Chapter 12 #2
The kiss starts out innocent enough—just a hint, a tease, a promise.
But it’s also not at all innocent, since I’m learning Lake smells like cedar and tastes like fresh mint.
I discover, too, that his stubble scraping my face makes my nipples stand at attention.
That his hand on my back is nothing short of foreplay.
He murmurs against my mouth, a rough, sexy rumble that thrums through me. When he breaks the kiss, he shoots me a sly smile, just for me. “The moment called for it.”
“It did,” I think I say. I’m not sure if I’m speaking or thinking.
It’s hard to do either now that I know there’s a world where knee-weakening, toe-tingling kisses exist. I don’t think I knew of this planet’s existence before today.
But I’m an intrepid explorer and I want to traverse it.
Map it. Study it. What else can he do with that mouth? His hands? His hard, cut body?
As I’m contemplating this new universe, I spot Jameson slinking off, his back to us.
And everything feels right on Earth too.
I recover speech, so I lift a hand toward Lake’s handsome face, pushing some soft, thick hair away, then whispering in his ear, “Score one for the fake daters. It’s one point every time you successfully nail a dating hurdle.”
“We’re going to run up so many points, beautiful,” he murmurs back against my neck, sending a shiver through me again.
“I’d like a hat trick, please.”
“Consider it done,” he says, then we pull back and he gives a wry smile, mutters fuck it and comes in for one more kiss. On my cheek. It’s tender and swoony, and I’m seeing stars.
But when he pulls back from my cheek, I’m seeing Caroline, staring bug-eyed at me, with a million questions in her eyes. And zero patience.
She grabs me by the elbow and marches me past a gurgling stream, around some bonsai trees, then out of sight of the guests.
Uh-oh. I’m in trouble. When she finally stops by a pagoda, she’s grinning. “Well played. That was a brilliant preemptive strike. You went above and beyond the call of duty with tongue and everything.” She parks her hands on her hips. “But what the hell?”
“What the hell what?” I ask, playing innocent.
She jerks her thumb toward the scene of the strike. “You didn’t tell me you and your plus-one leveled up.”
She’s staring. Waiting. Tapping her espadrille.
“Oh, well,” I say, buying some time because I don’t know that I want to start telling anyone that our dating is fake, especially Caroline.
The more people know, the more likely someone will let it slip.
What if she whispers it to Parker one night in bed?
What if he tells Jameson, and then Fresh Face finds out, and then Caroline’s perfect wedding is a mess?
But I don’t want to lie to her either though, so I repeat her words back to her.
“You wanted me to neutralize the threat with a preemptive strike.”
She arches the most well-groomed brow in the land. “Nothing looked neutral about that. Does that mean you’re dating for real now?”
I give a non-answer. “Everything just happened so quickly.”
“Really?”
But I feel completely truthful as I say, “Yes,” since this past week has been a whirlwind.
She beams with pride. Just positively glows. “It was because of me, right? When I said you should get back out there. That I didn’t believe in licking your wounds.”
Thank you, big sister, for taking credit. “Yep. You’re my inspo.”
“Good job,” she says with a nod. “I told you you’d need to show you’re moving on and you did. All I can say is keep it up.” She inches closer, narrows her eyes. “Because I want him to suffer, and you having the time of your life with a hot athlete is the best kind of suffering we can wreak on him.”
Sounds like a good kind of suffering if you ask me. “So you want me to keep making out with Lake in public? Just making sure I’m clear on this.”
“Public, private, wherever,” she says breezily, but then dips a hand into the pocket of her pressed navy slacks and fishes out a tissue.
“But wipe that kiss off your lips and go get a makeup refresh from Fallon.” She freezes for a second, then smiles strategically.
“Maybe we need to show how well the lipstick holds up with a kiss.” Her eyes turn to moons.
“That’s it! I’m a genius! We’re going to do a segment on the true lipstick test of a bride and groom—the wedding kiss.
Let me go tell Margot about my brilliance. ”
And she’s off, returning to her domain. I follow her, and when I reach the patio where the picnic tables are set up, I find Fallon, with her tablet and stern expression. “Hi, Fallon. Can I get a reapplication?”
Like a robot, she dips her pale hand into her makeup bag, and hands me a disposable applicator. “Now, be sure to smile and show how well it holds up against an ex test.”
