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Cass’s question lingers like a bass beat beneath the song. Why did you kiss me?

We don’t slow dance again the rest of the night. We mingle with donors and our mutual friends. Word spreads about Cass’s project and people occasionally approach her to ask how they can support it or be involved.

At the end of the night, the winners of the silent auction are announced. I win a getaway to a floating cabin at a lake resort with personal chef service and free kayak and Jet Ski rentals.

“Road trip!” Treyvon shouts when they announce my name.

“Who says you’re coming?” I joke.

He laughs and says, “You can’t go anywhere without me, Cold Turkey.”

Cass looks me in the eyes for the first time since our dance battle. “I still need to find out the story behind that nickname.”

“Your sister didn’t tell you?” I ask.

“She insists it’s your story to tell.”

“More like my secret to keep,” I say, desperate to regain lost ground.

“I won’t lose sleep either way,” she says.

Elsbeth takes the mic and thanks everyone for showing up and making the night a success. People start to filter out. Cass and I join the crowd at the bank of elevators. We’re silent on the ride down. Silent waiting for the valet to bring my car around. Silent all the drive home.

She stares out the window into the darkness.

I want to ask her what she’s thinking. But why? Why do her thoughts matter to me? This was a one-off. My season’s starting. She’s still annoying and stubborn and a distraction I can’t afford.

She’s not my girlfriend. She’s not even my friend.

She drives me crazy.

Tonight was even more evidence of why I need to keep my distance from Cass Carter.

“You don’t have to walk me to the door,” she says when I pull up in front of her house.

“I’m a gentleman.”

“No one’s watching, and I won’t tell your mama.”

I shake my head, killing the engine. I’m walking her to the door whether she likes it or not. She’s not my date, but I have standards.

I get out of the car, walking around to open her door. Before I’m halfway there, her door flies open and she’s hopping out, landing on her heels with a slight wobble, but regaining her balance quickly. She walks ahead of me up to the porch. I catch up by the time her purse is open.

Declan and Winona pull up while Cass is fishing around to find her key.

“Now we have an audience,” she mutters under her breath. “Great.”

She’s worried about an audience? What did she think we had at the gala? I saw flashes going off. Getty Images and other professional photographers were there, covering the event. We were definitely photographed more than once. And at some points I was aware of eyes on us, though by the time we were on the dance floor, my laser focus was on her—on us—on winning our silent battle.

“You’d better hug me goodnight, then,” I say.

“Ugh.”

“Or not,” I say, giving her an out that I know isn’t an option.

It’s not like I want to hug her.

I just need to know she didn’t walk away the victor.