by Sara Ney
The twins peer at us warily, giving each other sidelong glances. “What about your second date.”
“Our second date?”
Shoot, Dexter and I discussed this in the car on the way here, didn’t we? Crap, where did we say we went on our second date? With his sisters aiming their focus on me with laser beam accuracy, suddenly I can’t remember. Or we hadn’t thought this far ahead.
“We… our second date?”
Lucy’s eyes are definitely narrowed doubtfully. “You can’t remember where your second date was?”
Dexter pushes out a laugh. “Was it so boring that you’ve already forgotten?” His hand brushes my palm affectionately—the way a real boyfriend would do. “We went to a wine bar.”
The twins scrunch up their noses. “You said you met at a wine bar. So did you meet there, or take her there on your second date?”
They wait.
“You know what? I’m twenty-six years old—you don’t get to cross-examine me, questioning my motives. You’re fifteen.”
“Sixteen in less than three weeks,” they clarify.
“That’s not my point—”
“Aww Dex, you should see yourself, all flustered.” Amelia cuts him off, preening happily before whipping out her cell and snapping a duck face selfie. “You’re—”
“—So adorable.”
“Dex, are you going to dance with her after dinner?” Amelia asks at the same time Lucy says, “They’re setting up now and starting after dinner.”
They both sigh. “Before dessert is served.”
They sigh again. “Cake.”
I can hardly keep up with their conversation.
Lucy pulls out her phone, checks the time, and then gestures us closer together. “Okay you little lovebirds. Scootch so I can get a picture.”
“Can we post this on our Instagram?” Amelia asks.
“Hashtag our brother’s hot new girlfriend.” Lucy adds while Amelia chastises, “Nobody uses hashtags anymore, Lucy. Nobody.”
Lucy ignores her. “But can we?”
“Scoot closer,” the voices probe.
We do. We scoot closer, Dexter extending his arm and resting it on my chair back. I lean back, into the crux of his elbow, the heat from his body brushing the skin of my exposed back.
I shiver.
My hand finds his upper thigh—like it would if I was his real girlfriend—and without hesitating, I rest it there and fight the impulse to give it a good squeeze. It would be tacky to feel him up at the dinner table, wouldn’t it?
Especially since this isn’t a real date.
Right?
I sigh, disappointed, as the flash from the cell goes off.
“Aren’t you going to touch her?” His sisters ask him skeptically, clearly disgusted by our lack of PDA.
A look passes between the two of them; a knowing, secretive glance that’s slightly disturbing and has me narrowing my green eyes.
“I am touching her,” Dexter deadpans, flopping his hand near my shoulder. Near but not on. “See?”
“Dex,” they coax. “This picture is gonna suck if you don’t get your faces closer together.”
“Oh, God forbid.” Sarcasm becomes him.
“Maybe kiss her cheek,” one twin suggests playfully with a simper, holding her phone out. They snap a few more selfies before aiming the cell back towards us. “Ready?”
“Closer.”
Dexter’s chest presses into my back and his hand comes down off the back of my seat. It covers my bare shoulder, solid and big and warm. His thumb caresses back and forth against my skin before he catches himself doing it and stops. Once.
Twice.
I shiver, catching Lucy’s knowing grin.
She winks at me above her iPhone.
Why, that sneaky little…
“Smile!”
“Say cheese!”
I beam until my face hurts. Turn my face. Inhale the woodsy, fresh scent of Dexter’s freshly shaven neck with no shame. I mean—since it’s right freaking there. His jaw is so strong and defined it’s just begging to be sniffed. Begging.
And it smells so…
So.
Good.
Down girl. He’s not into you like that.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Lucy nudge Amelia with her elbow, and the pair of them do another series of head nods and eyebrow raises that I’ve decided must be some weird Twin Speak.
Those two are trouble.
Double trouble.
So far, so good.
My parents haven’t completely embarrassed me; but then again, not wanting to scare Daphne away, they’ve given us a wide berth, twins notwithstanding.