As I slick on some lipstick, it takes a few seconds for me to realize what the Ex Test is—the pictures with Jameson. Which means Fallon knows we were together. And Fallon’s probably seen the Jumbotron Dump. And Fallon doesn’t want anything resembling that at the wedding her brand is sponsoring.
A flush of embarrassment crawls up my neck. “Of course,” I say, feeling chastened, like I’m the loser little sister.
I check my reflection in the phone camera. It looks perfect, like I know she’ll want it to be. “Thanks.”
She stares at me, appraising the application. At least I think that’s what she’s doing. “Yes, that’s good for a glow-up.”
That word sticks in my gut. That’s why she wanted the pics of me with a sexy smile—to prove I’m not the loser. That’s what Fresh Face gets out of me being here, showing off their makeup. To prove that rebounds work.
My stomach twists, but I understand the assignment. I drop the applicator into a bag Fallon offers for makeup recyclables.
Time to ace the Ex Test. I join the full wedding party for pics, flanking the bride on one side, with Jameson standing next to the groom.
As the photographer snaps photos, I think of Lake.
I imagine my plus-one making out with me in public, in private, anywhere.
And I smile so hard, so well, so vibrantly.
Take that, Fallon. I’m the MOH who doesn’t even care that her ex is in a photo with her.
I’d like my A-plus right now.
* * *
Once the pics are done, it’s time to eat. Lake and I slide onto a bench at the picnic table across from my parents and near my sister and Parker. The photographer circles, taking pics of the meal, the laughter, the vibe.
As I reach for some spring salad to spoon onto my plate, my mother shoots me a thoughtful look, her light brown eyes crinkling at the corner in curiosity. “It’s such a treat to sit with you, Lake,” she says.
Lake flashes her a smile that surprises me with its size, its wattage. It’s warm and bright, and he’s not really a smiley guy. But evidently today he is. “And you as well, Mrs. Hatmaker.”
Mom tilts her head, studying us once more, her dyed brown bob barely moving.
She’s a put-together woman who does cardio every day, who plays brain games each morning, who misses nothing since my mother doesn’t permit failure.
“So this all happened quickly?” she asks the two of us, and I’m not sure what she’s getting at.
But I’d better answer quickly.
“Sure did,” I reply, like the speed of my response will hide the way my pulse kicked up just there.
Mom shakes her head, like she’s trying to work something out. After a beat, she swings her shrewd gaze back to me. “Remy, I’m just surprised you never mentioned anything about Lake even though we talked nearly every day for a couple of weeks there.”
Oh, shoot. She’s right. Why didn’t I mention Lake to her then? I gulp, then try to improvise. “Oh, I thought I had.”
“No,” she insists, and she’s a lot like Caroline, strong-headed—no surprise.
My mom stood by my father’s side while he battled some mental health demons while I was a kid.
She was fierce, resolute, and determined to help her man.
She’s still that way. No wonder she became one of the country’s most sought-after wedding planners before her retirement—she believes in the I do with the power of a thousand suns, and if she had to be the glue in their marriage, then dammit she’d be sticky.
“I even asked if you were ready to date again,” she points out.
“Can confirm,” my dad puts in, with a flash of a smile for her, always for her. “Well, she told me about every call as soon as she hung up. She said you were taking some time off from dating.”
Mom pats his hand as if thanking him for backing her up.
I rub my palms along my khakis, trying to figure out how to explain this discrepancy. “That was the plan at the time,” I say evasively, hoping that throws them off the scent.
I steal a glance down the table at Jameson, and he’s watching us like it’s a tennis match.
Great. Just great.
I’d assumed his presence might dent our fake dating armor today, and I was ready for that interaction. But I wasn’t prepared for my parents to give me the third degree, while my ex watches…like he’s eating it up.
As I picture my spreadsheet and the details Lake devised about how he asked me out every day, Lake reaches for my hand under the table, threads his fingers through mine, and squeezes.
It’s like a balm. More so when he cuts in with, “But it’s a good thing plans change.
Because I was determined to get Remy to go out with me. ”
He gives my hand another squeeze under the table. It’s like he’s saying remember, we planned for this?
And…I do. “He kept asking me. He was very persistent.”
“But why didn’t you tell me?” my mom presses, like she can’t quite believe I’d leave that out of a check-in call.
“A lot was going on,” I say, hoping that covers it for her.