The Wedding Game

by Quinn, Meghan

  She slowly drags her fingertips over mine. “Did I freak you out?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “You just made me wonder if my penis is confident or not.”

  Her laugh echoes through my silent apartment. “I’m sure it’s confident.” She yawns and covers her mouth. “I should get back. Double set of interviews tomorrow. Not looking forward to it.”

  “Me neither.”

  She stands from the couch and stretches her hands over her head. Her shirt clings to her breasts as she moves side to side. From my vantage point, they look just big enough to fill my palm. Just perfect.

  “You can keep the cake.”

  “Huh?” I ask, blinking up at her.

  She smirks, and I wonder if she caught me staring. “The cake—keep it. I can’t possibly have the reminder of my loss sitting on my kitchen counter.”

  I stand as well. “Wouldn’t want the great and powerful Rossi to have to swallow her pride, now would we?”

  “Never.” She walks over to the entryway and slips her shoes on before slinging her bag over her shoulder and holding her hand out. “Congrats on your win. Well deserved.”

  Fuck, she’s adorable.

  Sexy adorable.

  Tempting adorable.

  Everything about her, from her hand in mine to the confident penis talk, has my mind swirling and my need for her growing as I step toward her. As my eyes fall on her lips, she quickly licks them, as if she’s anticipating something more from me than a handshake.

  It’s a minor movement, but it gives me just enough courage to cross that line with her.

  I close the distance between us and take her hand in mine, pulling her close so her other hand falls to my chest. From behind, I open the door to my apartment and then maneuver her so she’s up against the doorjamb. Her chest rises and falls as she stares up at me, waiting.

  “I’m not really into handshakes for congratulations.”

  “No?” she asks, her voice quavering slightly. “What are you into?”

  I don’t answer; instead, I bring my forefinger and thumb to her chin and tilt it toward me. I bring my mouth down to hers—then I pause, mere millimeters away, making sure this is what she wants and I’m not reading her wrong.

  Her eyes search mine, and with a deep breath, she slides her hand up my chest to my jaw, closing the space between us and pressing her lips against mine.

  The first touch is soft, timid. Our mouths are slightly open, exploring. Easy and supple, just what I thought our kiss would feel like, but then she moves her hand up to the back of my head, deepening our kiss and sending a spark of excitement all the way to the tips of my toes. She’s making me feel goddamn weak in the knees.

  I grip the doorjamb above her head to steady myself and then move my other hand to her hip, holding her in place as I savor the taste of her.

  And fuck, does she taste sweet. Like cake and sweet cream and berries, even sweeter than the cake we just ate.

  I step in closer, close enough to feel her leg slide between mine but still have a good angle on her mouth. Her free hand moves up my chest, passing over my nipple in just the right way and sending a bolt of lust straight to my cock.

  I groan against her mouth.

  She moans against mine.

  Her grip tightens.

  My fingers dig into her skin.

  Her mouth opens wide.

  My tongue slips in.

  And we make out.

  And it is amazing. Our tongues dance and collide as we reach for more and more, as if all our pent-up tension and arguments over the past few weeks have been nothing more than intense foreplay—foreplay we didn’t even know was happening until just now.

  The passion rolls and builds between us, climbing to a crescendo.

  More.

  I want so much fucking more.

  But then her mouth leaves mine and her forehead falls to my chest. She takes a deep breath.

  “Oh God, I kissed you.”

  “You did.” I awkwardly chuckle, hoping to fuck she doesn’t regret it. “Is that a bad thing?”

  I hold my breath as she slowly looks up at me, her chin now on my chest. “No, just a scary thing.”

  “Scary?” I lift her chin up. “How’s it scary?”

  “So many reasons. You’re . . . you’re—” She bites her bottom lip and looks away.

  “I’m what?”

  She sighs and leans back against the doorjamb. “Alec, you’re kind of out of my league.”

  Talk about a belly laugh—the fucking chortle that flies out of my mouth comes from the depths of my stomach.

  “Luna, you’ve lost your damn mind.”

