She clinks her glass to mine. “To our exceptional acting skills,” she says.
We both take a drink of champagne, then we set down our glasses.
Reminding myself not to hesitate, I gather my courage, lift my hands to cradle her face, then press my mouth to hers.
As soon as our lips make contact, it’s all I can do not to forget the plan and pull her all the way into my arms. Her lips are warm and soft, and she tastes faintly of champagne, and I’m…flying.
The kiss is supposed to be familiar, so I fight to keep it simple, like something we’ve done countless times, but it’s taking all my willpower to do so when what I want is to deepen the kiss, taste her, explore her mouth. Her hands liftto my chest, gripping my shirt as she tugs me closer. It doesn’t feel like she’s pretending—it feels like she’shungry.And I want to be the one who gives her everything she needs.
Sarah lets out a soft moan, and my desire sharpens just enough to remind me that we should stop. Here is not the place and now is not the time.
I pull back, and Sarah’s eyes flutter open. My thumb brushes over the corner of her mouth, tugging at her bottom lip, and she sucks in a breath. “You look a little stunned for our one-thousandth kiss.”
She blinks slowly, and I try to read her expression. She had to have felt the same thing I did. But then she gives her head a little shake.
“One thousand andone,” she corrects. She glances toward the bar. “And…mission accomplished. Pretty sure podcast guy saw the whole thing.”
I swallow my disappointment.
Right. Mission accomplished.
The rest of the night passes by in a blur. Griffin comes over to meet Sarah and buys us another round of champagne to congratulate us on our engagement. And Brady Norcott stops by on his way out so his wife can tell Sarah that after meeting Anna at a team event last summer, she’s been following Sarah on Instagram and loves her art.
Sarah is flattered and clearly overwhelmed by the attention, but she’s gracious and kind and even agrees to take a photo with the woman.
“Did that even just happen?” she whispers to me after the couple leaves. “You’re the famous one. People aren’t supposed to recognizeme.”
For my part, I’ve had just enough champagne to soften the edges of my defenses. To let myself fully enjoy holdingSarah’s hand or keeping an arm around her shoulder. Pressing a kiss to her temple whenever she leans close.
But notso muchchampagne that I’ve forgotten that all of this is temporary. I can touch her, treat her like she belongs to me because we have an audience. Something to prove.
But for how long?
It’s jarring to be with her, to feel like this thing between us is real, but then keep getting reminders that it’s not. That maybe my feelings aren’t reciprocated and she’s just really good at pretending.
Sarah reaches over and pats my knee. “We should go,” she says. “You have to leave early tomorrow.”
I nod. “Okay. Have you had fun?”
She smiles. “Yeah. I really have.”
We get our coats, and I send a quick text to our driver, letting him know we’re ready to leave. But I’m hesitant to let Sarah go. To say goodbye when I won’t see her again for almost another week.
“Is your hotel far?” she asks, and I shake my head no.
“Just a few blocks.”
She seems to consider this information, then she looks up at me and asks, “Can we just go there?”
I lift my eyebrows. “You don’t want to go back to Soho?”
“There’s actually something I was hoping we could talk about. I know it’s late, but we’re together, and I think it’ll be easier in-person.”
I can’t begin to guess what she wants to talk about, and I’m suddenly nervous. Did I cross a line? Somehow make her uncomfortable?
“Hey,” she says, stepping closer and lifting a hand to pat my chest. “You’re not in trouble. I promise. It’s truly not a big deal—just something that’s been on my mind.”
I nod. “Okay. Do you want me to come to your place? As late as it is, that would be easier. Then you’ll already be home safe.”
