Page 58 of Bound To Be Mine

I looked at him with a “see” expression. He shook his head, still not pleased, but at least he wasn’t scowling.

The carriage rolled on. I didn’t remember my first carriage ride and decided to enjoy my second. The seat wasn’t exactly spacious. I was already thigh to thigh with Briggs. I leaned into him just a little. He didn’t move away.

Gary was saying something about a bachelorette party he’d taken out last weekend. I was barely listening. I was very aware of the fact Briggs’s shoulder was solid. His chest was hard. And his body was very warm. I also realized being squished up against my fake husband was not a terrible place to be.

“Put your arm around your wife,” I said. “I’m chilly.”

A pause. I felt him look down at the top of my head.

“You’re not chilly,” he said. “It’s eighty-two degrees.”

“It feels colder with the breeze.”

Another pause, longer this time.

Then his arm came around my shoulders.

Oh my.

I had not fully thought through the implications of asking for that. I’d meant it practically. I’d meant it as part of the bit. We were retracing our steps. Pretending to be newlyweds in a carriage. We were absolutely selling it. Unfortunately, we were selling it too hard.

I kept my face neutral. I was a professional. It was all about putting on a show like a good little actress.

“Better?” he asked in a husky voice.

“Much,” I said. Very casual. Totally fine.

Gary glanced back at us and smiled.

“Did you pick us up in the same spot?” Briggs asked Gary.

“No, no. You were just coming onto the Strip. By the Linq. You said you had just been at Dirty Shirley’s. I know that place very well. And the bartender is not stingy. No weak pours there.”

“That explains the blackout,” I said.

“I’m guessing the drunker you are, the funnier the karaoke gets,” Briggs said with disgust. “Mean trick.”

“But on a positive note, it means everyone else in there was just as drunk and doesn’t remember.”

“They took videos and posted them,” Briggs retorted. “Now everyone remembers a story they weren’t actually there for. Except us.”

“Good point.”

“Where did you drop us off?” Briggs asked. He shifted his arm around my shoulders, his hand dropping to rest on my upper arm. I told myself not to flinch at the contact, but it was impossible. “That night. Do you remember?”

“New York New York,” Gary said. “You wanted to ride the roller coaster.”

Briggs stared at the back of his head. “We were in a horse-drawn carriage at—what time was it?”

“Oh, pushing eleven.”

“We were in a horse-drawn carriage at eleven o’clock at night and we wanted to get off and ride a roller coaster.”

“Correct.”

“Whose idea was that?”

Gary tilted his head. “Hers.”