  “I’m serious.” She pokes my stomach and gasps, then lifts the hem of my shirt to reveal my stomach. “Oh my God, this is exactly what I’m talking about.” She pulls my shirt up higher, and I just stand there, enjoying every second of it. “Look at that! A freaking six-pack. I’ve never kissed a guy with a six-pack.”

  “Glad I could be your first.” I wink.

  She points at my face. “And your charm is entirely too much for me to handle. I hated you a week ago, and look at me now, standing half-in, half-out of your apartment, practically eating your face off. You charmed me. I don’t know how you did it, but you did, and that’s unnerving.”

  “Want me to be an ass again? I’m really good at it.”

  “And the joking—you’re funny and hot. That combination shouldn’t be allowed in one human.” She holds out one hand. “You’re either funny.” She holds out the other hand. “Or you’re hot.” Then she claps her hands together. “But putting them together . . .” She shakes her head. “Nope, should be illegal.”

  “You’re funny and hot.” I grab her hips.

  “And the compliments have got to stop, man.” She presses her hands to my chest, as if to keep her distance, but it’s all for show, because there’s no pushing away. “They’re lethal and they’re undoing me.”

  “Is that so?” She nods. “Well, if that’s the case, have I told you that I think you have the prettiest fucking eyes I’ve ever seen? I just want to get lost in them.”

  “Ahh, I see what you’re doing.”

  “And your lips—they’re the softest pair of lips I’ve ever had the privilege of kissing.”

  “Uh-huh, not going to work.”

  “And the look of concentration on your face when you’re in the midst of creating something—it’s sexy as shit.”

  Pressing her lips together, she looks up toward the ceiling and exhales heavily. “Nope, not going to happen. I will not break.”

  “And the love I see in your eyes when Cohen walks in the room, when you’re interacting with him—that’s why I was drawn to you in the first place. I wanted to know how it felt to have Luna Rossi look at me with complete adoration.”

  Her eyes widen.

  Her mouth parts.

  Her chest heaves ever so slightly.

  The air stills around us, and then finally . . .

  “Damn it, Alec.” She stands on her toes and presses her lips against mine again, this time opening her mouth wide and sliding her tongue across mine. I groan and melt into her touch, running my hands up her back. Just as I start to get settled, she pulls away and pushes out of my grasp.

  She grips the strap of the bag resting on her shoulder as she stands in the hallway of my apartment building, her eyes heady, full of lust as they focus on my mouth.

  “This . . . we can’t . . . we can’t bring this on set.”

  I grip the side of the door and lean in. “You mean I can’t pull you into a dark corner and run my tongue over your delectable lips?”

  She shakes her head hard. “No, none of that.”

  “And when you walk by, you don’t want me grabbing your hand, just so I can feel your palm against mine?”

  “No.” She sighs. “No hand-holding.”

  “And when I see you for the first time tomorrow, I can’t tell you how pretty I think you are?”

  “I
mean . . . you can text me.”

  I chuckle, wanting to pull her in close again, but I keep my distance this time. “Will you text back?”

  “Depends on if it’s a good text or not.”

  “It will be a good text.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” She shrugs and starts to walk away.

  “Go out with me tomorrow night?”

  She stops. “Is that a command or an ask?”

  I should have known better than to say it like that to Luna. “An ask. Tomorrow night, the diner.”

  She gives it some long thought. “Maybe.”

  She moves down the hall, and I call out, “How can I get a yes?”

  She spins and walks backward for a second. “Depends on how good your texts are tomorrow.”

  “Are you challenging me, Luna Rossi?”

  “I am. Hope you can handle it, Alec Baxter.” She winks and then spins around, disappearing around the corner.

  Damn.

  I shut the door and lean against it, a huge smile on my face. I’m not one to get excited over a date, but hell if Luna Rossi hasn’t captured me in her crafty, flirty world.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  LUNA

  “Are you going to tell me why you’re just sitting there, staring at the wall?”