Been on their best behavior.
No questions being fired off at a missile-launching pace. No intrusively personal questions. No uncomfortable or inappropriate statements containing the words marriage, babies, or give me grandbabies.
Well, unless you count my Aunt Tory telling Daphne the reception hall where her daughter Grace is having her wedding has an opening nineteen months from now—if we hurry, we can still book it.
Only three of every ten statements have been intrusive; I consider those very good statistics.
I’ve managed to shuffle my faux date to the dance floor, away from the inquisition but not the prying eyes; if anything, I’ve made us more vulnerable to speculation by hauling Daphne to the middle of the ballroom.
Under the dim lights of the crystal chandelier, joy radiates off her. Or maybe it’s just the reflection from the hundreds of prisms; either way, Daphne lets me hold her close and twirl her around, giggling at my tragic attempts at humor and grinning up at me at the appropriate times.
The urge to touch her intimately and pull her flush against my body is unbearable.
Either she’s truly enjoying herself, or she’s a terrific actress.
My cousin Gracie has hired some fancy cover-band from the city, and they’re belting out some low-rent version of Photograph by Ed Sheeran. Daphne and I sway in synch along to the beat—her hands lock around my neck in a definitively girlfriendy way.
Contemplating me affectionately, she’s acting like she adores me. A pink flush on her cheeks and fresh coat of gloss swiped across her lips. The look makes me—
Stop it Dex, this isn’t real.
The look isn’t real.
Because if it was, I would most definitely be dipping my neck and covering her mouth with mine to discover what flavor those glossy lips are.
But I won’t.
I won’t because that’s not what this is—because I didn’t have the balls to ask her on a real date.
And that’s the pisser of it all.
I scan the room, groaning inwardly at the sight of my Cousin Elliot casually resting his elbows against the wooden counter of the bar. He tips his highball glass and chin as a greeting, his assessment of my date evident all the way across the room. Elliot begins at her feet, his brows raising the longer he studies her perfect figure—her waist, her firm backside. I know the exact moment his perusal reaches her perfect breasts because his lascivious grin widens, dammit.
Our eyes meet.
My cousin gives me another cocky nod as my hands skim Daphne’s bare back, his mouth tipping into a toothy grin as he pushes himself away from the bar top. Turning towards the bartender, he throws down a few singles, says a few parting words, smacks our Uncle Dave on the back, and grabs his glass, weaving his way through the crowded reception room.
Towards us.
Determined.
Shit.
I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.
Now, if Daphne was plain and unattractive this would be a different story.
But she’s not.
She’s gorgeous and sexy and out of my league. What’s worse, Elliot fucking knows it; he plans to take full advantage.
“My cousin is on his way over.” I grumble, impulsively raising my hand to smooth it down Daphne’s long, wavy hair. It feels like I imagine spun silk t
o feel— like warm water cascading in a languid, steady stream through my fingers—and smells a whole hellova lot better. Like shampoo and honey and baby powder.
So good.
So not mine.
Elliot is a total douche.
I know it’s not fair to run comparisons—particularly on someone I haven’t met—but it’s obvious Dexter and his cousin fell off different branches of the family tree: they are the complete opposites. Where Dexter is kind, caring and approachably handsome, Elliot is in your face good-looking. Cocky. Spray tanned. Manwhore with a heart of gold. A schmoozer used to gaining anything he wants from women.
Used to getting in anyone and everyone’s panties.
Gross, did I just say panties?
Ew.
I’ve met a hundred Elliot Ryan’s in my short lifetime and I’ve no doubt I’ll meet more; he is certainly no novelty.
Not to me, anyways.
He’s sizing me up as a potential prospect even as he walks towards us, a knowing glint in his arrogant eye—he thinks I’m going to be charmed by his bullshit. His body.
His face.
He’s so conceited and full of himself he thinks I’ll ditch Dexter and leave here with him. Unfortunately for Elliot, I am immune and speak fluent douche.
