On the short drive back through town to the community events barn, I thought about his “sharing” joke. We’d obviously never said anything about being exclusive, but I had to admit to being uneasy at the thought of him hooking up with anyone else.
Uneasy is a massive understatement. Try stark-raving insane with jealousy.
I cleared my throat. Champ turned to look at me with a furrowed brow. “You nervous?”
“No. Not at all. I love this stuff.”
He looked back at the road but reached across the center console to take my hand in his. It was warm and strong. I pulled it up to my lips and kissed it without thinking. “Thanks for coming with me,” I said.
“We made a deal, right? I’m just holding up my end of it.” He flashed me a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring, but my stomach dropped.
I knew he probably wasn’t coming because of the silly Vince-intel agreement… but why was he here? What were the boundaries of this non-relationship relationship?
I wanted to ask him, but I was scared. If he told me I’d been deluding myself, or—fuck—if he looked at me with pity, how would I continue working beside him, pretending to be his fiancé, until Marissa’s wedding?
“Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile. “Of course.”
He squeezed my hand and continued to hold it. After a few more minutes, I forced myself to take a breath and stop overreacting. I was working tonight. The date was a side benefit. That was all.
So I did what I always did when I was a little mixed up and started talking. “At the last SnoBall meeting, everyone was talking about this funny song they play—What is it? Like ‘Ice Ice Baby’ or ‘Funky Cold Medina,’ something cheesy like that—and everyone dances to it with their date. And I just don’t want to be standing on the sidelines like a doofus when it happens, you know? I mean, if you’re okay with that? You don’t even have to really know how to dance. It’s just for fun, they said. But everyone gets out there and—”
“It’s ‘Oh, What a Night’ by the Four Seasons,” he said, turning to me with a face so fucking attractive, I wanted to smack it. “And of course I’ll dance it with you. You’re my date. It’s the date dance.”
I swallowed and looked out the side window at the clear night air. “How did you know that?”
“My mom was born and raised in the Thicket—though she’d like to pretend she was created in an Hermès showroom—so I’ve been to many a SnoBall over the years, especially back when my grandparents were alive.” He looked over at me again before focusing on the final turn. “But I’ve never danced the date dance with anyone.”
“I should have gotten you a boutonniere,” I blurted. “Shit. Fuck. Gah! What kind of date am I? What kind of event planner am I? Fucking hell.”
His laughter filled the cab of the truck. “You know I don’t care, right?”
Once he pulled into the large gravel parking area beside the giant weathered-wood barn, I hopped out and raced over to the edge of the lot to scramble in the scraggly bushes. I found some greenery of indeterminate ancestry and plucked it away from its source before making my way back to him and fastening it to his lapel using a hairpin from the event emergency stash in my pocket.
“Did you know Americans use the word ‘boutonniere’ to refer to the actual floral cluster, while in Europe, that’s the name for the lapel buttonhole itself?”
Champ’s hands settled on my hips. “I see what you mean about wanting to lick people’s faces,” he murmured. His warm breath brushed my forehead half a second before his lips followed, pressing soft kisses on my forehead and eyebrows. His eyes reflected the thousands of twinkle lights decorating the outside of the event, and the sight was utterly dazzling. “I didn’t tell you how incredibly sexy you look in this tux.”
I accidentally let out a little groan. “Don’t start something right now. I beg you.”
His hands roamed under my jacket to my ass and squeezed. “I’m not. I swear. It’s way too chilly out here. Besides, this wedding planner I know tells me it’s better to do the difficult thing first.”
I melted into him just long enough to taste the side of his neck with a few open-mouthed kisses. “Mmhm. Okay.”
We started kissing for real… until a tiny scrap of a woman with a perfectly coiffed blonde bob barked out, “Percival Champion! Kissing in public? How gauche.”
Champ jumped away from me, and I turned away to catch my breath and will my erection to subside.
Oh, shit. That was so unprofessional of me. The only thing that could make it worse was if—
Champ reached for my hand and pulled me closer to his side. “Mother? What in the world are you doing here? I thought you were in Florida.”