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I stare at him, struck.
“And,” he goes on, thinks it over for a second, then smiles at me and says, “I think I still am.”
“Skylar …”
He lingers for a moment, as if waiting for some kind of magic solution to drop on top of our heads like a chandelier.
The song ends. Like everything does.
Then a beat kicks in. Shouts of excitement ring out over the room, and almost at once, the whole floor is covered in dancing bodies again that engulf us on all sides.
All of the merriment around us suddenly feels so out of place, like it doesn’t belong.
I bring my mouth close to his ear. “I’ve got an idea. Follow me.”
Skylar gives me a half-lidded look. “Your ideas are never good news.”
15
I take him by the hand and drag him off the dance floor. I catch sight of Connor and Alan kissing at our table in the back, and even in their kiss, Connor spots me, pulls away from him, then watches me with a hopeful smile on his face. Alan, coming out of the daze their kiss inspired, glances over at me too, then gives me a fist pump in the air, as if to cheer on a teammate.
We push through the side doors of the rented ballroom and spill into the hall of the fancy hotel we’re in. “Brett …” Sky keeps protesting as I, ever so stubborn and riding my high, continue to take him off. “You’re not dragging me into one of these bathrooms to blow me or something, are you?” I take him through a large, opened service door and down a narrow hall lined with food carts. “Uh, Brett, we’re not supposed to be down here.”
We push through the swinging doors of a dim kitchen. In the back, two uniformed women and an older gentleman are washing dishes and chatting softly to each other. It’s at one of the preparation tables by the wall that I take Skylar. I yank open one of the fridges, pull out a tray, and set it on the table in front of us.
The entire tray is full of big, plump chocolate-dipped strawberries.
He eyes me suspiciously. “How’d you know these are here? You friends with a chef or two who work here?”
“Does it matter?” I take one strawberry by its stem and bring it to Skylar’s lips. He closes his eyes and takes a bite. The chocolate cracks like dark ice, and the pleasure rushes over his face. “Heaven?”
He chews. Try as he might, it’s impossible to suppress the expression of sheer delight on his face. “This might be the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.”
“That’s sad,” I tell him, “because you deserve this and ten times more, every day.”
He lets me feed him one strawberry at a time, not bothering to even pick one up himself. I fucking love every second of it. Bringing each one to his full lips—and watching him savor them a bite at a time—quickly becomes erotic for me.
“You’re so damned sexy.”
He comes out of his daze, his eyes finding mine through a chocolaty haze of pleasure. “Me?” he asks between bites.
I chuckle, then toss aside another stem. I hop onto the table, then wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him up against me and trapping him between my legs. He laughs, but is quickly silenced as I bring my lips to his.
The corner where the kitchen workers are has gone quiet. I suspect they’ve caught notice of us.
I taste chocolate and strawberry as I kiss him. I must kiss him so long, I feel like I’ve just eaten a whole platter myself. I guess I kinda did, earlier.
I pull away and look into his drunken eyes. “It is a very strong possibility.”
Skylar lifts his eyebrows. “Of what?”
“That I’ve been in love with you, too. All this time. Ever since the frat days.”
He sighs. “You’re just ‘in the moment’, Brett.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re at a wedding. You’re feeling romantic. The mood is set. Our feelings are up in the clouds. When you wake up tomorrow, you’ll realize what’s best for both of us.”
I frown at him. Is he trying to kick me in the balls again with his words? “I just fed you half a tray of your favorite thing in the world. Literally fed you. If that isn’t a physical expression of my love for you, bro, I don’t know what is.”
“Let’s just be adults about this, alright? Or do I have to keep reminding you that I leave tomorrow, and that we both know what’s going to happen?”
“We don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“I’ll tell you, then. I go back to my life. You go back to yours … and I know what your life needs. Big parties. Loads of alcohol. Random men in and out of your bed. Window-shopping at the gym with your landlord. Long and lazy shifts at the bookstore. Maybe a sex toy or two from that back section of your store to fill your spare time …” He peers down at my chest, then frowns. “You’ve got chocolate on your lapel.”