Our dance near an end, Dexter relaxes his grip as his cousin approaches with a swagger, and I mournfully unclasp my hands from their spot around his neck. Standing steadfastly beside him, I reach between our bodies to grapple for his hand, lacing our fingers together in a show of solidarity.
Plus, I really want to touch him.
He looks down at our joined hands surprised when I give them a flirty little squeeze.
“Hey cuz, pardon the interruption.” Elliot is so full of shit I want to burst out laughing. He’s not one bit sorry—he’s rude. “Aunt Bethany said you brought a new girlfriend tonight, but I had to see it myself.”
His mouth is speaking to Dexter, but his interest clearly lies with me. “And you must be…?”
“Elliot, this is Daphne. Daff, this is my cousin, Elliot.”
Daff? Oh brother, he’s pulling out the pet names?
“Hi, pleased to meet you. I’d shake your hand, but as you can see, it’s otherwise occupied.” I slouch on my heel, leaning on Dexter for support. He immediately releases my hand to slide his arm around my waist, pulling me flush into his body. Shamelessly, I return the favor, hugging my date’s trim waist, letting my other palm rest on the flat of his abs.
I feel them flex under my fingers, and give them a playful little tickle.
“Dexter and Daphne. The Double D’s, get it?” Elliot jokes, pasting a megawatt grin across his handsome face. So good-looking. So pleasant. So fake. “Hey man—sorry about standing you up at the wine bar the other weekend after the golf tournament. I didn’t mean to leave you hanging.”
His eyes never leave my face.
“No worries. It all worked out.” Dexter’s hand gives me a squeeze. “Besides, I wasn’t there entirely alone.”
Elliot cocks his head thoughtfully to study us. I can almost hear the cogs in his brain working overtime. Almost. “Yeah, I heard that’s where the two of you met.”
“Yup, I’m a lucky guy.” Dexter kisses the top of my head.
Elliot squints at us. “Seriously though. The two of you are dating?”
Seriously though? Could he be any less subtle?
Dickhead.
“Well, the sparks really flew when we bumped into each other a few days later.” I look up into Dexter’s kind eyes. “Remember? You came to my rescue at the movie theater?”
“Was he wearing a bow tie?” Elliot laughs—a booming, obnoxious, and patronizing snort, revealing the dark side of his personality.
Asshole.
There was only one way to wipe that smirk off his face.
“Wearing a bow tie?” I ask purposefully. Slowly. “Well… he was wearing one at the beginning of the night. But I had it on in the morning.” I push out a giggle. “Sometimes all I have on are his glasses, isn’t that right babe?”
Bashfully in Elliot’s direction, I demure. “I love his glasses, don’t you?”
Unable to control myself, I rise onto my tip-toes and kiss the underside of Dexter’s chin. My lips linger, the tip of my nose giving his jaw a little nudge.
Mmm. He smells heavenly. Divine.
“Wait.” Elliot looks confused. “Hey man, am I seriously interrupting something? You’re not fucking around?”
A laugh escapes my lips. “We were dancing! Of course you’re interrupting something.”
Idiot.
“Yeah man, we’ll catch you later at the bar for a round, Ellie. Your treat.” Dexter nuzzles my hair before spinning me around. “Right now I’m going to finish out this set with my gorgeous date.”
“Sorry Elliot.” Breathlessly, I don’t take my eyes off Dexter’s face. “You’re gonna have to excuse us—I just want to be alone with these sexy suspenders. I’ve been dying to run my hands under them all night.”
I shoot my date a pointed look. “All night.”
To emphasize my point, the arms wrapped around his waist snake up the front of his button-down shirt, the pads of my palms slowly move up and under his blue paisley suspenders.
“I-I..” he stutters, pushing up his glasses with the tip of his forefinger. “You like these?”
He’s genuinely shocked.
“No, I love them.” I confess, biting down on my lower lip. “Why did you wear them if not to drive me insane?”
His mouth opens but no sound comes out. We’re the only two people on the dance floor not dancing; the only two people on the dance floor, surrounded by his family and cousin Grace’s good friends.
