Chapter Seven #2
He laughed gruffly. “You did. Congratulations on standing on two feet like a human adult.”
“Smartass. I can’t believe I thought you were married. What woman could tolerate you full time?”
Judah blinked. Of all the things he’d expected her to say, it was not that. “Did you think I was married when you asked me to pose as your boyfriend at the Weiler-Katz wedding?”
“No, but I thought you were married when I told the bridesmaids we were together.” Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink as she laughed.
“I really thought I’d shock them for a second and then they’d call me on it and I’d say ‘gotcha!’ or whatever.
But they didn’t, and then you didn’t want to know which bridesmaid it was and you said—”
“‘I don’t date where I work,’” he recalled. Oh, how instantly he’d regretted that.
“That’s when I was sure—when you mentioned dating.”
Huh. He’d felt like his single status had been publicized even more widely than his music lately. She must really not have been interested in him to have missed that tidbit. He held up his ring-free left hand. “Lack of a ring didn’t clarify for you?”
“I just figured you were one of those tools who’s too insecure to wear jewelry for fear it’ll sap all your fragile masculinity.” She drained the last of her drink and set it down on a side table. “But I could swear I’ve seen you in a tallis.”
“Yekke,” he explained. People were always surprised to see him in the fringed prayer shawl even though he wasn’t married. They didn’t know a lot of German Jews, he guessed. “I’ve been wearing one since my bar mitzvah.”
She was quiet for a moment, and he realized she was probably contemplating whether she’d ever seen Akiva in a tallis, since he’d theoretically be abiding by the same custom.
But it was their father who was big into their roots and all that went with them, and it wouldn’t entirely shock him if Akiva had dropped every one of their father’s rules right when their father had dropped them.
Her lips twisted into a smile. “Yekke, huh? Yeah, I should’ve guessed.”
“I get that a lot,” he said dryly, and she snorted. Given the Yekke stereotype of being uptight and fastidious, it wasn’t entirely unearned.
“Still, a wife just seems like something that goes with the whole wedding singer thing.” Arielle hopped up on the table, carefully smoothing the raspberry satin underneath her. “Wow, you must get set up constantly.”
Judah smiled ruefully. “Clearly hasn’t gone that great, but I do, yeah. I imagine you do too.”
Arielle raised an eyebrow, tossing her long, dirty-blond ringlets over her shoulder. The gold rings in her ears flashed in the light. “You’re joking, right?”
He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not exactly the kind of girl people are rushing to pair with their nephews or neighbors’ sons or whatever. I have a filthy mouth, a scandalous job, and a slutty reputation. Plus, I’m nearing thirty and don’t want kids yet, I’m not skinny—”
“Oh, come on.” He rolled his eyes. “You cannot tell me your body is getting in the way of anything.”
“Guys only want skinny girls—haven’t you heard?” She picked at an invisible loose thread on her dress, her voice dripping with derision. “The last woman my mom asked to set me up told me I’d have a better chance if I lost twenty pounds.”
“That’s … the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Guys do not all want skinny girls. I guarantee you most guys are not looking at you and thinking, ‘Ew, gross, she’s built like—’” He promptly cut himself off, his face flaming. “Anyway, just. That’s stupid.”
She bit her lips from the inside, holding back a laugh. “What were you gonna say? Built like what?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Liar.”
He shook his head. “Shut up. You know how you look.”
“I do know how I look,” she agreed, her lush pink mouth curving in a one-sided smile. “But now I’m very curious how you think I look, because it sounds like it is not a way I thought you looked at girls. At all.”
“Did you think wedding singers had to be monks? Judaism isn’t exactly a celibate religion.”
“No, but I thought you were, kinda. I mean, I thought you had a wife and five kids, but outside of that.”
He snorted, and it struck him just how infrequently that happened, how rare it was to feel genuine amusement to the point where even his body recognized it.
But Arielle Becker seemed to have been born without a filter, and it suited her.
So much so that he let words slip that he definitely should not have let slip.
“Your body is … definitely not a turnoff.”
Now it was her turn to burst into a peal of laughter. “That’s the best you’ve got? ‘Definitely not a turnoff’?”
Regrets. He had regrets. And he felt every one of them in the heat suffusing his skin. “It’s not like I’m trying to pick you up.”
