Page 32 of From Wink to Kink

CHUCK

"Look,"I say, trying to keep my voice reasonable, "it's too late to leave today anyway. Why don't we get dressed and go find something to eat?"

Ruby gives me a look that could freeze hell over. "Dinner? With you?"

I blink, momentarily stunned. I'm not used to this. Women don't usually react to me with... whatever this is. Scorn? Contempt? Annoyance? It's throwing me off balance. Not sure I like it.

"Well, yeah," I say, recovering. "Unless you'd prefer to starve? I hear that's all the rage in the world of librarians these days."

She rolls her eyes, but I catch the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "Fine. Dinner. But that doesn't mean I'm staying."

She disappears into the bathroom to change, and I find myself in an… unexpected state of mind. I'm Chuck Newcomb, star hockey player. Women throw themselves at me on a regularbasis. And yet here I am, stuck in a room with someone who’d quite possibly like to see me dead.

It's... unsettling. And maybe a little intriguing.

I shake off the thought and change into a button-down and some cargo shorts. Might as well look the part of a proper retreat-goer, right?

When Ruby emerges from the bathroom, I nearly swallow my tongue. She's wearing a little black dress that hugs her curves in all the right places. It's not overtly sexy—this is Ruby, after all—but there's an elegance to it that catches me off guard.

"Uh, could you..." she turns, gesturing to the zipper at the back of her dress. "I can't quite reach."

"Sure," I manage, stepping closer. The scent of her shampoo, something floral and fresh, hits me as I pull the zipper up. I have to remind myself not to stare, but it's a challenge with all that red hair cascading down her back, a striking contrast against the black of the dress.

"Thanks," she says, turning back to face me. For a moment, we just stand there, an awkward silence stretching between us.

"You look nice," I finally say, because it seems like the kind of thing you're supposed to say in this situation.

Ruby raises an eyebrow. "Don't sound so surprised, Newcomb. I do own clothes that aren't covered in book dust, you know."

I laugh, relieved to be back on familiar, snarky ground. "Could've fooled me. Come on, let's go see what kind of culinary delights await us at Pura Vida."

As we make our way to the main dining area, I can't help but notice the looks we're getting from other guests. Some are curious, others knowing. It occurs to me that to them, we probably look like any other couple here for the retreat. Except we’re wearing a bit more clothing.

The cocktail hour is in full swing when we arrive. Couples mingle, sipping colorful drinks and laughing at jokes that are probably not nearly as funny as their reactions suggest. Ruby and I exchange a glance, a silent agreement passing between us. At least that’s what I think it is. We can do this. We can hang. It’s just a little socializing, after all.

I snag two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and hand one to Ruby. "Shall we mingle, darling?" I ask, laying the charm on thick.

She takes the glass, rolling her eyes. "Don’t push it, buddy."

“C’mon, Ruby Brooks. The only thing to do is make this fun. Librarians know how to have fun, right?”

She hip-chucks me, then leads the way into the crowd.

For the next hour, we circulate the room. Ruby, it turns out, can be quite the actress when she wants to be. She laughs at my jokes, touches my arm in a way that feigns affection, and even spins one or two elaborate tales about our fictional relationship.

"Oh, Chuck and I met at a charity ice sculpting event," she tells one enraptured couple. "He was carving a life-size statue of Wayne Gretzky, and I was doing a bust of Shakespeare. Our eyes met over a block of ice, and well..." She trails off, looking at me with mock adoration.

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from gagging. "It was love at first chip," I add, wrapping an arm around her waist. The contact sends an unexpected jolt through me, but I brush it off. It's all just part of the act.

Right?

As we're led into the dining room, I lean down to whisper in Ruby's ear. "Ice sculpting? Really?"

She shrugs, a smile playing at her lips. "Hey, you wanted to go undercover. I'm just playing my part."

Dinner is a surprisingly pleasant affair. The food is excellent—some kind of local fish that melts in my mouth. We keep upour couple act, but as the evening wears on, I actually relax into it. Our banter flows, and I catch myself laughing at her dry observations about our fellow retreat-goers.

It's... nice. Comfortable, even. Which is weird, because 'comfortable' isn't a word I'd ever have associated with Ruby Brooks. What’s even weirder is how while the candlelight softens her features, bringing out the gold flecks in her eyes, I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful she is.

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