Page 41 of Champagne Fizz

“How do I know this isn’t a trick?” she asks softly.

“Because I like you too much,” I admit, reaching up and grazing the back of my knuckles against her cheek. Her breath shudders, and I tell myself that wasn’t a completely inappropriate gesture for this moment. I drop my hand back to my leg and launch into a more business-friendly response. “When it comes my business, I like to win” I explain. “Trust me, everything about this plan makes me look good, and I like looking good.”

A tiny smile ekes out of the corner of her mouth as if I don’t need Flambé to look good to her.

“For a girl who drinks water on a date,” I continue, trying to ignore the way her eyes dilate at that comment. “Or business meetings,” I correct. “I’m going to wager you make smart, well-thought-out business decisions, too. You know when a good opportunity lands in your lap. So …”

I give her a dashing smile.

“I thought my predictability was my superpower,” she chides, putting the ice on the counter next to her and attempting to stand up.

“It is,” I affirm, snapping to my feet and hovering at her side to make sure she’s not going to tip over a second time. “And I predict that you know as well as I do that there’s only one good choice in this situation.”

“Would that be going back to the boutique where my bride is wondering where I disappeared to?” she volleys at me.

“That too,” I agree. “The boutique with that obnoxious stack of magazines in it.”

“Obnoxious is an understatement,” she grumbles.

“At least you’ve got your wits back,” I say, taking her phone and typing my number into it. “I know you have my email, but just in case—” I flash the phone at her.

“If this turns into a disaster, I’m blaming you.” Kendall wags her finger in my face.

“Of course.” I nod. “As Sue Blade says, never be accountable.”

Her face darkens, knowing I’ve said the complete opposite of what her idol would suggest, which was the point.

“If you hadn’t kept me from eating sidewalk pavement,” Kendall warms, pointing outside where she fell, “I’d be skewering you for that comment.”

“Of course, you would,” I agree. “In the meantime, can I escort you back to the boutique.” I offer her my arm, and to my surprise, she actually takes it.

11

KENDALL

The back patio of the Gin n’ Lava is more classy than the inside. There are palm trees for shade, a surfboard fence, and a little sliver of an ocean view in the distance. I poke the stack of wedding magazines that Simon gave me which now sit on the table top. I try to will myself to open them, but I can’t bring myself to do it yet.

Every fiber of my being hates the idea of Arie meddling.

Connor told me to meet him here at ten am, and I’m surprised the Gin n’ Lava is open prior to happy hour, considering its love for all things raunchy and tiki. Alas, Connor picked this place, not me.

“One coconut iced-coffee, hold the rum,” Mason announces, placing an actual coconut on the table in front of me that’s overflowing with whipped cream.

“You don’t have dirty names for your coffee creations?” I jab. “Is that a specialty reserved for your tiki drinks?”

“Good Tits,” Mason says, punctuating the nickname he gave me last time I was here, “if the whipped cream dripping down the side of that coconut doesn’t have you thinking dirty things all on your own, you ought to stop hanging out with the crew from Flambé.”

That’s an understatement.

“Connor’s in the bathroom,” Mason ads. “He’ll be out in a minute.”

I keep my hands in my lap and don’t touch the coffee drink. After Mason’s comment about dripping coconut cream, I can’t unsee it.

“Charming,” I say, picking up one of the wedding magazines as a way to dismiss Mason.

“Gettin’ messy is the fun part, Good Tits.” Mason chuckles, motioning to his Hawaiian shirt, which I deliberately don’t look at because I don’t want to be traumatized by whatever might be on it. “You let me know when you’re ready for the rum, Tits.”

Mason’s spent the last ten minutes calling me every form of the T-word he can come up with:Top of the Morning T’s,Would you like some green T’s and ham, etc. I’m pretty sure it’s a game to see where my threshold is before I give him my actual name. Only, he doesn’t know how stubborn I can be.

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