He regards me with a curious gaze, but his features relax and he seems to let the issue go. “So, what’s so bad aboutMy Best Friend’s Weddingto have made it on your cinematic shite list? Do you have issues with weddings or are you just anti-Julia Roberts?”
“You’ve never seen the movie, have you?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“It’s a pseudo rom com.” I stare down at my clenched hands, feeling as if I’m telling some sort of warped autobiography. “You know, the type that pulls the rug out from under you at the last minute? Those types are supposed to end all happy and make you believe in the stupid power of karma and love, right?”
“I suppose so.”
“Well, there’s this scene on a boat, the day before the guy Julia Roberts loves is supposed to marry someone else. It’s the perfect setup for her to tell him not to do it because she loves him and you know he loves her. I mean, he even singsThe Way You Look Tonightto her. How many clues does she need, right? If a guy sings that song to you, there’s no way you can refuse.”
“Good to know.” Niall frowned. “Let me guess, she doesn’t tell him?”
“Fuck no,” I blurt out with an impatient huff. “He even begs her—opens the door wide and tells her that if she loves him, to scream that shit out loud for once in her miserable life.”
“Well, it’s a rom com. Don’t they end up together anyway?”
“No. That’s why it’s the shittiest rom com ever made. That douchebag marries the stick in the mud and she loses everything.” I slice a hand through the air. “Game over.”
He drapes a hand across my thigh. “Well, considering you have a ring on your finger right now, things don’t seem to be working out too badly for you.”
A smooth talker…my will to stay platonic…and my dignity walk into a bar…
There’s no punchline here. All three walked in and only one is walking out. Any guesses on which one makes it home?
“Shots!” I call out to wherever the hell Molly disappeared to. “More shots!”
As if summoned by the word, Molly suddenly appears—you guessed it—right by Niall’s side with one hand on her hip and the other draped over his shoulder. If looks could kill, the bitch would be in a box with a concrete slab on top of her botoxed face.
“How many?” she asks, tossing a smile Niall’s way.
“Four,” I answer before he does, and Molly shoots me a look as if she just drank a pail of piss before swinging her overinflated ass back to the bar.
He blinks at me. “Four?”
I drum my fingers on the table, trying not to flinch at the thought of downing one, let alone two more of those vile drinks. “Scared?”
“Laken, I backpacked across Europe and lived in New York City with a few dollars in my pocket and a camera.” He chuckles and sits back, draping his arms across the back of the booth. “I don’t know the meaning of the word.”
Men are so easily distracted it isn’t funny. Invading his personal space, I close the distance between us and press my lips against his ear, unable to hold back a smirk. “Well, Mr. Mackay, I suggest you put your drink where your mouth is and prove it.”
Before I can pull away, he grabs ahold of my wrist and shifts so that our mouths are inches apart. “Play your cards right, and I’ll put it somewhere else.”
This just got interesting.
“Do you always blatantly ask for sex?”
“Aye.” His gaze drops to my lips, and I shudder. “Only from women whose middle name is Paige.”
I’m so fucked.
When did I lose the upper hand, and why am I dying for him to just lean in and kiss me senseless? If I just brush forward, our lips will touch. Then the ball will be in his court, right? Hell no. This is not the time to lose focus and let sexual infatuation cloud my judgment. Niall Mackay holds my future in his hand, and I can’t let some stupid attraction get in the way.
I pull away. “I think you’re drunk.”
“I think you’re changing the subject, Miss Cavanaugh.” Reaching for the shots Molly put on the table during our staredown, Niall places shot glass in front of me and raises his own in the air, giving me a wolfish wink. “To what comes later.”
Yeah. I’m definitely fucked.
