Page 68 of Say Yes to the Hot Mess

I nod, and when Dex holds his hand out, I take it, threading my fingers through his.

It’s time to get this over with.

Sixteen

Dex

If I can getthrough this evening without kissing this woman, it will be a freaking miracle.

Seventeen

Maya

Something is different between us.

I can’t tell what, exactly, but I know I’m not imagining it. That sixth sense I didn’t have a week ago seems to have arrived, because I swear I can feel him looking at me even though my eyes are on my feet as we walk.

(Scarlett talked me into buying these heels, and I do have to admit they’re perfect with the dress, but they’re five inches tall and I only have so much coordination. So while I would love to sneak a peek at Dex while we’re walking down these stairs, it’s going to have to wait.)

I guess things could feel different just because I’ve acknowledged to myself that I have a barely there crush on the man. Like maybe that gave my subconscious permission to pick up on the tension between us or something? Is that a thing?

It doesn’t sound like a thing.

And it’s not just on my end either, this new weirdness. I swear Dex’s eyes on me are different. Less speculative, more full of thatlookI was telling Scarlett about. Like he’s maybe thinking about kissing me.

Which is absurd. Right? As far as I know, nothing has changed on his end.

When we get closer to the room where the wedding is happening, I loop my arm through Dex’s. Partly so I don’t lose him in the stream of wedding-goers all heading the same place we are, but also partly because he’s the only person I know in this entire building. I’m feeling a little vulnerable as it is, what with his hovering ex and my fanciness and his mother’s dislike; no way am I letting my social buffer out of my sight.

We shuffle more than walk, caught up in the throng of people. It’s a sensual overload—everywhere I turn I smell new perfumes and colognes, and there are snippets of conversation all around, and the press of bodies is too warm. It’s a stark reminder of why I dislike crowds. There’s justtoo much.

Once we’re inside, I take a look around. Everything looks the same as it did yesterday, except that the room is full now, most of the seats occupied and a low hum of noise floating in the air. Dex seems to know where he’s going as he approaches the rows of chairs, so I follow his lead, focusing on not tripping.

Valencia is waiting for Dex when we enter our row—surprise, surprise. Incredibly, shestilllooks like the female version of him—her suit coat and matching pencil skirt are the same color as his and just as immaculately fitted. I find myself wondering how many different colors of that exact same outfit she has. She looks like she’s perpetually ready to step into a boardroom, although she said she’s more into the fundraising, country club scene. It’s not my thing, but it’s cool that she’s found the circles she likes moving in. I just wish she would realize Dexisn’tpart of her circle.

She seems to have saved him a seat, I notice, but she didnotsave me a seat. In fact, the empty seat she’s gesturing at is surrounded by her on the left and Dex’s mother on the right. So that’s…uncomfortable. It’s like they’ve completely removed me from the equation.

I clutch Dex’s elbow a little tighter as we shuffle in, turning and muttering under my breath, “I will hold youpersonallyaccountable if I get stuck sitting by myself next to two random family members.”

“Relax,” he murmurs, a little smile on his lips.

How am I supposed to relax when he’s heading for the single open seat between Val and his mom? Where does that leave me?

On his lap. That’s where it leaves me when he settles himself in the lone chair and then pulls me down on top of him.

I’m not sure whose gasp is louder: mine, Valencia’s, or Nancy’s.

“Dexter, really,” his mother says, scandalized. She’s literally clutching her strand of pearls, her bony hands white at the knuckles. “That’s hardly appropriate behavior—”

I wiggle around, trying to stand up, but Dex just tugs me more tightly to him, his fingers flexing on my hips. “So sorry, Mother,” he says mildly. “There was no place for her to sit, and I really do insist on being close to her, so—”

“For goodness’ sakes,” Nancy says dramatically. “One hour apart won’t kill you. But very well. Scoot over, Valencia, darling, and make room for Dexter’s—for Maya.”

“For his girlfriend,” I clarify, just because everyone here seems to be in denial, and it’s bothering me a little more today than it did yesterday. “I’m his girlfriend.”

“Yes, of course,” Nancy says, smiling at me as Valencia scoots over to free up one more seat. Valencia smiles invitingly at Dex, patting the seat next to her.

I sit there instead.

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