Josh
“Hey, Brit,” he whispered.
She leaned in.
“Some of the guys want to do a doughnut run. You in?”
She recoiled as if he’d just suggested turning the event into a WME match. “There is no way powdered sugar is going near this dress. And we can’t just leave. We’re the King and Queen.”
He knew. Wearing that crown had threatened to crush a vertebra. “I thought kings and queens got to make the rules. C’mon. No one’s going to care if we’re gone for twenty minutes. They’ll probably think we’re making out somewhere.”
“I’ll care.” Britney turned her ice machine on, sending frosty vibes his way. “I don’t want to miss any part of our night.”
Meaning, if I’m staying, so are you. We’re a couple.
Dance music started blaring from the speakers and the lights dimmed. Coach’s daughter, Madison, tested out the mic. She was spinning discs for them tonight. “Hello, hello. And now for a little something to really start the evening’s festivities.”
Chairs were already being pushed back. Jackets draped on chairs. High heels kicked off.
Baloo whooped, “Yeah, baby! This is my JAM!” and ran onto the dance floor. Normally Josh would be running on with him, but he was still wanting a doughnut. What was up with him tonight?
“Let’s talk about it later, babe.” Britney rose, wiggled her fingers at him. “C’mon. The dance floor is calling me.”
Another photo op, more like. He’d seen her signal to the photographer. Knew she expected him to play his part. So why did he feel so irritated as he led her onto the dance floor, made sure her “best side” was showing when he twirled her around?
Hopefully he could dance off whatever had gotten under his skin. If not, he didn’t want to be anywhere near Britney when she got the photographer’s proofs. There might be proof of something else even he wasn’t ready to acknowledge.