“We should get some air,” I say, because if I stay on this dance floor I’m going to kiss her again and I need to get my shit together first.
She nods, not quite meeting my eyes.
We push through the crowd to a side door leading to a patio. It’s freezing out here, but I need it to clear my head.
“That was—” Juliette starts again.
“For Garrett. Yeah. Had to sell it.”
“Right. Selling it.” She’s hugging herself against the cold. “We were pretty convincing.”
“Yeah. We were.”
The silence is loaded with everything we’re not saying.
“We should probably practice,” she says suddenly. “Kissing. We should practice. In case we need to do it again.” She’s still not looking at me. “For the wedding. To make it believable.”
This is a bad idea. This is the worst idea. Say no. Save yourself Rodriguez, my mind is screaming at me.
“Yeah. Okay. Practice.”
We head back insideand I order a car because if we stay here any longer I’m going to do something really stupid.
She’s quiet on the ride back to the hotel. Every time the car hits a bump, Juliette’s leg presses against mine and I’m aware of every single point of contact.
In the elevator, she finally looks at me. “That was pretty quick thinking. The kissing.”
“Yeah. It was.”
“So you agree, we should practice right?”
“For sure. Definitely don’t want people to think we’re not good at this.”
We walk to our room in silence. My hands are shaking when I pull out the keycard to unlock the door.
Inside, we both just stand there for a moment.
“So,” she says, finally. “We should probably?—”
I kiss her. Just go for it before I can talk myself out of it.
She responds immediately, pressing into me, and I back her against the door, one hand braced above her head, the other on her waist.
“Just practicing,” she murmurs against my mouth.
I tilt her head back, deepen the angle, and she melts against melike she’s been waiting for this. Her hands slide under my shirt, nails scraping lightly against my skin. I groan and she makes that sound again, the one going to haunt me for the rest of my life.
My hands find the hem of her dress. Start sliding up her thigh, feeling the smooth skin, the muscle underneath.
She breaks away, breathing hard. “Wait.”
I freeze immediately and step back. “Too much?”
“No. I just—” She’s looking at me, chest heaving, lips swollen. “Is this real for you?”
“What?”
“This. Us. Tonight.” She’s not letting me look away. “Is it real or are we still pretending?”
