Page 43 of Weddings, Revenge & Fake Dating

“Stop.” He lightheartedly bats it out of my hand.

“With this material, I could make fun of you forever.”

“Forever?” He arches a brow.

“Until I’m done with you.” I shrug off his reaction. But for the first time, I’m considering something new. Would he want to be friends with me after this week?

“Thanks for coming.” He tugs off his hoodie.

“I haven’t been out with a guy other than Roman since the tenth grade.”

“Then the pressure’s on.” He snags a red rose from a bouquet and presents it to me with a flourish.

“Too late, I know the real you—Wolf.”

He snarls, and I snarl back.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Come in,” Nathan says but his gaze remains on mine.

“Mr. Savage?” The door creaks open. A young woman in a neon-green tube dress appears.

It’s like he only looks away from me because it would be rude not to give the woman his attention.

“I’m Ana. I’ll be taking care of you this evening,” she says.

Nathan extends a hand to her, and they exchange pleasantries.

“You’re on in thirty minutes, but is there anything I can get you in the meantime?” She glances around the room.

“Is the VIP table I requested ready?” Nathan removes his baseball cap and tosses it aside. His hair flops in tousled perfection.

“All ready, and some of your guests have arrived.” Ana flips through pages on her clipboard, confirming.

“Would you mind showing Jeanie to the table? Make sure she gets whatever she wants.”

“Absolutely,” Ana says and turns to leave.

“I’ll see you after the show,” I say.

Nathan tugs me back into his embrace. He thumbs my chin, and my eyes flutter to his lips for a moment.

“Don’t suck too bad,” I say.

His eyes brighten at the newly brandished inside joke.

“There’s always life coaching to fall back on.” His eyes sparkle.

“If only you didn’t suck at that too.”

I spin to leave but he pinches my butt, sending me jumping to Ana’s side. He shuts the door behind us.

Backstage, performers pass wearing dazzling outfits. When we step through sweeping red curtains to the main theater, I’m on sensory overload.

A DJ spins music on a stage. Below him, a packed dance floor writhes to pounding electronic beats. Above the bar, men hang from the ceiling, performing graceful aerial ballets on spinning hoops. Elsewhere, dancers perch on columns that shimmer like disco balls.

Ana leads me to the VIP area. It’s in the middle of the dance floor, raised so it’s level with the stage.