Chapter 11
With the peeing problem taken care of, I enjoy the remainder of the intermission, standing in a corner with Wes and sipping the white wine in plastic cups he managed to snag for us.
We chat about the play and comment on some of the more eccentric people around us.
And I try to work out why the silly dash for the bathroom made me feel closer to Wes than I was before.
We return to our seats for the second act, and I enjoy it even more than the first since I’m freed of the worry of getting to the bathroom. I tear up during a sad song, sniffing and trying to hide it from Wes.
Once again, it’s a failed attempt. He hands me the paper napkin he stuck in his pocket since we didn’t need it with the wine.
I use it gratefully, relieved he isn’t laughing at me.
It does look like he’s laughing inside, but it feels more like he’s simply enjoying himself than like he’s mocking me.
So I’m in a very good mood when the play ends. We stay through the entire end applause and don’t rush as we file out of the theater.
“We can stop and get a snack on our way home,” Wes says, putting his hand on my back as we maneuver through the crowd, which is exiting in all directions. “If you want.”
Stew has been with me a lot lately for emergency protection, but he didn’t come along tonight because he only needs to escort me when I’m alone. So it’s just me and Wes.
“That sounds good. I am a little hungry, and I’ll probably want to go to the bathroom again before the drive home.”
“Of course.” He’s not looking at me, but his mouth is twitching.
It’s a deliciously warm, fond expression, and it intoxicates me.
That Wes is feeling that way.
About an evening with me.
When we clear the building, I glance at my phone and discover a few texts from Natalie.
“Anything important?”
“Not really. She says a couple of people snapped photos of us, but they’re not getting a lot of traction online.”
“That’s okay. We gave it a try. If the interest is over, it’s over.”
“Yeah. It’s not a big deal. You’ll probably be glad to be done with this whole staged drama.”
“I don’t know.” He had his hand on my back earlier to keep me beside him as we got through the crowds, but now that we’re outside, everyone has dispersed.
There’s no one near us right now. He doesn’t need to keep his hand on the small of my back that way.
But he doesn’t pull it away.
And I’m glad.
I love the feel of it—protective, intimate.
Something inside me always wants to feel his hand right there.
Realizing I got distracted, I find my place in the conversation again. “What don’t you know?”
“It wasn’t really that bad. The staged drama.” He’s peering at my face. “Did you hate it?”
“No,” I admit. “I didn’t hate it at all.”
There’s that little smile on the corners of his mouth again and the warm glint in his eyes. “Good.”
I flush, as much from excitement as from self-consciousness. My heart is hammering wildly.
I can’t believe this is happening.
I don’t remember anyone ever looking at me that way before. Not just with admiration. But with affection and understanding and familiarity and awed disbelief, as if he’s as baffled by it happening as I am.
We both fall into soft, sheepish laughter as we walk a couple of blocks to the parking garage where we left the car.
When I lose my step on a curb—not a real stumble, just a slight misstep—he reaches over to take my hand, and he keeps holding it as we walk up to the third level and then down the row of cars to Wes’s familiar SUV.
He’s holding my hand.
He’s holding my hand.
Not because of The Plan.
Just because.
I’m so thrilled at how connected I feel to him and so filled with wild hopes about what might happen now that I can barely catch my breath. Neither one of us speaks as we walk to the passenger side of his car and he opens the door for me.
Before I climb in, I pause to look up at his face.
He’s gazing down at me with that same warm excitement but something else rising in his expression too. Something hotter than warm.
My breath hitches. My hands are shaking, so I reach to hold on to the lapels of his jacket.
“Ella,” he murmurs, thick and low.
“Y-yes?”
“Am I—” His voice breaks, so he clears his throat. “Am I imagining this?”
“Imagining what?”
“That you’re… not disliking me anymore.” He gently brushes some of my hair back from my face.
“I’m not disliking you.”
“And it’s not… it’s not part of The Plan?”
“I think The Plan is over.”
He takes a slightly shaky breath. There’s a sheen of perspiration on his forehead, visible in the artificial light of the garage. “So can I…?”
It’s happening.
It’s definitely happening.
The buzz in my heart and my head overwhelms me until my vision blurs slightly. “Can you what?”
“Can I… This.” He tilts his head down far enough to press his lips against mine. Gentle. Careful. Just a light brush of his mouth on mine.
