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“Oh, definitely!” My moral compass does not exist at this point. “Multi-million dollar company. You know how things are with those outdoorsy places. You can always upcharge if the packaging looks natural and earthy.” I wave a hand, leaning back in my chair and feeling Griffin’s suit jacket brush my bare shoulders. I chase the contact, leaning further into him and shutting off the responsible part of my brain. It’s the part of my brain that’s usually running overtime–the one that would remind me I don’t know him.
This has been the best birthday of my entire life, and it’s not even over.
“Well, I’m interested in making a deal to sell these things,” Chad explains. “I’d love to talk about it.”
“Oh, she won’t sell in golf clubs,” Griffin chimes in, a wicked smile dancing on his lips.
Chad grunts a little, leaning forward in his seat with that scowl still plastered on his too-perfect face. I’m pretty sure the guy has a heavy dose of self-tanner on. I’m not sure what Cass sees in him. She’s just an absolute doll, and he’s horrible.
“Why not?” Chad asks.
Griffin takes a bite of salmon and swallows before talking. “My darling, Ellis, is firmly against golf. A true animal lover. With my time volunteering at the shelter, and her passion for birds, we make quite a match.”
Cass chuckles–a light and airy sound as she puts down her fork. “What does that have to do with golf?”
Griffin gets very serious, and Connie and James, the old couple that joined us, lean forward to listen as well–as if everything Griffin says is completely captivating. I mean, it is captivating–even if it’s all lies. “You know that stray golf balls take out hundreds of birds every year.”
The table is silent.
We are certifiably insane.
Luckily, we don’t have to explain because the DJ comes on over the speakers with a microphone in hand. “Next thing on the list is The Decades Dance! Angie and Luke ask that all couples participate in this one, so grab your partner and get on the floor.”
Lights flash across the small dance floor, forcing starbursts and shapes to dance around the tiled floors. I can’t stop smiling when Griffin turns to me, the green flecks in his eyes catching the dim lights away from the action. Small wrinkles form at the corners of his eyes when he leans closer. And when he does that, it’s almost like it draws me in, too.
Whatever atmosphere surrounds Griffin, I want to be in it–floating above the ground like I’m untouchable–like the rules don’t matter.
“Golf balls and birds?” I question, fighting the urge to laugh.
“Real dangerous stuff. Can’t have you selling your protein bars in his club. It’s absolutely riddled with controversy.”
I let the laugh loose then–a sound that comes deep from the pit of my belly. I don’t even have time to be embarrassed about it or the strange snorting noises that come with it.
“Let’s dance,” Griffin says. “We are fake-married, after all. I want to treat you right for your birthday. Birthdays are a big deal in my family. I’m taking my responsibility very seriously.”
“Technically,” I say, “my birthday isn’t for another three days.”
He stands up, offering me his hand anyway. I don’t question it, just put my own fingers in his and allow him to help me up, gently guiding me to the floor.
He shifts to walk behind me with a gentle hand on my back. When he bends down, his breath ghosts over my shoulder and my stomach dips. “Maybe we should just finish the bucket list.” His deep voice is low, rumbling over my skin. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
I tilt back a little, grinning so hard my face hurts. “Busy,” I say. “On Sundays, I stand outside of the local golf club and protest. It’s for the birds, of course.”
Griffin takes my arm and gently spins me around when we make it onto the dance floor. Couples gather all around us as soft music begins to play. It’s some instrumental piano song, and I can’t help but remember that he said he plays. I’d love to hear him play sometime.
Maybe I don’t have to go back to being boring, responsible Ellis. Maybe I can just let this all continue–continue being whatever I’ve become around him.
My breath catches when his palm finds my waist, and he pulls me closer, his other hand in mine–warm and inviting–like everything about him.
“Forget the birds,” he demands. “With all my free time, I’ve invented a special bird armor that will protect your precious fowl.”
I laugh, my mind empty of all worries. I rest my forehead on his chest near his shoulder when he starts swaying; the music surrounding us. Griffin presses his cheek against my hair, his grip tightening infinitesimally.
“Go on another adventure with me, Ellis,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to be strangers again.”
Whoa.
I look up at him, lips parted, face warm. I know he didn’t mean to, but the words settled over me, prompting a flutter in my stomach–like a million dragonflies taking flight over a gentle pond in the country.
