Page 42 of Fit for Love

Shit.

Catching me looking at him, Ashton arches a questioning eyebrow.

I pretend to wipe a bead of sweat off my forehead… with my middle finger.

He slowly shakes his head and mouths, “Very mature.”

Before I can pantomime a response, the newlyweds finally disconnect from their scorching kiss, and everyone claps.

“Time for more pictures!”Gala shouts and proceeds to usher us to the beach, where I manage to somehow steer clear of Ashton’s cock.

“The cocktail hour and reception will be at the mansion,” Gala tells us when she’s done with the million pictures.

On the way there, I take the limo that Ashton isn’t in, and I avoid drinking too much at cocktail hour because if I get drunk, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stay civil… or keep my legs shut.

At the reception, I’m happy to learn that we’re allowed to pick our seats, so I sit far, far away from Ashton, which helps me enjoy the scrumptious first course.

“Can I have your attention please,” Gala says into the mic.“First, say hello to your band: The Wedding Smashers.”

Said band begins playing their rendition of “I Gotta Feeling” by The Black-Eyed Peas, but instead of anyone singing, mid-way through, Gala announces, “And now, for the first time as husband and wife: Mr.and Mrs.Carelli.”

The music grows louder, and Emma and Marcus make their grand entrance.Between her hair seeming a touch frizzy and Marcus’s tie being askew, they look suspiciously like they’ve already consummated their marriage.

Their first dance starts, and if I thought their kiss was scorching, the way they sway together is the closest thing to sex in public that I’ve ever seen.

In fact, I’m shocked that they go to sit at their table afterward instead of sneaking out for a quickie.

Soon after the next course arrives, Emma’s grandfather and grandmother each give a beautifully touching speech to celebrate the blissful newlyweds, and I thank the makeup gods above that I’m wearing waterproof mascara.After that, Gala demands that everyone head over to the dance floor.

Nope.Not doing it.

Everyone else goes to dance—that is, except Ashton, who’s also stayed in his seat.

“That won’t do,” Gala says.“The two of you have to get out there.”

I shake my head as a slow song starts playing.

“Please, Kendall.”Emma’s grandmother appears at my elbow to bat her eyelashes at me.“Just this one dance?Emma wants everyone to have a good time.”

“Grandma, it’s fine!”Emma calls from the dance floor.

Shit.Everyone is looking at me and Ashton instead of at the bride and groom.This is precisely what I didn’t want to happen.Ashton must be on the same wavelength because he stoically gets up and makes his way over to my table.

“Care to dance?”he drawls, extending his hand to me.

I don’t exactly have a choice now, do I?

Clenching my teeth, I place my hand in his and do my best to ignore the sparks racing up my arm as he leads me to the dance floor.

Once we reach our destination, he pulls me to him, and air whooshes out of my lungs as we end up in the classic slow-dance position: his left hand holding my right, his other hand on the bare skin just below my shoulder blades, and last but not least, his erection against my belly.

“What do you think you’re doing?”I whisper so that only he can hear.

He leans down, and his lips brush my ear as he whispers back, “This is a slow dance.I’m holding you in a traditional style.What else did you expect me to do?”

“I expected you to have the decency to get rid ofthat,” I whisper-hiss, keeping my voice even quieter as I direct my glare to the offending appendage.

“My apologies, fashionista.Whenever you’re around, I have very little control overthat.”

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