Page 5 of The Fake Wedding Date

When a frozen red concoction smothered in chocolate appeared before me, I thanked the quirky, dark-haired bartender and took a heavy drag from the straw, leaving Mark to his conversion.

“Mmm,” I said to Beth. “This one’s good. May be my favorite.”

“It's a Scarlett Kiss.”

“I taste cherries and chocolate; otherwise, I don’t have a clue. Chocolate cherry martini?” I asked. “Was the last one a Long Island Iced Tea with grenadine?”

“You know I can’t tell you. Not if you’re actually trying to win.” She laughed.

“Worth a try.” I grinned, lifted my glass in cheers to her, and took another sip. “So good.”

Sensing Mark's gaze on my face, I explained. “The game. Guests guess what their specialty drinks are.” I reached for the sign with a list of incredibly cheesy Valentine-themed drinks Emory had as her specialty cocktails. “You can ask for ingredients if you’re worried, or just order an actual drink by name. But I’m on a mission to try them all.”

“And how many of them are there?” He asked, taking the sign.

“I don’t know. But I set a goal, and I’m sticking to it. I’m going to try them all.”

“There’s 10,” Beth informed us, helpfully.

“So, your goal is to black out tonight?” Mark questioned.

I held up the footed lowball glass. “These are tiny. It’s like six ounces. They want you to be able to try them all.”

“Right,” Mark drawled.

“Beth was assigned to the bridal party today and promised she’d work her way down the list for me.” I winked at her, ignoring the graze of Mark’s fingertips, which had started to circle my shoulder. The subtle swipes were making my voice come out breathier than intended. “She takes care of me.”

“Does she now?”

“I do, but I probably won’t for much longer if you don’t slow down,” Beth added.

“How many have you had? You just sat down.”

“I’ve had theI Love You Berry Much,which I think is a strawberry margarita, and theIOlive You, which is basically a martini, extra olive. It’s as bad as it sounds. And maybe one or two more. Who’s counting?”

“I like olives,” Mark said at the same time Beth deadpanned, “I am.”

I ignored Beth and pointed at Mark, “People who like olives cannot be trusted.”

He flashed his white teeth at me. “I am very trustworthy.”

I laughed. “You’re very something.”

The older man Mark had been talking to clapped his shoulder, catching his attention.

“I’m going to find the wife before she sends out a search party. You can have my stool. It was nice talking to you, Mark.” He shot me a furtive gaze and an obviously fake smile and ran off.

I’d never met the man, but so many stories were circulating before I left that I could only imagine what had been said in the years since. If Mark noticed the weird exchange, he didn’t say anything, just graciously accepted the stool and sat.

That position was somehow worse than having his arm around me. Facing me, Mark propped one foot on the rung of my stool, the other long leg hanging out into the aisle. This left my knees between his two thick thighs.

Beth had deserted me for her duties, leaving us alone, and for the first time around Mark, I wasn’t sure what to say. Or how to act.

CHAPTER3

Mark and I went out once a month or more back home. Sometimes with the team, sometimes alone, but work had always been between us. We talked about work, celebrated work. Sure, we told each other personal stuff, but there was always a work barrier between us. I was his boss. He was my assistant.

This was different. He’d been staring at me like he was imagining me naked, and I could still feel the wet heat of his lips and the scrape of his stubble against the sensitive skin of my cheek from when he’d kissed me. Dwelling on that sensation made my head spin, and I became all the more aware of the huge man sitting so close.

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