Page 70 of The Wrong Date Deal

She wasn’t a fool. She knew you didn’t do that with your friends. Sure, you could dance in the living room and have it be completely fine, but you couldn’t dance likethatin a dim—notdark—room and have it mean nothing. Or have either party be oblivious to what they were doing. And that wasn’t even including the soft way Piper had brushed her fingers over August’s neck.

And, with all of that bouncing around her head, she showered, and dressed, and did her makeup, and tried to act human.

Ford was sitting in the living room, ready and waiting to go when she finally stepped out of her room.

August eyed his polo shirt, jeans, and sneakers. “You don’t think you’re going to get cold?”

He laughed. “I’ll wear a coat on the way. But we’re going to a bar. It’s not going to be cold in there.”

August sucked in a breath. “Yeah, I suppose that’s true.” She started overthinking the sweater she was wearing—even after she’d tried on about five different outfits before settling on that one.

Ford laughed. “Don’t worry. You look great. Piper’s going to love it.”

August groaned, grabbed Ford’s coat, and threw it at him. “Please don’t say things like that tonight.”

“I make…somepromises.”

“That’s not how that works.”

He shrugged. “Hey, if everyone else is making comments about the two of you, do you really expect me to say nothing? I’m the only one there representing your side of things.”

“And as someone on my side, don’t you think you should actuallybeon my side?”

“I am. And that’s why I want you to be happy. If you need a little help from your friends, I’m going to be agreatfriend.”

“You’re my brother.”

“And that stops me from being your friend?”

“No, but your actions might.”

Ford laughed and ushered them out the door, offering to do the driving since August was clearly so distracted. August shook her head but let him have it. She knew it was a little bit because he didn’t have his own car and loved an excuse to get some driving in. She could pretend to believe that was all it was.

He at least put on music while he drove, so August could try focusing on that rather than on her circling thoughts. She’d been on so many dates lately and not a single one had made her feel as nervous as seeing Piper did. Of course, she hadn’t liked any of them as much as she now knew she liked Piper. Plus, she’d been meeting complete strangers, not someone she’d been slow dancing with just a few days ago.

After they’d parked and walked most of the way to the bar where they were meeting Piper and her friends, Ford stopped and grabbed August’s arm lightly to stop her too. She shot him a puzzled look.

“You’re going to be fine, okay? No matter what happens tonight,” he said seriously.

August frowned. “What are you planning on doing?”

“Nothing! I promise. I just know you’re nervous and, you know, you’re going to be okay. There’s no way Piper’s not into you too.”

August glanced around. It was dark and cold, but it was Friday night and the street was lined with restaurants and bars, a theater at the bottom of it, so there were plenty of peoplearound. Plenty of people who could easily be Piper’s friends. “I don’t think this is the best place for that conversation.”

Ford grinned slightly, shaking his head. “Okay. Let’s go in, then?”

“Sure. Why not?”

He laughed and led the way to the door, pulling it open. A wave of bustling bar sounds hit them along with a comfortable warmth from inside. August was still glad she’d worn the sweater, but she no longer doubted whether Ford would be warm enough.

They stepped inside, both looking around for Piper. August’s insides felt fuzzy and wrong at the thought of how Ford knew what she looked like—what she’d been doing the last time he’d seen her.

The place was nice. Emerald and gold, with an art deco style and interesting light features, but August could barely take any of it in for feeling like Piper was going to jump out from behind a pillar and, in surprise, confusion, and nerves, she’d scream, jump backwards into someone, and manage to knock somebody else’s drink all over Piper.

“August!” a voice called. It wasn’t Piper’s.

August turned. At a high table in the window, Massima was raised up—presumably on the foot bar from her stool—waving August over.

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