister was handing out wine coolers.”
    He grinned. “And let me guess, you got tipsy.”
    Claire pursed her lips. “I’m not such a good-goody, you know. We can’t all be rebels like you.”
    “And is that what you think I am? A rebel?” He tipped the beer back, feeling the foam chase its way down his throat.
    She shrugged. “Compared to me. Come on,” she said, tugging his sleeve. “I want to see your room.”
    He hesitated, took another pull on his beer. “There’s nothing to see in there but some old yearbooks.”
    As soon as he saw the delight in her face, he knew he’d said the exact wrong thing.
    “Well, then I sure as heck can’t miss this!” She was already off, down the hallway, before he could stop her, and, setting the beer down on the counter, he hurried after her, only to see her hurrying her pace, laughing as she bolted up the stairs. He tried to grab her arm, but she was too quick, and he grabbed a piece of her dress instead. She tripped, clambering up the stairs, laughing so hard he was laughing too. They were behaving like children, something he only did with Claire.
    She stood at the top of the landing triumphantly, panting for breath. “Which way is it?” she asked.
    He sighed, and vaguely motioned to the left. There was no use resisting the inevitable. When Claire set her mind to something, she usually found a way to see it through. “Last door. You can’t miss it.”
    The baseball pinup was still on the wood paneled door, and Claire tapped it with a finger, jutting her bottom lip at him to show how adorable she thought it was, and pushed open the door.
    He shoved his hands into his pockets and hovered in the door jamb. He hadn’t been in this room since he was a kid—now when he came back, he usually stayed in one of the guest rooms with the bigger beds. This room was a capsule, of a different time, a different place. A different person.
    “I don’t know why, but I assumed there would be some bikini pinups or something,” Claire joked, admiring the baseball posters that framed the two big windows with a view of the lake. She walked over to his desk, leaning down to study the framed pictures his mother had kept all these years.
    “Oh.” She gave a sad