Charlotte glares at her. “You’re lying.”
“Yeah, I am. The hotel staff is on it. You’d be surprised how much people are willing to provide if you speak their language.”
And Charlotte gets that.You could literally make me do anything after hearing you speak Spanish,she thinks.
What’s left to do is write speeches (for real this time), make a playlist for the band, and discuss the time table for the actual wedding. Per the couple’s request they’d hired an actor to marry them—Lou and Gabi will officially elope one day after their return from Mexico—and so they will have to rehearse the ceremony when the fake officiant arrives on the day before the wedding.
Charlotte suggests she can coordinate the rehearsal, if Riley takes responsibility for wrangling the guests.
“Do you get them a wedding gift?” Riley asks her when they near the end of the list. “I know they said ‘presence over presents,’ but I'm sure they expect something from us.”
“Please,” Charlotte scoffs. “My gift is that I will try to keep my gagging to a minimum when they kiss. For 24 whole hours.”
In truth, she had commissioned an artist to draw up one of Gabi and Lou’s favorite photos. She has a large painted canvas of their portrait at home, which she will bring over to their house after the wedding. “What about you?”
“I rented a cabin in the woods for them, for a weekend in September,” Riley says proudly. “It’s super charming, it suits them. Wanna see?”
Charlotte nods and Riley whips out her phone. She pulls up photos of the cottage and hands it over.
Charlotte does indeed see the charm: lots of wood, candles and fairy lights, but also a set of large windows to really connect with the forest. There’s a clawfoot bathtub in what seems to be the middle of the living room.
“Romantic,” Charlotte quips.
“You sound surprised.”
“Yeah. No, I mean… I didn’t think you had it in you.”
Riley puts her hand on her chest, pretending to be hurt. “Ouch. Even after I told you what a hopeless romantic I am.” She takes her phone back and slides it in her pocket.
Charlotte really tries to stop herself from saying the words that are about to escape her, but fails. “I’ve yet to see proof of that,” she mumbles.
“Well, do you want to?” The way Riley crosses her legs and casually leans back in her chair completely parries any attempt to turn it into a joke, and Charlotte feels like she accidentally turned into a dead end.
She doesn’t know where to look and realizes she has to say something, but when she opens her mouth, only a few elongated vowels come out.
Watching Riley tap her fingers on the armrest with an amused grin, she figures the only way is through.
“I think my brain just short-circuited,” Charlotte snorts.
Riley nods slowly, her tongue sliding over her bottom lip. “If only there was a word for that feeling,” she wonders playfully. The sparkle in her eyes completely disintegrates any bones still left in Charlotte’s body. “Sounds familiar, right?”
“It does ring a bell,” Charlotte reluctantly agrees.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Riley kindly says, putting both legs back on the ground and leaning forward with her forearms on her knees. It gives Charlotte a perfect view of her cleavage—not that she’s looking.
“Gay panic makes you feel alive. You could choose to enjoy it.”
Riley maintains eye contact and tilts her head to the side: a question, or maybe a challenge. It makes Charlotte’s insides clench, which is kind of uncomfortable at first, but then she lets Riley’s words sink in.'You could choose to enjoy it.'
So she makes the choice. And the clenching remains but the discomfort dissolves, leaving behind a tickling sensation that sends a giggle all the way up to her throat. She covers the lower half of her face before it comes out.
“Do you want it to stop?” Riley whispers. “Because I can make it stop.”
Charlotte shakes her head, because she really doesn’t, but she also needs to find a way to regain her control.
She keeps staring, just taking in the way Riley is looking at her, and she wonders what she can do to flip their positions. The answer is right there: it’s in her micro-expressions, it’s in the way she forces herself to breathe slowly, it’s in the tension in her jaw, it’s in the wanting look in her eyes: Riley is just as down bad as she is. And if there’s anything Charlotte is good at, it’s using information to her advantage.
“You’re right,” Charlotte says, dropping her hand to her own chest, absently tracing her clavicle with her middle finger. “It is exciting. But the tension—it’s almost too much.” She watches the slightest twitch in Riley’s eyes, and so she swaggers on. “I believe you mentionedsomething about a jacuzzi the other day? That sounds exactly like something an old crone like me needs, tonight around 11 or so.” Riley inhales sharply through her nose, and Charlotte gets up. “Where did you say it was again?”