The only two people that matter; right here.
Right now.
Or maybe it’s just me.
My fake date is kind of hard to read; he’s spent more time being chivalrous and gentlemanly than flirty. He hasn’t made one single overture. Not one single advance. Hasn’t touched me in a way that was anything but friendly.
Unfortunately.
And yet…
It’s his eyes that give him away. They’re interested.
Intrigued.
Something in his eyes…
He longs for me.
I can see it.
But.
There’s something else I see reflected in his dark, brown eyes; doubt. For himself and my attraction to him.
So that longing?
He won’t do anything about it.
“You know how ridiculous the whole thing is, right?” I’m in my apartment, make-up removed, sitting cross-legged in the center of my big, fluffy bed. I couldn’t resist a phone call to Tabitha with a recap of the past several days; the movie. The meeting at the coffee shop where Dexter propositioned me.
The engagement party.
“I don’t understand why he didn’t just ask you to be his date. It makes no sense.” I can hear Tabitha shuffling around her kitchen, a pan going into the sink followed by running water.
I throw myself back, sinking into my pillows and staring up at the ceiling. “Right? The whole fake date thing was dumb. All it managed to do was fire up my imagination. It’s running wild. You know how I always want what I can’t have? Ugh, his lack of interest is driving me crazy.”
“I wouldn’t call it lack of interest; I’d call it a lack of cojones.”
I ignore her flippant remark and prattle on. “Besides, what is this—a Made for TV movie? What are we, in high school?”
On the other end of the line, she’s speaking around her toothbrush. “Yeah, it was pretty immature.” She takes it out of her mouth to say, “But maybe…”
My best friend’s voice trails off.
“Maybe what? I’m hanging on your every word here.”
“Well, maybe—just maybe—he’s intimidated by you and doesn’t want to be rejected. That’s Collin’s theory, and I happen to agree with him. You can be pretty intimidating, Dap
hne.”
I consider this.
I’m not shy or reserved, and if I’m being brutally honest, I haven’t broken any mirrors lately.
“Okay, yes. That’s a possibility.” I pause before adding more information. “But I’m pretty sure he was going to ask me out after the movie. I’d bet my favorite yoga pants on it.”
“He was spooked by his aunt,” Tabitha declares with authority. I can picture her nodding in agreement. “And now he’s too chicken shit—” She stops mid-sentence. “Tell the truth; do you really want to date a guy like that, though? Not enough balls to ask you on a real date? It’s kind of wimpy.”
I’ve debated this a million times in my head so I immediately jump to his defense. “Jeez Tabitha, just because he’s not humping my leg or sending me dick pics doesn’t make him a wimp.”
She huffs indignantly. “Please don’t call him sensitive. That’s way worse.”
I chuckle. “No, he’s not that nice. I mean—he is, but he also has a smart mouth on him, too; it’s sexy.”
His smart mouth.
Those lips.
“Sexy Dexy,” Tabitha croons into the receiver. “You know, I bet he’s got a lot of pent-up sexual repression.”
My ears perk up. “Ya think?”
“Oh yeah, definitely.” Tabitha breaths seductively. “You said yourself he’s a thinker—he’s probably thinking of all the ways to do you.”
God I hope so.
“No doubt he’s got himself convinced you’re out of his league.”
I scoff at this. “He couldn’t be more wrong.”
“Then prove it. Show him he’s wrong.”
“I can’t,” I whine like a baby. “He put me in the Friend-Zone.”
Tabitha sighs impatiently. “No, he put himself there. Now you need to take him out.”
“Hmmm, we’ll see…”
“I’m sorry, what was that? You need. To take. Him. Out.”
“Have you always been this bossy?”
“No, it’s something new I’m trying out.” I can practically hear her rolling her blue eyes.
“Wow, sarcastic, too. Collin’s one lucky guy.”
Tabitha releases a breathy laugh. “Sweetie. If you like him, just do it; make a move. Don’t wait until your ovaries dry up.”