Page 41 of A Game of Ruck
Not while I’m around.
Not ever again.
They go quiet.
Flushed.
One sips her rosé like it’s a sedative, eyes darting anywhere but at us.Another twists her napkin in her lap like it's suddenly her life’s work.
Lisa’s got that tight, brittle smile she wears when she knows she’s lost control of the room but refuses to admit it.
Annabeth tries to tug me away with a nervous little laugh, like she’s hoping to smooth things over, to pretend this never happened.
But no.
Fuck that.
I lean down and press a kiss to her temple, slow and deliberate.My hand slides to the small of her back, anchoring her to me in full view of everyone.
“Before I go,” I say, loud enough for every single bridesmaid and their simpering boyfriends to hear, “let me just thank you all fornotasking her to be in your snotty little bridal party.”
Gasps.Glares.More rosé.
I smirk.
“Because now?I get to have her by my side the entire time.And that isexactlywhere she belongs.”
Annabeth’s breath catches—her chest rising and falling fast.
She blinks up at me, wide-eyed, her cheeks blooming pink like I just said something outrageous instead of the damn truth.
She’s looking at me like she can’t believe I did that.Like no one ever has.
Too fucking bad, because I meant every word.
I cup her face gently, tilt her chin up—and kiss her.
Not a peck.Not a pretend kiss.
A soul-searing, toe-curling, wipe-the-smirks-off-their-faceskiss.
One hand gripping her waist.The other fisting the back of her dress.
Let them stare.Let them whisper.
I don’t give a single damn.
When I finally pull back, her lips are parted, her breath unsteady, her lashes fluttering like she’s been caught in a dream.
“You ready to go,” I murmur against her cheek, “or do you want to dance, Angel?”
Because I’ll follow her anywhere.I’ll hold her up if she wants to run.I’ll spin her across the damn dance floor if she says yes.
But what I won’t do?
Is pretend anymore.
Not when every part of me knows—I’m not faking this.
