Page 63 of The Treasure Hunt Hookup

It’s not until we’re walking into dinner that I realize, he’s cleaned up pretty good himself, in a jacket and button-down, open at the neck.Illegally handsome. He takes my hand casually as we enter the banquet hall, and I almost feel like piling back into a cab and dragging him straight back to explore the wonders of that four-poster bed.

Luckily, the party is already getting started, and we’re quickly swept into the crowd, greeting people from the mixer earlier, and all the new-slash-old faces that have joined us for the dinner.

“You’re over here, with me,” my favorite professor, Nita, waves us over to our table. She beams at Reeve, already charmed. “Are you really friends with Jackson Kane? I have to admit, I’m rather a fan.”

“Didn’t you say the modern blockbuster is rotting our brains?” I ask her, teasing.

She coughs. “Well, it’s important to stay current, with the culture.”

“I’m kidding,” I reassure her. “My taste in movies is about as lowbrow as they come. Give me a fun rom-com, or stuff getting blown up by hot spies, and I’m happy.”

“And the occasional classic,” Reeve reminds me. “And, yes, Jackson and I go way back. You know his real last name is Kowalski?” he confides with a grin. “But he didn’t think it spelled ‘leading man’, so we brainstormed for a week to come up with something new.”

“No!” Nita gasps, looking delighted, and they dive into a Hollywood gossip-fest, while our appetizers are brought out. It turns out, even stuffy academics love to readUS Weekly, so I leave them to speculate about which actress is doing what with whom, and turn to chat with the other people at our table, other archeologists and historians whose work I’ve been following. I’m just discussing some exciting new Aztec finds, when we’re all interrupted by a commotion near the entrance.

Heads turn. “What’s going on?” Reeve asks, draping an arm over the back of my chair.

A buzz ripples through the room, and I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. “Three guesses,” I sigh, as Jake emerges from the crowd, shaking hands and slapping backs like he’s a damn celebrity.

Which, to a room full of nerdy archeologists, I guess he is.

“Don’t let me interrupt anything,” he says loudly. “Sorry I’m late, I got caught up on a dig. You know how it is.”

Five different people rush to tell him it’s no trouble at all, as he holds court, looking like he just got off a plane from the Amazon in his trademark khaki pants and linen shirt.

“The guy’s really committed to his role, huh?” Reeve murmurs in my ear, looking amused. “Method acting, he could teach my casts a thing or two.”

“A stylist told him once that linen makes his biceps look bigger,” I murmur back. “He gets a special fine weave imported from Brazil.”

Reeve snorts with laughter, as Jake finally arrives at the table next to ours. “Oh, hey Ivy,” he says, looking over. “I forgot you’d be here. And … Reed, wasn’t it?”

“Sure,” Reeve shrugs, unmoved by Jake’s little power play. “Whatever you like, buddy.”

With Jake finally seated, I turn back to my seatmate, ready to ask about their research – but nobody’s paying attention not when Jake is still bro-ing up a storm at the next table. I’m officially invisible again.

Reeve gives my shoulder a squeeze. “You think this is bad?” he says softly, his lips brushing against my ear. “The first year I went to my agency holiday party, it was a really big deal. You know, A-listers, producers, real Hollywood movers and shakers. I was so pumped, rented a tux and everything.”

I find myself relaxing against him; Jake and all his attention-grabbing bullshit melting away, until there’s nothing but Reeve and me. “Sounds like fun.”

“It was. I took Jackson as my plus-one, and we scored like bandits at the buffet table. Then I saw him.Spielberg,” Reeve drops his voice reverently. “You have to understand, that guy is an idol to me. So I work up my nerve, walk on over there, and …”

“And what?” I ask, hanging on his words.

“He orders a scotch and soda.”

“What?” I blink.

“He thought I was the cater-waiter!” Reeve explains with a groan.

“No!” I gasp. “What did you do?”

“What do you think?” Reeve gives me a grin. “I smiled, and nodded, and got the man his drink!”

I laugh. “But then did you get to talk to him?”

He shakes his head. “Not that night, but last year we were both at an awards event, so I got to say ‘hi’. An awkward, bumbling ‘hi’, but he was very nice about it.”

“That’s amazing,” I smile. This close, I can smell the scent of his cologne, the same one he wore on Halloween. Reeve’s fingertips are stroking my bare shoulder softly, back and forth, and if I turned my head just a couple of inches, and leaned in—

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