“Don’t sell yourself short. And know when to leave well enough alone,” he adds with a twinkle in his eye. “Otherwise, you’ll end up talking your way out of getting asked out.”
“I’ll have to keep that in mind.”
The song changes, though it’s still slow. Romantic. The lights are lower than they were before, casting a soft amber glow over the room, which the candles and glinting crystal decor only add to.
We might as well be in a dream—except there are eyes staring daggers at my back, which doesn’t happen when I’m dreaming. People actually like me in my dreams. Bridesmaids don’t usually hate me in my dreams.
Let them. Let them see I’ve won the best man this week. For once, I don’t mind showing off a little.
Kellen leans in until his lips nearly brush against my ear. “Though I don’t take rejection easily, you know. Some people would call me downright stubborn.”
“You?” I snort. “The man who barged into the kitchen and demanded oatmeal? Who strong-armed his way into my room last night, whether I wanted you there or not?”
“For your own good.”
“Hmm.” I snort. “According to whom? Maybe I’ll be busy when we get back to the city.”
“Every night?”
“I’ll find something to do.”
Our eyes meet, and I can tell he knows I’m only kidding. Though it’s partly a joke, partly the truth. I don’t like being told what to do, which is something he’s going to need to get used to if he wants to date for real.
“Got it.” His smile widens. “You should know, I love a challenge.”
“So do I.”
There might as well not be anybody else here but the two of us. That’s how it’s been all night. Talking, eating together, dancing. I should try to enjoy time with Hayley, too, right?
I can’t imagine having anywhere close to as good of a time without him. Even with my best friend in the whole world.
Besides, something tells me she’d find a way to leave me with Kellen anyway. One of her patented getaways.
“Would it be completely shitty if I asked if I could walk you back to your room tonight?”
My face is maybe a few seconds away from bursting into flames. Not because I’m embarrassed. Not even close.
More like I’ve been wondering if he would ask. Hoping he would ask.
There’s nothing quite like getting exactly what you want and wondering what the heck to do with it.
I mean, not that I have to wonder exactly. But would it be completely cliché to sleep with the best man tonight?
What’s wrong with being cliché every once in a while?
I can practically hear Maggie’s voice in my head, asking that question. It’s uncanny. And a real turn-off, but that’s beside the point.
I’m taking too long to give him an answer. I know I am. I can tell by the way his face falls an inch at a time.
“It would be shitty,” he finally mutters.
“No, no, no.” I slap a hand to my forehead. “I’m such a dork. Of course I want that. It’s just that I think too much. I overthink until I miss opportunities I don’t want to miss.”
His eyelids slide down partway, like shades over a window. His mouth lifts at one corner. “Tonight’s a new start for the newlyweds. Maybe it can be a new start for you too. Something new. Going with your gut. Doing what feels right in the moment without overthinking it. What do you say?”
What do I say?
I say, forget dancing.
I say, it’s time to get out of here.
I back away with a wink, his hand in mine, and lead him from the dance floor. It’s been a long night anyway, and the party’s starting to wind down. Now’s as good a time as any to make our escape.
Hayley catches my eye as we leave the banquet room and can’t conceal a grin. I only scowl at her for immediately jumping to the conclusion she jumped to.
Granted, she’s not exactly wrong, but still. Just because we’re going back to the room doesn’t mean we’re going to take our clothes off or anything like that.
But dang, wouldn’t it be a shame if we didn’t? Talk about a wasted opportunity.
“Wow. You’d never know there was a storm.”
The sky has cleared, moon and stars shining. Like nature said everything it wanted to say all at once and got it over with rather than lingering and drawing things out.
That would account for the unbelievable strength of the storm anyway. I can’t remember seeing anything like that in my entire life. At least, I had never been in the middle of such a storm before.
“It’s not just that. Everything’s cleaned up,” Kellen notices, pointing here and there. No palm leaves strewn around, no overturned lounge chairs. “They know what they’re doing around here, for sure.”
“I’ll miss this place,” I admit. “Corny, I know. But I will. I’ve never been anywhere like this before.”
“I thought your grandmother was super rich and lived on Park Avenue though. You mean, she doesn’t live a wealthy life?”
I’m so taken aback by this that it stops me short. He’s surprised when he finds that I’m frozen in place, turning to me with a frown.
“How did you know about my grandmother?”
He blinks hard, fast. “You told me about her. Don’t you remember? On the bus.”
Of course. For the second time in maybe fifteen minutes, I have no option but to slap my forehead. “I’m sorry. Right. I told you about her and my parents and everything.”
“Hey.” He draws me closer, hooking a finger under my chin and tipping my head up so we’re face-to-face and barely an inch apart. “Did somebody hurt you? Or try to anyway? Why are you suspicious when someone thinks you’re incredible?”
Have I been hurt? There’s a laugh.
“After a certain age, doesn’t everybody have their scars?”
“I guess so. You’d have to live in a bubble if you wanted to keep from getting hurt.” He takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out while his eyes search my face. “I can’t imagine anybody wanting to hurt you, Kitty Valentine. They’d have to be heartless.”
“You might be amazed.”
He offers a tiny, sad smile before catching my mouth with his, and I can’t remember ever being hurt a day in my life.
It’s a sweet kiss. Tender, gentle.
That doesn’t keep my nerve endings from jumping and sizzling. It’s like this past week has been prolonged foreplay—teasing, bantering, getting to know each other.
Now, all that tension has broken, and there’s nothing but relief. The sort of relief that makes my knees weak, to where I have to hold on to him or risk folding into a heap.
He holds me up, arms tight around me. He won’t let me fall.
My hero.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“I hope you don’t think I’m this sort of girl all the time.” Missy glanced over her shoulder, watching as Trent put his clothes on. Boxers. Pants. Shirt.
It was almost sad really. Him covering himself up. He was too delicious to be clothed all the time. The most perfect man she’d ever seen in person.