“And wouldn’tyoulike that…” His words are nothing but a whisper—a tease—across the curve of my ear. Then he steps back. “But we’ll see how the night goes first. We’ll call it your trial period.”
“Mytrial period?!” I can’t help but laugh through my offended expression.
We stop at an unmarked metal door. “We’ll talk after you tell me how you feel aboutthis…” He grandly pushes it open.
Approximately twelve gray-and-white-haired heads fly to us, and we freeze in the middle of an event space. A semi-circle of wheelchairs and metal seats is occupied by elderly women beneath a banner that says, “Congratulations Bernice and Archie.” Ironically, “Archie” is nowhere to be found in this flock of women.
The seemingly eighty-five-year-old lady in the center has a fluffy pink boa over her knit cardigan and a gift bag in her hand. She turns to the even older-looking woman in the wheelchair beside her. The woman whom I can only assume is the bride, Bernice, has a voice that shakes with age.
“Gwendolyn, you said you didn’t hire any exotic dancers.”
Gwendolyn looks so ancient that she’s barely coherent, but she focuses her glazed eyes on Brandon.
The lady on the other side of Gwendolyn answers on her behalf. “That old bat doesn’t knowwhatshe’s typing into the internet. By the looks of it”—she slides her bifocals closer with a bony knuckle—“I say it’s a very handsome accident.”
I roll my lips in and try not to laugh. Brandon’s face seems a bit pale, but the flush in his cheeks is nearing tomato red. Whatever Brandon meant to show me, it was obviously notthis. I stifle another laugh.
I tilt my head closer and speak out the side of my mouth. “Weird choice of date, Mr. Roberts. But if you choose to spend your free time exotic dancing for the retirement home, who am I to judge?”
Brandon closes his eyes, tips his head back, and shakes it like he can’t believe this is happening. His face swings to mine, and he cracks an eye open. “I’mnotan exotic dancer, Kate.”
I gesture to the semi-circle of waiting ladies. “Apparently you are. At least for tonight. I mean, do youreallywant to deprive”—I squint at the banner—“Bernicefrom fully enjoying her last night as a single woman?”
Brandon folds his massive arms and shifts his body to block my view of the banner. I have no choice but to blink sweetly up at him as he says, “You’re not seriously suggesting I dance for these grannies.”
I drop my brows and say, “Oh, I most certainlyam.A wedding is the most important day of a woman’s life, and you’d have to be a monster to send Bernice into her special day feeling…disappointed.”
His shoulders quake beneath a silent laugh, but he shakes his head again. “No.”
I rise on tiptoe toward his ear and use the same technique Brandon used in my figure drawing class to get my real number.
“Idareyou.”
Brandon instantly turns his head, and his mouthalmostbrushes mine. I stop breathing. His lidded-gaze drops to my lips before he languidly pulls it back up.
“Fine,” he says. “But I’m keeping it PG. And… I get the next dare.”
“Deal,” I hear myself say.
Brandon opens a music app on his phone and hands it to me. “Find ‘Past the Lights.’ It should be in the playlist called ‘Tuck and Brando.’”
I laugh and locate the playlist. “Tuck and Brando 4-eva? Aren’t you two just the cutest?”
Brandon doesn’t respond, and I glance up to find him unbuttoning his dress shirt, revealing a white tank so tight it’s virtually painted onto his pectoral muscles. It’s a feast for the eyes—one I shouldn’t be partaking in. Someone is jacking up the thermostat in this event room. My money’s on Gwendolyn.
“I-I thought you were keeping it PG,” I sputter.
“Worried?” Brandon winks, and I flush even hotter. “Iam, I just didn’t want to get my nice shirt all sweaty for our date.” He finishespulling off the black fabric and tosses it to me before taking his phone back.
The spicy scent of his cedarwood cologne envelops me, and it takes an absurd amount of willpower not to shove my face into it and breathe like it’s an asthma inhaler.
Brandon rolls his massive shoulders and walks toward the semi-circle of waiting women. He takes turns greeting all of them with a wide smile. A presumptuous lady fishes a dollar bill from her purse and places it kindly into his palm alongside a caramel candy in a gold wrapper.
I laugh into my hand from where I’m leaning against the wall. He’s working the crowd like a professional, and I realize that I truly have no idea what he does for work. Maybe heisan exotic dancer?
Brandon strides back toward me, holding out his phone. “My phone is already connected to the event center’s Bluetooth, so I’ll tell you when to push play.”
“Push play? What, do you have a routine or something?”
