Page 19 of The Friend

Abby squinted at the schedule, her insides tied in knots. Agreeing to this crazy modelling gig had been bad enough, now she had to sit here and calmly do a final read-through of the plans for this afternoon’s shoot.

“Are you going to eat anything?” Judd pointed to the untouched seafood on her plate with a hopeful look on his face.

“It’s all yours, garbage guts.” She nudged the plate across the table and smiled as he speared a scallop and several shrimps before the plate reached him. “Were you always this much of a pig?”

Her smile turned to laughter as he looked up, mouth full, and pushed his nose into a distinct porcine shape. “Gross. If I’d known, I never would’ve agreed to marry you. At this rate, you’ll be eating us out of house and home in the first month.”

They’d been like this all morning, teasing each other about their ‘commitment’. He’d helped her plan everything—from finding the best location to shutting up Tom when he gave them a hard time— making a potentially nightmarish situation fun, and they hadn’t stopped laughing since.

If only she could blink away the image of him in that wedding tux, standing next toherin the most exquisite wedding gown she’d ever seen, and she’d be a lot happier.

Doing a wedding shoot when she’d secretly fantasised about the real thing with her pretend groom was a little too close to home—and had her pondering ‘what if’, especially with the groom flirting with her like a pro.

Judd finished the mouthful before responding. “Sorry, it’s been ages since I’ve had decent food. Being stuck in the desert for six months at a stretch will do that to a guy with a healthy appetite.”

Her smile didn’t falter though her stomach did a strange flip-flop at the mention of his appetite and she wondered if that philosophy extended to all his appetites.

Don’t go there…

“Speaking of food, do we get to have an intimate dinner for two after the ‘ceremony’?” He arched an eyebrow. “After all, tonight is our wedding night.” His voice dropped seductively low and Abby took a sip of water to ease the sudden dryness in her throat.

She should be used to his teasing by now but his use of the word ‘intimate’ conjured up a host of images she’d rather not contemplate.

Tossing her hair in a ‘dream on’ gesture, she said, “Just because we’re doing the whole dress and flowers bit, doesn’t mean you should get any ideas.”

“Who, me?” Mischief gleamed in his eyes before he ducked his head and continued devouring the rest of her meal. “I just think if we’re going to do this, we should do it right.”

“Uh-huh. Next you’ll be suggesting a honeymoon, I suppose?”

His gaze snapped up to lock on hers, humour replaced by something darker, deeper, more sensual. “Now you’re talking.”

Abby tried to tear her gaze away, she really did, but she’d never seen him look like this and it had her hypnotised.

“You’re such a flirt,” she finally managed to say, gulping the rest of her icy water in three swallows and wishing she could run the frosted glass over her heated brow. “Though you know it’s wasted on me, right?”

“Flirting is never a waste.”

He dabbed his mouth with a crisp linen napkin, drawing her attention to his lips, those same lips that had kissed her last night, the same lips that had demonstrated in startling clarity how much better things could get between them if they moved past the flirting stage.

“Once this shoot is over we’re bound for life. I can leave my clothes on the floor, my towels draped over the furniture, the cap off the toothpaste, the toilet seat up, and you have to put up with me for better or worse.”

She chuckled at his cheeky grin, enjoying their banter now he’d stopped staring at her like she was dessert. “Sure. Go ahead, knock yourself out, as all that will be happening inyourroom.”

“What if I sneak into yours and put frogs in your bed? Or better yet, itching powder?” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation and the thought of him sneaking into her room wasn’t so bad after all.

She smiled and reached across the table to slap his hands. “I’d be forced to retaliate and you don’t want to try me, you really don’t.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you going to do? Duck my head underwater like you did on sixth grade camp at Manly beach?”

“Maybe I’ll flush it down the toilet next time.”

“Bully.”

She tried a mock frown and failed, dissolving into hopeless giggles. “You should be afraid, my friend. Very afraid.”

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