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it, and that was what it all boiled down to. Their relationship wasn’t something she was willing to gamble on.
    Besides Emma, Ian was her closest friend. Sure, they never really talked about their respective love lives, but everything else had always been fair game. Theirs was the kind of friendship that could only come from years and years of knowing one another, and it was something she counted on.
    She’d be damned if she let some measly sex get in the way of what they had. She’d just have to pull herself together and stop thinking about Ian without his pants on.
    Which would be easier said than done.

Chapter Five
    Olivia woke to the taste of dead rodent in her mouth and a firing squad practicing inside her head. Whimpering softly, she burrowed farther into her bed and thought back to the night before.
    Though she couldn’t exactly remember the details, somehow she’d managed to make it through the rest of the reception without sucking Ian’s face. Which had certainly been no easy feat.
    A couple of times, he had seemed like he’d wanted to talk about what almost happened, but she just hadn’t been ready to have an adult discussion yet. She’d been confused and unsure and, to be honest, still a little turned on. None of which equaled a good state of mind to have a grown-up talk—well, one that didn’t include simply moving her lips along his body, anyway.
    Instead of facing him, she’d spent most of the night on the dance floor, despite her distaste for it. She’d also drunk more than she could remember drinking in a very long time. A distant memory of Ian supporting a good deal of her weight against his side as he led her to her condo fluttered into her mind, and she groaned.
    The rumble of her voice reverberated through her skull like a jackhammer, and she cringed, clutching the sides of her head.
    “Oh, God,” she moaned quietly, rolling over and stuffing her face into her pillow.
    Barely lifting her head from its soft heaven, she opened just one eye and looked to see what time it was. It was Sunday, the one and only day she ever guaranteed herself to have off. She’d been lucky enough to find an assistant pastry chef that she trusted enough with her bakery—her baby—so she could actually start taking some time off and stop working eighty-hour weeks. Even though she didn’t have to be at work, she did need to meet Emma for brunch at noon. However, instead of focusing on the numbers on her alarm clock, her eyes were drawn immediately to the glass of water, bottle of aspirin and folded note sitting in front of it.
    Before she could even think of reading it, she needed that aspirin and she needed it fast. She reached for the bottle and popped the top, shaking three into her hand and chasing them with water. Once her mouth didn’t taste like roadkill any longer, she grabbed the note, noticing her name scrawled across the front in Ian’s unique script. Wasn’t that just like him to think to leave this for her, knowing she’d have a helluva hangover this morning? Finding herself smiling at the thought of him getting this set out for her before he left, she rolled to her back and unfolded the used envelope he’d written on.

    Liv,
    Hope you made it through the night without your head in a toilet. After your table dance last night, I was sure you’d be hurting this morning.

    Oh, Jesus. Had she really danced on a table at the reception? She knew she’d joked about it, and had definitely done her fair share of dancing on tables—years and years ago—but she hadn’t actually planned on doing it last night. She cringed and moved her attention back to the note, reading the rest.

    Call me so I know you’re alive.
    And so I can tell you if you really did dance on the table or not.
    ~Ian

    Didn’t that just figure? He knew she probably wouldn’t call him—at least not for a day or two—so he threw that little tidbit in to make sure she had no choice but to pick up the phone. Peeking at the clock,