As the band plays a jazz cover of “Hungry Like the Wolf,” the caterers begin passing out the first of the four raw meat courses. Seizing the opportunity, I escape from the reception hall, my thoughts all Hanry. That mouth. That touch. Once I’m past the flower archway and confident the coast is clear, I throw open the door to the catering closet—
To find it empty. Of handsome, broad-shouldered types, anyway. There’s a dinky yellow mop bucket filled with gray, sudsy water, and the attached metal pole appears precariously close to bashing my head. Clearly, this is a mislabeled maintenance closet. I wonder if that was the pooka’s doing? If so, I’m grateful. I can’t imagine making out with Hanry in here. I’m glad he had the same idea.
Doing my best to stay unnoticed, I shut the door and walk casually around the flower arch, where I find an unlabeled closet. More encouragingly than last time, it isn’t surrounded by a scent-moat of lemony cleaning product. I try the handle, which takes a bit of jiggling to open, but—
There. There Hanry is, in his tuxedo, seated on top of a white-cloth-covered catering cart, his phone in hand, the top of his jacket and bow tie undone. He’s waiting for me. And, dear god. He’s as hot as ever. He’shotterthan ever.
I’ve dreamed about this. Making out with him, sure—but specifically, the catering closet. Having spent so many years in catering, it’s like my own personal Mile High Club fantasy.
“That other closet,” Hanry starts, “was kind of cramped—”
Whatever he has to say doesn’t matter. I slip in behind the door, and no sooner has it clicked shut than I tackle Hanry, hard enough to send the catering cart a foot backward.
In the dark, snug room, Hanry kisses me. His hands run over my neck, my back, my arms. I return the favor enthusiastically. I tug off his bow tie. I sweep my hands over his chest. I want to feel the place where his hip bone dimples, the line of toned muscle at the base of his abs that leads down to further heat. I want to feel all of him. I need his pantsoff.
“Stop,” says Hanry, taking hold of me with passion. I grin against the warmth of his neck.
“Oh, you like that, do you?”
He fishes for me in the darkness. Takes my other wrist in his.
“Sabby.Stop,” he says again. This time I hear the shift in his tone of voice, and it chases away the heat in my belly. Confused, I slide off Hanry’s lap to stand.
“If it’s this room that’s the problem, Sidney promised I’d have a hotel room upstairs so I can crash after the party. You could come too. Would you?”
Hanry has frozen in place. Like I’ve shell-shocked him with my offer, and—oh god. I’ve made the wrong call. It horrifies me, and I feel my shoulders tightening, because yeah, I’m taking the rejection personally, of course I am—but you know what? No. Hanry is attracted to me, Iknowhe is.
“Hanry, say something.”
Rather than looking at me or telling me what’s happening inside his mind, Hanry chooses to focus on the closet wall. Oh no. He’s searching for a light switch. What better way to kill the mood than to flick on the fluorescent ceiling light?
It’s brutally bright.
I can’t stand feeling this exposed a second longer.
“All right, I’ll say it for you,” I joke. “You’re a virgin. You’re saving yourself for marriage. You tried the raw meat, and you’re having a weird gastrointestinal reaction to it.”
Hanry doesn’t chuckle. Instead, he runs his hands over his face and squeezes his eyes shut. Then opens them again. His blue eyes are lit from within, crisp and bright like an icy winter sky. They’re vivid. Alive. Full of desire. Forme.
“I’m not reacting to the meat,” he says, his gaze on my lips. And falling lower.
I knew it. That I’m not imagining it: he wants me too. Maybe everything’s okay. I respond, pliant in Hanry’s arms as he pulls me slowly to him, his face nearing mine.
My heart rate accelerates, and I catch my breath.
He parts his lips. I can feel the warmth of his mouth a few inchesaway. When the hem of his jacket falls across my hand, my eyes drift shut, and I wait. At last, Hanry’s mouth touches mine, covering it, and for a moment the world is soft, warm, and perfect.
“I want this more than you know,” Hanry whispers against me. “But I don’t think continuing would be fair to you.”
My eyes fly open.
Hanry leans back on his hands, moving his face slightly back too, and it’s my turn to be shell-shocked. I swear I see stars around the edges of my sight.
“Hanry,” I say, my heart sinking; my eyes squinting in the starkness of the closet.
“I can’t kiss you like this and keep it light between us, Sabby. And I can’t go upstairs with you.”
“Okay,” I say, more unsure than I’ve ever sounded around him. “We don’t—we don’thaveto go anywhere.”
