What’s next, Irish Spring?
Antonio bends to wrap an arm around me. “Ready for tonight?” We’re taking things slow, though I have a feeling he’d speed to the moon if I let him. I want us to pace ourselves before we defy gravity.
“That depends on what we’re doing.” I raise a brow.
A grin spreads. “ questions.”
Ay, Dios.
“Welcome to The Newlywed Game!”
Applause erupts.
“I’m your host, Melvin Jones,” the announcer with the Steve Harvey veneers says. The size of his teeth doesn’t match his small frame. Neither does his brown suit. He looks like he’s going to represent himself in court or sell you a vacuum cleaner.
When Antonio said tonight would be an evening of charity and questions, I was not expecting a game show in a South Buffalo bar. No wonder he insisted on driving.
“Stop eyeing the exits,” mydatesays next to my ear. He reaches around me for his water bottle on the counter.
“I’m starting to rethink this whole trust thing,” I grumble. “What made you assume I wanted to do this?”
“You said you wanted to go out more.”
I gawk. “To the movies or something. Not”—I wave my hands around—“a game for married people.”
He drags my barstool to the side as a man with no sense of courtesy or spatial awareness squeezes himself between us. My back is now against Antonio’s chest. His arms cage me in to shield me from the people clamoring to get the bartender’s attention.
“My family’s investment firm co-sponsors this event every year,” he tells me, his voice soft and low. One inhale of his cologne sends my senses into a frenzy. “It raises money for families around the city who are experiencing financial hardship, and it’s a good boost in visibility for the Steel. We played Family Feud last year and Jeopardy the year before that.”
“Your philanthropy is commendable, but we aren’t married,” I say over my shoulder. I shiver at his mouth inches from mine.
The kiss he plants is soft. “I know,” he whispers. “Shins is playing with his fiancée, Rachel—”
“The one who’s hard of hearing?”
“What?” Antonio laughs.
“Nothing.”
“Bread and Kendrick are on a team. Then you and me. The winners get a trophy and a steak-and-lobster dinner at Amato’s.”
“Why didn’t you lead with that?” Antonio will be on the receiving end of my wrath for this at some point, but Amato’s isfamousfamous. The waitlist is a year out, and I heard every dish is based on the recipes of the owner’s grandmother.
“Why am I not surprised?” He shakes his head with a grin.
“The same way I’m not after dealing with your antics all these years.” I down the rest of my mule in one go.
He leads us from the bar to the half dozen steps next to a raised space where our fate awaits. His grip is firm on my hand, rubbing circles into my thumb as we walk by a large group. We pass a brick fireplace across from beams with hanging string lights twinkling over aged hardwood. Our seats are between the other two teams.
Kendrick stuffs notecards into his black pants. Were we supposed to study?
Rachel is talking to the side of Shins’s face. Her hands and mouth are moving a mile a minute while he stares at the other end of the room. Completely bothered and unamused.
“Alright, teams. The couple that answers the most questions correctly will be our winner,” Melvin declares. “Any questions?”
“I’m not fucking him.” Bread points to Kendrick. “You’re handsome, bro, but we’re not like that.”
“That’s not a question,” Melvin notes. He signals for his assistants to pass us whiteboards with dry-erase markers.
