After a few more moments of small talk, I excuse myself, heading toward the ladies’ room. I really can’t hold my champagne. Goes straight through me.
But I’m not the slightest bit tipsy—we’ve been here nearly two hours, and I’ve been sipping slowly. I’d like to keep it that way. Sobriety is key to maintaining the strength to resist kissing Nix’s face off in the back seat of his pickup before he drops me at my place.
Resistance is key.
Just two more weeks until Teddy’s wedding. Two more weeks of keeping this fake relationship in peak #couplesgoals condition to ensure the moment I show up at my ex’s big day with a gorgeous younger man achieves maximum impact.
After that, well…
I’ll think about that after, when maybe the possibility of dating a younger man who’s totally wrong for me won’t be this tempting. Time doesn’t always make the heart grow fonder or the pussy friskier, after all. Sometimes it makes you realizeyou’ve been projecting good boyfriend qualities onto a total turd, and it’s past time to make your escape.
As I step out of the ladies’, a low masculine voice makes me jump, “There you are.”
Pressing a hand to my chest, I turn to see Nix standing by the long table across the hall. “God, you scared me.”
“Sorry.” He chuckles, sliding his hands into his pockets in a way that makes him look like the furthest thing from a potential turd. Seriously, this man should not be allowed to wear a tuxedo in public. He’s a threat to marriages and panties everywhere. “I needed a break from the crowd. So, when I saw you head for the ladies’, I decided to stalk you and tell you how hot you look in that dress again.”
I grin, ambling over to straighten his slightly crooked bowtie. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”
He arches a brow as his gaze slides down to my lips. “Really? I’m not a big fan of murder collar.”
“But you look good in murder collar,” I say, patting the tie one last time before stepping back, needing some distance from the hormone-rattling smell of him. “Frederica wanted me to thank you for introducing Dean to that agent, by the way.”
Nix blinks. “Oh. Well, yeah. Of course. No problem. I was happy to. Noel actually said he has an audition for me next week.” He exhales a slightly awkward laugh. “It’s for some kind of arnica pain relief cream for old people, but…”
“But you like old people.” I wink as I add, “Just look at how wellweget along.”
He shoots an exaggerated scowl my way. “Stop calling yourself old. You’re a fox, and…”
I cock my head. “And?”
“And I missed you this week,” he murmurs, making my heart flutter.
Silly heart.
I tell it how silly it is. And how old—at least in comparison to a man nearly ten years our junior—but it doesn’t care. It still wants to hurl itself out of my chest and into Nix’s big, sexy hands.
We stand there for a beat too long, the air going tight.
Finally, I force myself to reply in a “just friends” voice, “I missed you, too. We have good talks.”
“We do,” he agrees. “I really value your perspective on things. Which is why…” He breaks off with a laugh and another grin, the crooked, self-conscious one that makes my heart do more silly things. “This is going to sound like a cheesy pick-up line, but I swear I’m for real. Would you mind swinging by my place really quick before I take you home? I’ve been trying to pick a new paint color for the living room for weeks, but so far all I have are four giant slash marks on the wall. I promised the painter I’d pick a color by tomorrow, but I seriously can’t decide what goes best with the furniture. You’re a classy human with excellent taste, so, do you think you could, maybe…do a man a solid?”
Do a man a solid…
I would prefer to just “do” the man. Period. I’m pretty sure Nix would be just fine with that, too, judging by the way his eyes keep drifting to my lips like he’s dying to have me for dessert, but…
“Sure,” I say, ignoring the inner voice already giving me shit for walking into a sex trap with my eyes wide open. “I can do that. No problem.”
His gaze floods with a mixture of happiness and something warmer I try not to examine too closely. But whatever it is makes me feel very fizzy inside as he offers me his arm, asking, “So, should we blow this pop stand?’
“We should.” I hook my hand through his arm, fingers curling into his bicep.
Then, I do my best not to think about how much I enjoyed leaving teeth marks on this same bicep the last time we banged like bunnies on my back porch.
Spoiler alert: This does not go well.
The drive to his penthouse takes eighteen minutes.