  I blink a few times and look over at Farrah, who’s ready for bed, her hair in braids so she’ll achieve that beach look tomorrow and wearing a rose-and-cream-colored satin pajama set. The pajamas match her complexion, making her blonde hair stand out even more. Farrah is the only person I know who buys pajamas specifically because they’re flattering.

  On the other hand, I’m wearing a holey pair of sweats and an oversize T-shirt. When I got dressed for bed, I was in a haze, with one thought circling around in my head: Oh my God, Alec kissed me.

  Going over to his apartment was an impulse.

  Letting him hold my hand was indulgent.

  Kissing him back was pure insanity.

  It didn’t feel real, not one second of it. From the moment I stood from the couch to his swiveling me against the doorjamb, it all felt like some sort of fantasy I conjured up in my head, something that would never in fact come true.

  And yet, he kissed me.

  No, he didn’t just kiss me; he rocked every inch of my body with his lips.

  It was one of those kisses that you never forget, one that makes you tingle from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. A kiss so grand, so intense, so beautifully unexpected that it alters your world, tilts your axis, sends you into a spiral of lust.

  And I’m lusting.

  Lusting hard.

  It’s ten thirty at night, I’m in my most horrendous nighttime garb, and I’m gripping the couch tightly, staring at the wall, forcing myself to stay put so I don’t do something like fling my apartment door open and sprint the three blocks to Alec’s apartment just for one more taste.

  “Earth to Luna. Are you there?” Farrah snaps her fingers in front of my face.

  Before I can even register what I’m saying, I mumble, “I kissed him.”

  “You kissed him?” Farrah asks, completely confused. “Who? Who did you kiss?” She sits down next to me and grips my shoulders so I’m forced to twist in my seat and face her. “Tell me, woman, who did you kiss?”

  I swallow, my heart beating so rapidly that I’m truly afraid it might pop out of my chest.

  “Alec,” I whisper.

  “Alec? Who’s—?” Farrah’s eyes widen. “Noooooooo,” she groans. “You didn’t.”

  “I did.”

  “How? What do you mean? You kissed him? Why? Did he force you?” She shakes my shoulders. “Did he drug you?”

  I slowly shake my head. “He didn’t. I willfully allowed him to kiss me.”

  “Like . . . a peck?”

  “Tongue.” I stare off over Farrah’s shoulder. “So much tongue.”

  “Jesus Christ . . . tongue,” she whispers, leaning against the arm of the couch. “How much tongue is so much tongue?”

  “Minutes of tongue, and I felt his hard nipple.”

  Farrah sits up straight. “You felt his hard nipple? Did he feel your hard nipple?”

  “No, I was the pervert. I was such a pervert. He was respectful, and I was trying to maul his beautiful face off. Oh, and the compliments.” I fling myself back on the couch and stare up at the ceiling as I drape an arm over my forehead. “So many compliments.” I sit up on my elbows, unable to get comfortable. “The kind of compliments that make your lady bits do a jig.”

  “Your pussy did a jig?”

  I flutter two fingers at her. “As if it was one of the ten lords a leaping.”

  “Good Christ, what kind of compliments give you a ten-lords-a-leaping jig?”

  “Lips, eyes . . . my love for Cohen.”

  “Oh damn.” Farrah waves her hand in front of her face. “Oh . . . damn. Not the Cohen card.”

  I slowly nod. “He pulled the Cohen card.”

  Farrah looks off to the side and then slams her fist against the back of the couch. “That son of a bitch. How dare he. After all he did to you, he flips a switch in one day and then pulls the Cohen card? Oh hell—”

  “It wasn’t just one day.”

  Like out of a horror show, Farrah turns her head slowly, eyes wide, jaw clenched. “Excuse me? What do you mean, ‘It wasn’t just one day’?”

  Oh God, I knew I should have told her earlier.

  Sitting up, I twist my hands together, knowing I’m about to get a bunch of crap from my best friend. “Um, you know how I said I was at the library researching different ways to tailor a vest?”

  Her nostrils flare. “Don’t you dare tell me you weren’t at the library. Don’t you—”

  “I was at his apartment.” I cringe as she gasps so loudly I’m pretty sure our neighbors could hear her through the walls.

