Page 90 of Wingwoman
“Fakefirst date,” she corrected, then stared at me like it was a trick question. “And… yeah. I did.”
“Are you going to correct me that this is fake every time the subject is brought up?”
She slid her soft, delicate hand into mine and stood. “If it’s just the two of us, I am.”
Deep down, I knew it was the smart thing to do… to remind both of us that this wasn’t real. That it wasn’t lasting.
And yet, Hope was strangely addictive. Like that shot of pure absinthe I did in my early twenties. Strong, shocking, dizzying… and I didn’t know whether I wanted to step away from the alcohol or drink the whole damn bottle after I swallowed.
I tilted my head and with her hand in mine, I gave the slightest tug, pulling her into me. Settling my other free hand at her waist and guiding her body with mine, I swayed us both to the slow country ballad that crooned over the speakers of the crowded bar. “And what if it turns into something that isn’t fake?” I asked, intentionally grazing my lips against her ear.
Her chest hitched, brushing against mine with her sharp inhale. “Real relationships don’t typically need contracts and NDAs,” she whispered.
Touché.
“Ahhhh,” I hissed, lacing our fingers and bringing her hand to rest against my heart as we danced to the music.“But what is an engagement ring if not its own very sparkly, binding contract?”
She studied me, her gaze narrowing. “Well then, the moment you offer me an engagement ring in place of our contract,that’swhen I’ll consider this real. Actually… no,” she said so abruptly that even our dance steps faltered. “I take that back. Engagement rings aren’t binding contracts. People end their engagements all the time and while it’s messy, there’s no steadfast litigation around it. I should know.”
“So if not an engagement rin—”
“A wedding ring,” she said, cutting me off. “That’sa binding contract. Hell, there’s even a legal document you sign with the ceremony. So when you put a wedding band on my finger, then and only then, would I consider this real.”
Damn. “So you’re saying that even if we dated for years. Lived together. Rescued eight dogs together… you wouldn’t consider any of that real unless there was a ring on your finger?”
“That’s right.”
“On the surface, it seems like a cynical notion, but I’m not convinced it isn’t also romantic.”
She snorted. “If you say so.”
The flat smile was back, this time not only directed at me, but created because of me too.
I stopped dancing and lifted her hand to my lips, kissing her knuckles briefly. “Come on. We have to make it to phase two of our date before they close.”
I was going to get her to smile for real tonight if it killed me. I wanted the shrieking, laughing girl that played around the pool with me.
Twenty-Five
HOPE
“You wantme to ride a mechanical bull? InLouboutins?!”
“They’re boots. What the hell else are boots meant for if not riding?”
Josh folded his arms, his biceps flexing with the movement in a way I wasn’t entirely sure wasn’t intentional. I forced my eyes to stay on his, even though I really wanted to sneak a peek at the flex of muscles that pushed against the seams of his Axel’s button down dress shirt with the turquoise buttons. I recognized the brand because my dad was hell-bent on wearing something quintessentially ‘Texas’ to the wedding and I had a bitch of a time talking him out of Shepler’s shirts and into Axel’s instead.
“Unless you don’t think you can,” Josh taunted.
“Reverse psychology won’t get you anywhere.” I matched his stance, folding my arms too.
“It’s not reverse psychology,” he said with a shrug. “Bull riding is damn hard. Evenmechanicalbull riding.”
I glanced over to where a girl in a mini skirt and crop top bucked and swiveled with the leather and steel between her bony knees. Hand in the air, she grinned, sticking her tongue out for her sorority sisters who were all filming her, no doubt, live streaming or ready to post to her social media.
Just as it looked like she had her footing… or rather… seating? The mechanical bull bucked, throwing her off and onto the vinyl padded floor lining the enclosure.
I scrunched my nose, looking back at Josh. “Yeah, I’ll pass. But thanks.”