It’s way too light a kiss to trigger the intensity of my reaction. Pleasure and need and excitement surge through me. I reach up to grip his head and pull it back down toward mine so I can kiss him again.
Kiss him even deeper.
He makes a throaty sound as he slides a hand around the back of my head, using it to cushion my skull as he eases me back against the side of the SUV. The extra support allows us to really go at it, kissing each other for all we’re worth.
Soon his tongue is in my mouth, and my hand is tucked beneath his jacket, stroking his back through his shirt. One of his hands still holds my head, but the other has slid down to my butt, tracing over the curve there and down toward my thigh.
I’m so completely into the kiss, eager in a way I never believed I could be, that I lift one of my legs up to wind around the back of his thighs. My skirt hikes up, but I don’t care. I need to feel him everywhere, including against my pulsing groin.
Wes is turned on too. I can feel it from the shift of our positions. There’s a hard bulge at the front of his pants, and the ache inside me desperately needs to grind against it.
“Ella.” Wes’s voice is deliciously husky as he ducks his head to trail kisses down the side of my neck. “Damn, Ella. I’m not dreaming this, am I?”
“No.” I’m so into the embrace I’m clutching at his thick hair, trying to hold his head down to feel more of him. “Definitely not dreaming.”
“Do you—” He groans as I grind against him more insistently. “Do you—”
I’m not sure what he’s trying to get said, but I know I want to hear it. But his second attempt is interrupted when there’s a sudden flash of light from nearby. Then another.
It startles me so much I turn to look.
Then I realize what it is.
The flash from a phone camera.
I make a gurgling sound and try to pull away from Wes, but I’m trapped against the SUV.
But Wes realizes it too. He lets go of me and lurches back, staring blankly at the woman snapping photos of us.
Then I see she’s not alone. There are two other people positioned at various spots in the garage, all of them filming us kiss.
“What the hell?” Wes demands in outrage, taking a few steps toward the closest woman. “Get out of here!”
The woman sounds like she’s laughing as she hurries away, and the young guy and the girl farther back make a quick departure as well.
Wes looks like he’s about to chase after them, like he did a few weeks ago near the cottages, so I grab the back of his jacket to hold him in place.
With a grumble, he stops and turns back toward me. “I can’t believe these people.”
“Well, I guess if we really wanted a private moment, we should have done it in private.”
His brows are lowered as he peers at me. “Aren’t you annoyed too?”
“Yes. I’m definitely annoyed. But we set ourselves up for this. We can’t be surprised when people take advantage of it.”
He sighs, a scowl still on his face. “I guess. But it really put a damper on what was getting good.”
“Yeah. It did.”
We start home after that, making a quick stop to go to the bathroom and grab a snack first.
The mood between us is slightly tense, and neither of us says anything.
The interruption really did mess things up. I’m not sure why. Maybe I should just say something, clear the air, but I’m nervous again. Wes’s mood is different, and I don’t want to assume things are moving for real between us if that’s not where he is too.
It sure seemed like it was.
But I’ve been wrong before.
After about thirty minutes, I’m so uptight and uncomfortable I’m about to blurt something out despite my worry. But I get a text from Natalie just then.
OMG! Look! It’s gone viral again!
She’s linked a video clip of us kissing against the car.
We really do look hot and heavy. Not like we’re faking at all.
“They’re posting us again?” Wes asks, glancing over from the driver’s side.
“Yeah. It’s gotten a lot of traction really quickly. Maybe we can get another wave of interest and extend this a little longer.”
Wes is silent. Very silent.
I’ve been watching the film clip on repeat, but now I turn to check his face. “Unless you don’t want to.”
“No. It’s silly not to make use of it if people get interested again.” He sounds almost tired, and I don’t know why.
“If you don’t want to, we’re not going to do this. It’s really fine.”
“I just said I did want to.”
“But it didn’t sound like you meant it.”
“I do mean it. Why are you questioning me about it?” He’s getting annoyed.
So am I. “Because your mood is off. I thought… I thought things were good.” I’m almost embarrassed to admit it.
“They are good. This is good. This is what we wanted, right? We can get more business for Blossom Park. That’s the most important thing.”
“It is.”
Of course it is.
Blossom Park has always been my priority.
Wes probably just feels weird and awkward about the kiss and then the exposure that followed.
So do I.
I’ll let it go for now.
Things will be better tomorrow.