He laughed, diffusing my nerves. “I am not an escort. You don’t have to pay me. I’m doing it to be nice. You seem fun. I love a celebration.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Unless it’s a graduation.”
“Exactly.” He punctuated the word by pointing at me. “See? An hour into getting to know each other, we are already in sync. This is going to be the perfect match.”
I laughed at the sentiment. “Are we crazy?”
“Of course, we’re crazy. But it’ll be fun.”
“I just met you. This won’t even be believable. My sisters will see right through this.”
He paused, eyes examining me, turning my barstool toward him and pulling me closer. The movement was fast and smooth; the stool barely made a sound against the floor. My breath caught at his close proximity, and I did my best to subdue my breathing. His legs encased mine as he ran his fingertips up my thigh to just below the hem of my dress. I squeezed my legs tighter together, holding my breath as he whispered against my ear, “I will make certain every guest there believes you are well taken care of.” His breath trailed against my neck, and goosebumps rose on my flesh.
I was ridiculously flustered. It was an act; I had known him for barely an hour, yet I was so into it. I forced myself to pull back, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip. “You’re rather good at this. Are you sure you aren’t an escort?”
He laughed, his face erupting with boyish charm yet strong, unmistakable confidence.
“Fine. Let’s do it,” I conceded. “But under one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“We have to use a fake name for you.”
He flashed me a curious smile.
“Just in case someone tries to google you or look you up on social media. Because my sisters will do that.”
His adorably smug eyebrows twisted. “At a wedding?”
“Yes!” I answered so enthusiastically that he reared his square chin back and smirked.
“Deal. What’s my name?”
I twisted my lips as I studied him. Good question. I had spent the last hour sizing him up, letting the lust rush through my veins, but naming him never crossed my mind.
“Mark.”
“No,” he deadpanned.
My jaw dropped. “What? Why?”
“Let’s be a little interesting.”
“Mark is a classic. Mark is reliable. Mark is who you call for a favor.”
“Mark is forgettable.” He raised his eyebrows, and I knew instantly he wasn’t wrong.
“Okay, fine. I got it.” I paused for effect as I examined him. He didn’t look like a Mark. I knew exactly what he looked like. “Isaac.”
A slow smile spread over his lips as he nodded. “Last name?”
“Morrison,” I answered immediately. “Profession?”
“Teacher. It’ll be easier if we keep it as close to the truth.”
“Good point,” I agreed. “How did we meet?”
He shrugged. “At a bar.”
