Chapter 26 Kennedy
kennedy
We stand side by side at the glass doors of the restaurant, watching the storm unfold before us.
It’s not only the literal storm outside, but a blinding swell of people with cameras and cellphones and those weird mini mics.
Holy shit. I was expecting one, maybe two people, but there are dozens of media personnel.
All of them standing around in raincoats with umbrellas covering their hungry cameras, some already snapping pictures of us through the water-covered windows.
Is this normal for him? I edge closer to my date before I realize what I’m doing. How does he deal with this every day?
This night has already proved to be nothing like I expected.
I can still feel the flush on my cheeks from his thumb dragging along my lip, which was ungodly hot.
No. No. Maybe they poured my gin and tonic too strong.
Yeah. That has to be it. I sneak a glance at him.
It can’t be because a very handsome, a very well-dressed, way-too-young-for-me man with thighs that could crack open a safe dabbed a bit of aioli from my face.
And it most certainly could not be the urge I had to lick it off his thumb.
It was clearly because the aioli was so delicious, I hated it going to waste. Yep. That’s all that was.
“Hey,” he whispers, a breath away from my ear, pulling me from my thoughts. The thoughts I should not be having. “You ready for this?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. What the hell am I doing? “How does one even prepare for this? These people are standing in a torrential downpour just for a chance to get a photo of us walking to the car.”
“If you’ve changed your mind, I can make a call, and we can slip out the back door. They’ve seen us through the windows. It’s okay if you’re not comforta—”
“No,” I say, forcing down the anxiety clawing at my chest. “I agreed to this. I’m good.”
“You sure? I’m serious; if you don’t want to do this—”
“I’m good. We made this deal for both of our sakes, and I’m here to hold up my end of the bargain. So, grab my hand and let’s make a run for it in the rain to the car and pray I don’t slip and fall in these heels.”
He flashes me a warm smile, his gaze locking on mine.
As if he’s memorized exactly where my hand rests at my side, he reaches for it—and the way his fingers curl around mine feels like he wants nothing more than to keep me safe.
My eyes burn. I don’t need saving. I’m the one in command in every area of my life.
I’m the one who decides what I do when. So, can someone in the universe please explain why this feeling of someone looking out for me is strangely comforting?
The way he’s been around me has been…unexpected.
I replay all the times I’ve been around him.
He hasn’t been cocky or arrogant. He’s been…
kind. Thoughtful. Helpful even. And seemingly worried about me.
Does he worry about me? I trace his profile out of the corner of my eye.
Oh God…nope, nope, nope. I shake the idea of him having an inkling of a feeling toward me out of my head.
This is fake. He can’t. I can’t. We could never work.
We’re totally wrong for each other. But the rush of adrenaline, my pulse racing like it’s found something it’s been seeking for a very long time, transports me back to that night at the hotel, standing in front of the elevator.
Was that only a few nights ago? I was so irritated with him for butting in, for causing all of this, but now?
With our hands joined again, my perspective is redirected.
He did that to keep me safe. I snap myself back to the present and the blinding flashes through the glass.
“Okay,” he whispers as his thumb rubs along mine for just an instant, sending a chill down my spine. “I’ve got you.”
He pushes the door open as a staff member from the restaurant hands him an umbrella.
As he takes it, I replay the conversation with my friends earlier this week, biting the inside of my cheek.
We’re never going to convince anyone this is real if this is just a run to the car and hop inside.
I’ve kissed lots of guys. I can do this.
And this will just prove that we have no physical connection.
We couldn’t possibly. This is just me and my hormones, and being around a hot guy who just inhaled a plate of fries with me.
Surely, that’s what I’m all worked up about.
And the gin…of course! The gin! It has to be. I can do this.
I grab his arm. “Leave the umbrella. What do you say we give them a show? That is…if you don’t mind getting a little wet.”
He narrows his brows, his eyes bouncing between mine, then shrugs. “It’s, um…totally up to you.”
“Any limits I need to know about, rich boy?”
“Limits?” His voice cracks as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “What limits are you talking about?”
“Do you trust me?”
He looks at me with a little glimmer in his eye, almost like I’ve just asked him the most absurd question in the world. “Yes.”
“Good.” I pull him with me into the pouring rain and head straight down the long sidewalk to the car, the Chauffer waiting with an umbrella at the open door. But when we get there, I turn to face him, not an ounce of hesitation in me as I place my hands on his cheeks and press my lips against his.
I did this for the media.
I did this to put on a show to imply this is very real.
I did this to prove to myself that while he’s extremely good-looking, there couldn’t possibly be any physical chemistry between us.
But as he gently wraps his arms around my waist, I can’t help but open my mouth to him.
And as his tongue glides along mine, a warmth spreads through my chest that slowly crawls lower, pooling at the apex of my thighs.
The rain trickling down my skin does nothing but amplify the feeling of want and need.
A shiver pulls in my core as my body leans into him.
This was all to prove a point to myself. I’m quickly realizing I fucked up. Feeling his hands on me, pulling me into him like he wants this—like he wants me—has created this sudden, intimate connection that’s doing nothing to prove anything except that I want him more.
But as fast as it started, it ends. A clap of thunder startles us both, probably nature’s way of reminding me this is not real.
We take a step back from one another, our chests heaving.
He stands stunned, his mouth still agape as he gasps.
He finally blinks and motions for me to get in the car before following behind me.
The car door shuts, the hot air thawing our chilled skin.
Silence fills the air, the pitter-patter of raindrops on the window the only noise marking the awkwardness.
Both of us are soaking wet. Seeing him run his fingers through his dark hair is making me want to pull him in again and do more than kiss in the back of this car.
He crosses his legs, turning his body toward the door.
I can’t tell what he’s thinking. What am I even thinking?
Shit, Kennedy, what did you do? I think I made this situation way worse.
He probably didn’t want to kiss me. This guy is the entertainer of the century.
He knows how to play to the cameras, especially with a woman on his arm.
This is par for the course for him. I pick at the hem of my dress.
I thought he would be gloating. Bragging.
Talking about how I should be impressed by his kissing skills.
Not that I think he has skills. Not at all.
The damp feeling between my legs is from the rain.
Yes, that’s exactly what’s happening. He does not have skills.
He was just…just…just…goddammit, that was a really good kiss.
Fuck.
I can’t take sitting here in silence the whole way back to the hotel. I need to say something, anything, since I was the one who did this.
“You, okay? Was that…okay?”
He snaps his head to mine, looking like he’s struggling to breathe. “Yeah. It was…” —he clears his throat and shifts in his seat— “it was fine.”
A tightness pulls in my chest. Did he not feel what I felt? “Fine?” I huff. “Great. I was hoping it would be fine.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Jordan. I’m teasing. It was just for show, right? Hopefully, that was enough proof for them to think this is real.”
His gaze falls to the floorboard as he lets out a loud sigh. “Yep. That should do it.”
My heart sinks. Why do I feel like there’s more he’s not saying?
I still don’t understand why this guy, who is normally so confident, seems like a scared kitten, stuck in a storm drain, waiting to be rescued whenever he’s around me.
Does he think I’m a flood that’s going to come in and drown him?
He’s like those Sudoku puzzles I do on my phone when a flight is delayed.
Every time I think I know which spot to put the number in, he does something, and I have to redo the entire row.
I’m going to figure out how to crack this guy’s code. Come hell or high water.