Slow circles on my inner thigh. Fingers drifting up, then retreating. A maddening pattern that has me gripping my champagne glass hard enough to risk shattering it.
She’s talking to Layla about wedding next-steps, her expression completely neutral, like she isn’t systematically dismantling my composure under the table.
“The lake house could work for the ceremony,” she’s saying. “But you’d need tents for the reception if the weather doesn’t cooperate.”
“That’s what I said!” Layla exclaims. “Bennett wants to risk it, but I’ve seen Chicago weather in June. It’s chaos.”
“Total chaos,” Audrey agrees, and her fingertips brush against me through my pants.
I inhale sharply. Dominic glances over, eyebrow raised, and I pretend to cough.
Audrey doesn’t even look at me. “Maybe a backup venue? Somewhere indoors that still has that outdoor feel?”
“Ooh, like a conservatory?”
“Exactly. The Garfield Park Conservatory does events.”
Her hand presses more firmly. I’m going to die. I’m going to die at this table, surrounded by my friends, because the woman I love has decided to torture me in public.
“We should go,” I announce, too loudly.
Everyone turns to look at me.
“Lab tomorrow,” I manage. “Early calibrations. Very important. Time-sensitive.”
“It’s barely eleven,” Caleb says.
“Science doesn’t sleep.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
Audrey is biting her lip, eyes bright with barely contained laughter. “He’s right, we should head out. Big day tomorrow. Lots of... calibrations.”
“Calibrations,” Dominic repeats, deadpan. “Right.”
“Goodbye, everyone. Thank you for celebrating with us.” I’m already standing, pulling Audrey up with me. “We’ll see you allsoon. At a future social event. Which I will attend. Like a normal person.”
“Smooth,” Serena says. “Very subtle.”
“I don’t know what you’re implying.”
“I’m implying that you’re about to go have sex, and you’re doing a terrible job of hiding it.”
“That’s—we have calibrations.”
Audrey tugs my hand. “Give it up, babe. We’ve been made.” She waves to the table. “Night, everyone. Don’t wait up.”
We escape through a chorus of catcalls and wolf-whistles. Audrey’s laughing, her hand warm in mine, and all that matters right now is getting her home.
We changed the world today.
The night air hits us as we push through the club’s doors, cool against my overheated skin. My car is already waiting at the curb—I don’t use a driver that often, but when I do, he knows to stay close so I can text him when we’re wrapping up.
“Mr. Whitman,” he says, opening the back door. His expression remains professionally neutral, even though Audrey is already pressed against my side like she’s trying to fuse with me.
“Thank you. Home, please.”
“Of course, sir.”
