Page 45 of Sweet and Salty

This wedding is never going to end.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Jesse

It’sthe longest wedding ever.

It’s also charming. Everyone is having a nice time, laughing and drinking and eating and generally getting along well. Now that Chris is gone, the rain cloud over my head has dissipated, and it’s left this town—these people—free and happy.

I’ve never been at a wedding like this. I’m not a total wedding noob, obviously. I’ve been in some of my fraternity brothers’ weddings, and then in their second weddings a few years later. I’ve held back bridesmaids’ hair when they puked and cried. I’ve fought predators off the same drunken bridesmaids. I’ve defused situation after situation. Uncles getting handsy, the DJ or groom’s ex who won’t stop playing Radiohead, fainting flower girls, single moms who were too tired to dance, so I danced with their kids while they rested.

At those weddings, not everyone liked each other. Here, they do. They’re all genuinely supportive of their hometown couple. It is so unproblematic that it concerns me. What are they putting in the water around here?

The only problem is Laura.

And by problem, I mean that being around her this much is intoxicating. I’m not drinking a lot, but I still feel woozy every time I look at her, like the Earth shifts on its axis because of the force of her magnetism.

I might even be a little in love with her, and that is a very great problem indeed.

After the cake is cut, I help Laura pack up the entire coterie of animals she painstakingly crafted for the wedding cake. Leaving then takes another hour of hugs and goodbyes.

In the car, I drive while Laura kicks off her heels and tucks her tired feet up underneath her. I keep my mouth good and shut, in case I spill every single thing I’m feeling.

I am a terrible fake boyfriend.

All I can think of is how Laura felt in my arms. Nothing drives it away. I think of every single world war history fact I can recall, every moment of injustice toward marginalized communities, all so I won’t tent my pants like a damn teenager.

It doesn’t exactly work.

I park her hatchback in the driveway by her house. “Do you need help unloading the car?”

She yawns and glances into the back seat. “No, it’s fine. It will all keep until tomorrow.”

Okay. That’s yet one more very good reason why I should not be trying to get inside her house.

While she puts her shoes back on, I go around the hood of the car so I can open her door. Her eyes widen slightly at this, then soften. “Thanks.”

Merely to be a gentleman, I accompany her to the front door of her house. It’s a beautiful night, the kind of early summer eve that’s just warm enough and still inky dark. There are more stars here than I’ve ever seen growing up.

She pauses by the door, probably because I’m still holding her keys. “Thank you. For tonight. You were a way better fake boyfriend than any of my real boyfriends ever were.”

A surge of jealousy pulses through me. I don’t want to hear about any of those assholes before me. Although I shouldn’t care. I know I shouldn’t. I can’t give her what she needs, what she deserves. She is the town sweetheart and I am a rattlesnake hiding in the grass.

Which is why, even though it feels like pulling teeth from a German shepherd with inadequate anesthesia, I hand her back her keys. “It was a lot of fun. I’m happy to pinch hit for you any time.” I shove my hands in my pockets before I do something foolish, like press her back against the door and stick my tongue down her throat.

Disappointment flashes across her face, and she stares down at her keys. “Right. Great.”

“Great.” The word sounds as hollow as I feel. “Goodnight, Laura.”

She doesn’t say anything. Kicking myself mentally, I turn to self-flagellate in the apartment, but a warm hand on my bicep stops me.

“Wait,” she says. My gaze flicks to hers. Her eyes are a lush green, like the flash of a mermaid scale. Her mouth curves with seductive intent. “Even a fake boyfriend should have a goodnight kiss.”

Air raid sirens blares in my head again. Here be dragons. Dragons. Fucking dragons. Brown-haired ones with startling green eyes and blistering heat in their touch. No matter how badly I want her, it isn’t fair to deceive her. I won’t be able to live with myself if I do that.

If I don’t touch her, I don’t know if I can live with that, either.

She stands there with her face tilted toward mine, heat in her gaze and her hand still on my arm.

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