  “You lied to me?” she whispers.

  “Only because you hated him so much that I was nervous to tell you I was helping him.”

  “You were helping him?” Her voice rises now. “You were helping the guy who snapped his fingers and demanded coffee from you.”

  “Technically, he didn’t snap,” I say, a little frightened for my life.

  “Irrelevant.” Farrah shoots off the couch and starts pacing across our plush cream rug. “He was rude to you. He insulted you.” She pauses and whips her head toward me. “He called you ‘repugnant.’”

  “Valid points. All very valid points, and trust me, I was a hater for a very long time . . . I mean, I barked at him for weeks.”

  “Yeah, until you let him lick your face,” Farrah says, arms crossed over her chest.

  “Farrah?” She doesn’t look at me. “Farrah.” I poke her with my toe. She barely lifts her eyes to me. “I like him.”

  Her anger deflates in seconds as she flops on the couch and sighs loudly. “Ugh, fine. Tell me what happened.”

  I recount everything, from how I saw him completely flattened after the bouquet challenge, to his fake profile, to the macadamia nuts, to his devastating confession.

  “Ahh, I see. You’re a sucker for a broken man.”

  “He was so broken,” I say, my heart tripping up just thinking about it. “And his attempts at baking were so sad that I felt like I didn’t have a choice.”

  “And then you told him all your secrets, and he got first place.”

  “Yeah . . . that I wasn’t expecting.” I smile, thinking about how proud he was. “But it was one challenge. I’m not worried.”

  “Does Cohen know?”

  “Not yet. I plan on telling him soon, though. I, uh, kind of have a date with Alec tomorrow. I maybe want to see how that goes first and then tell Cohen.”

  “Think he’ll be upset, since Alec is the competition and all?”

  I shake my head. “Cohen isn’t like that. He doesn’t really see this as a competition—more of a way to create a wedding for him and Declan. He won’t have a problem with it.” At least I don�
�t think he will. “If anything, he’ll be concerned at first, since he knows I’ve been barking at Alec.”

  “Naturally.” Farrah sighs again and shakes her head. “I can’t believe you kissed him.”

  I slouch back on the couch with her. “I can’t believe it either.”

  Farrah reaches for my hand and squeezes it while rolling her head to the side to look at me. “How was it?”

  Staring up at the ceiling, I can’t contain my smile. “The most magical and spectacular kiss I’ve ever experienced.”

  “Toe curling?”

  “Nipple hardening.”

  “Oh . . . damn.”

  I nod. “Oh damn is right.”

  “They’re not poisoned, Helen,” I hear Alec say as I make my way on set.

  “How do I know that?”

  “Because they’re still sealed. See?” Alec lifts a can of macadamia nuts up to her and takes the lid off, revealing that they are in fact sealed.

  Helen looks at the seal and then back up at him. “I don’t like you, and I don’t like you trying to give me your nuts. It’s disgusting.” She whacks the nuts out of his hand and walks away.

  “Christ,” I hear him mutter as I step into view. He bends down and picks up the can, and when he stands back up and spots me, a soft smile crosses his lips.

  “Offering another lady your nuts already?” I whisper, shaking my head. “Should have known you were a player.”

  “Jealous?”

  “Of Helen?” I glance over his shoulder. “Totally.” I hold my phone up. “Expecting a text. See you around, Baxter.”

  The corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk, and before I can feel too tempted to kiss that corner, I walk over to my workspace, where Declan and Cohen are already getting ready for the day.

  “I thought they were splitting these time slots up so we wouldn’t all be here at the same time,” Declan says. “Helen is driving me insane with her constant tongue-clicking.”

  Cohen leans in. “She is such a pill. Yesterday she asked me who the girl in our relationship was.”

  I’m in the middle of taking my bag off when my head snaps up. “She did not.”

  Noticing the instant anger that sprouts up out of me, Cohen places his hand on my shoulder. “Cool it, Luna.”