Page 73 of Hang the Moon
“Spend tomorrow with me.”
She blinked twice.
Those were not the sort of taxes she had on the brain.
“What did you have in mind?”
“It’s sort of... OTP adjacent.”
“Is it, like, a company picnic or something?”
“Or something.” Brendon smiled. “It’s not every day our head of public relations ties the knot with our VP of analytics.”
“A wedding? You’re inviting me to a wedding?”
He took another step closer, firmly cradled between her thighs in a way that was unambiguously intimate. Friends didn’t stand like this or touch each other like this, and they definitely, without a doubt, didn’t stare at each other’s mouths like Brendon was eyeing hers. “I was going to strongarm Margot into being my plus-one, but if you aren’t doing anything”—he swallowed—“maybe you want to be my date?”
She held her breath.
The word rattled around inside her brain.
Date.
Date.
Date.
She leaned back against the cabinet, her head suddenly too heavy to hold upright. “I don’t know, Brendon.”
“It’ll be fun, Annie,” he promised. “We’ll make it fun.”
Having fun with Brendon wasn’t her concern.
Weddings were... serious, this one bound to be more so seeing as Brendon worked with some percentage of the guest list. Alargepercentage, she’d wager. There would be questions. Who Annie was. Who she was to Brendon. Weddings had a funny way of making people comfortable asking prying questions that under any other circumstances would be deemed impolite.
How long have you been together? Is it serious? Think that’ll be the two of you up there someday? You’re not getting any younger. Why don’t you try to catch the bouquet?
“The venue’s on the water in Kirkland. You can see the whole city from there. Just think. Delicious food—”
“Rubbery chicken, you mean.”
He chuckled. “I was thinking more along the lines of wedding cake. You like cake, don’t you?”
Duh, but she couldn’t help but tease, “Depends on the flavor.”
Just like she’d imagined earlier, only better, Brendon’s hands skimmed up her thighs, gripping her, thumbs making more of those maddening circles against her skin, leaving goose bumps in their wake. They inched higher, approaching the hem of her shorts, flirting with where denim met skin. “Dancing. You can’t honestly tell me you don’t want to watch me do the ‘Cha Cha Slide’?”
It was difficult to string her thoughts together with Brendon touching her like this. “I—I don’t know if I could h—handle the secondhand embarrassment.”
Brendon’s thumbs slipped just under the fabric of her shorts, his brows lifting high on his forehead. She shivered violently, making Brendon grin.
Oh, that was dirty pool. So utterly unfair.
His voice was rough-hewn and he sounded as breathless as she felt. “Please?”
Something about that one word completely undid her.
“Okay.”
