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Marley burst out laughing. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“I mean it. You’re funny, down to earth, and seem to care about other people. So what in the heck do you see in my sister?”
As good of a liar as she was, Marley couldn’t come up with a single reason. Luckily, they were interrupted by Sonora yelling at them to get the lead out.
This time when she found herself in Luke’s arms, she tried to just relax and pretend he was any other guy. Of course, the minute he took her hand, the tingles racing up her arm made a liar out of her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing, why?”
“Because you’ve got a little wrinkle in the middle of your brow, as if you’re thinking too hard.”
Marley found herself trying to unwrinkle her forehead, and when Luke laughed, she grinned sheepishly. “Well, that’s an embarrassing tell.”
“Actually, I think it’s pretty cute.”
“Wrinkles are cute?”
“When they’re on you, yeah.”
A ball of warm pleasure settled in the pit of her stomach and spread out through her body. Until she remembered she wasn’t supposed to like Luke.
“You shouldn’t say things like that to me,” she said as he spun her around.
“One thing you’re going to find out about me over the next seven weeks is I’m a really honest guy, and I don’t hold back. Even when I should.”
Marley giggled a little. “Even with Sonora?”
“Fine, I hold back a lot with her, but only for Brent’s sake.”
“So, you do have restraint. You could stop being inappropriate.” He dipped her back over his arm and she added, “You just choose not to.”
He pulled her back onto her feet, and leaned down to press his mouth against her ear as the song ended.
“Believe me, being this close and not kissing you is taking all the restraint I have left.”
And with that, he let her go and walked away, even when Sonora shouted at him to come back.
Well, that was a bit dramatic.
Chapter 9
Later that night, Marley was convinced if she had to do the chicken dance one more time in her life, she was going to start clucking. This was her thirty-fourth wedding in seven years, and although the people, the menu, and maybe even the floral arrangements might change, there were three things you could count on.
Someone was going to get drunk and piss off the bride.
At least three guests were going to cry.
And the DJ was going to play the damn chicken dance.
The song ended and Sarah Bailey-Newman, the bride at this particular shindig, wrapped her arms around Marley and hung on her like a noose. Sarah was a nice girl, the daughter of a highly religious and conservative Christian movie producer.
And obviously, she’d kicked back one too many champagnes, the only alcohol they’d been allowed to serve.
“I like you soooo much! You did such a good job and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Marley wrapped her arm around the other woman’s waist and checked the room for her parents or the groom. The last thing she wanted was for Sarah’s parents or her equally stiff groom to notice her current condition.