“You sure about that?” she asked, her aqua eyes twinkling.
No, I’m not sure about that, he was stunned to realize.
“If I were trying to pick you up, you’d know,” he said with all the confidence he didn’t feel, because in fact, he never had tried to pick up a woman for real.
It was pretty damn astonishing that he might have been doing it anyway, judging by the way she was leaning forward, her lips slightly parted.
“How?” she challenged.
God, he should’ve known she would flat-out ask. Of course she would.
“Are you asking because you want me to?” he deflected.
“I’m asking because the most well-known prim, proper, and professional wedding singer in the Tri-State area just admitted he’s been checking me out, and I am all sorts of intrigued.”
The problem was, her skin looked so soft up close. And her hair smelled so good up close. And her lips looked so inviting up close.
When did he get so close?
When did he decide to bend down to her ear and utter, “I am really not that prim and proper”?
How did their lips meet without him even realizing they were drawing together like magnets?
It was a stunning realization that he was, somehow—in the bridal suite of a wedding he was working, no less—having his very first kiss.
So stunning that he accidentally snapped his mouth shut, his teeth closing on one of her soft, lush lips.
But instead of yelping or pushing him away, she let out the softest little moan, and in that sound, he lost every ounce of sanity he possessed.
Everything about this was an absolutely terrible idea, and yet, even knowing that with absolute certainty couldn’t stop him from pushing a hand into her artfully done hair, pulling her closer, slipping his tongue into her mouth, and drawing out the taste of ginger ale and grenadine.
He was definitely starting to understand the appeal of Shirley Temples.
The sharpness of her nails clawing into the nape of his neck pulled a groan from deep in his throat, and he knew he should be worried about her leaving marks, but how could he possibly care about that with all her soft curves pressed against him, and—
Oh, God. He pulled back, missing her warmth and scent and taste immediately, especially when she looked up at him with an expression that looked smug and half drunk in a way that was impossibly, unbearably sexy. “Sorry,” he muttered, smoothing down his shirt.
“For what?”
He closed his eyes and exhaled, gesturing downward. She might have been soft, but he was decidedly not.
She laughed, and on the plus side, that did a whole lot to help deflate the situation.
“Judah, that is, uh, not something you need to apologize for.” She stretched her arms behind her, resting on her palms, and she must have known the effect it had, pushing her breasts against the low neckline of her dress.
“You don’t get to have a lot of fun, do you? ”
Aaand the problem was back. He looked away, hunting for a mirror to put himself back together.
“We have to get back out there in about two minutes. I am begging you to please shut up.” Ah!
He found what he was looking for and frantically smoothed and readjusted his shirt before slipping his jacket on top, then finger-combed through his hair and reset his kippah on neatly.
On the outside, he was back to looking meticulous, as long as you didn’t notice the wild look in his eyes he couldn’t seem to shake.
“Wow,” she said flatly as he turned back, calm and collected and as ready as he could possibly be with his fingers still tingling. “You really are a prim and proper professional.”
“That only works on me once.” He tried to add a hint of a smile to his reply, but when he saw her eyes narrow, he could tell it hadn’t quite made it.
Still, that was probably for the best—he had to go make this a night Reuben and Aleah would never forget, and he wouldn’t be able to do that if he didn’t get his wits back about him immediately. “Have fun tonight, Arielle.”
And he left her behind, as much as he could, the taste of maraschino cherry still bright on the tip of his tongue.
Well, that was humiliating. Arielle reapplied her lipstick carefully in the same mirror Judah had used a minute earlier, right before tearing from the room like a bat out of hell.
And confusing. “God, why the hell was I even kissing Judah Klein?” she muttered before pressing her lips together.
Hearing the words aloud made them make even less sense.
If her hair hadn’t been such a mess from where he’d tugged on it, she might even have been able to convince herself it’d never happened.
Honestly, one tequila shot and she could probably convince herself anyway. Judah Klein couldn’t possibly have kissed her, could he?
She was so disoriented she nearly forgot the bag of arches she’d been sent there to retrieve. She turned on her heel, grabbed the duffel, and swung open the door, only to bump right into her cousin Miriam.
“There you are!” Miriam yanked the bag from her hand as if they weren’t headed to the exact same destination. “We thought you got lost.”