Page 46 of Love You Truly

The bidding edges higher, but I’m distracted by how good Dash’s hand feels on my skin. I’m even more distracted when I remind myself that I shouldn’t be feeling things at all.

I join the applause when the gavel slams on the auction podium for the winner. Then I notice that everywhere I look in the room, I see eyes staring back at me. And Dash.

That’s when I realize that Dash is the winner with a bid of fourteen thousand dollars for a single spa weekend. I’m about to ask him if he’s gone ‘round the bend when he stands up from his stool and quiets the din in the room.

“I’m super stoked to win and even more excited that my bid will go toward construction of the new theater.” He holds his glass up, and people around the room mirror his movement, toasting him and applauding.

Someone yells, “Who’re you taking?” and the crowd laughs. A few more inquisitive souls join in a chorus of, “Yeah, who’s the lucky girl?” I stiffen in my chair, not wanting to make this kind of a public declaration of anything. We’re just supposed to be subtly giving people the impression we’re an item, so no one—especially not Felix—questions that we’re engaged.

There’s no need for Dash to wave and clear his throat dramatically, but that’s what he does. A hush falls over the room, save for the muttering of people wondering what he has planned as he continues to speak.

“Most of you probably know Mallory Rutherford…my fiancée.” He waits for the appropriate titters and whispers among the crowd. “I’m normally not one for hotel spas, but maybe that was because I’d never met a woman before who made me want to break the bank for a chance to spend a weekend there with her.”

He bends down and kisses me sweetly on the lips, the perfect expression of smitten endearment for a public place. “I’ll take the room key, thank you very much.”

Smiles and gentle applause validate the cuteness of Dash’s soul-bearing speech, and when he sits back down next to me, I catch a smug grin on his face.

“Pleased with yourself?” I ask.

“You have no idea.”

He turns back toward the table as the auctioneer proceeds to the next item as though he didn’t just make a grand pronouncement in front of the entire room. He was only supposed to make us look legit as a couple, not give the entire town something to talk about on Monday at work.

“I can’t decide whether I’m mad at you or not,” I tell him. He’s so damn sexy in his suit, and it confuses me. I want to be mad, but I also want to climb him like a tree.

“You’re not.” He takes a sip of wine and flips through the auction catalog nonchalantly. This is the Dash I’ve heard stories about. Cocky, charming, and convincing when he turns his attention toward you. It feels like a golden beam of sunlight shining on my face after a cold winter, and I can’t help it—I like the way it feels.

I give myself exactly thirty seconds to bask in what it would be like to have a man say what Dash did and really mean it. I’d love to hear those words and know they were true.

Then my thirty seconds are up, and I return to reality.

Don’t fall for the playboy. And definitely don’t believe his flattering words. They’re just talk designed to get a woman into bed.

And that’s not happening tonight. No way, no how. Even if we’ve convinced everyone in the room that we’re a couple, I know the truth. I may just need to feed myself daily reminders so I don’t forget.

I look over at where Sue Clayton is still eyeing Dash like he’s the one who got away. I never want to have that look on my face when it comes to a man. Especially not the one sitting next to me, making me feel things I have no business feeling. So I lock my heart down tight, smile back at Dash, and confirm. “You’re right. I’m not mad at all. You were brilliant. Game on.”

If anyone in the room had a question, it was answered with an ironclad defense able to withstand further scrutiny. Dash and I are getting married.

Which means people will expect us to have a wedding.

The thought sinks in my gut with a combination of relief and dread. We’re really doing this. It’s happening.

An hour later, as Dash walks me to my front door, I feel a new sense of dread. Now that it’s just the two of us, with no one around to observe our “relationship,” we’ve gone back to being acquaintances. Or maybe I guess we’re friends. All the heat and flirtation I felt all night long disappeared as soon as we pulled out of the parking lot.

Dash was quiet on the drive back, and now, as I fish through my purse for my keys, he’s quiet again. Stoic.

“Found ’em.” I hold them up. “Thank you for a fun evening.”

“I think we pulled it off, don’t you?”

I nod emphatically. “Your spa weekend stunt was the clincher.”

He smiles, but it’s not his usual wide grin. It’s a barely-there smile that may even be laced with sadness, but I don’t know him well enough to tell.

Standing at my door, I feel the weight of so many dates when guys used this moment to go in for a first kiss. Every one of the others falls flat compared to the kisses I’ve shared with Dash. Even if they were just for show.

Is he going to kiss me now?

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