Everyone gasps. People laugh. I just stare open-mouthed.
The banner is impossible to miss now. Bold black lettering leaps from stark white fabric, trailing like a comet.
“Cassy, I love you. Please, for God’s sake, forgive me…”
Oh. My. God. What the actual?
I don’t move. My mouth is doing something, but I’m not sure what.
I scowl at Riley like she personally flew the damn plane.
She shrugs. “Told you you’d see.”
I want to be mad. I should be mad. But when I glance back, Blake’s still watching me. Not smug. Not cocky. Just standing there, waiting.
And something inside me, some pitiful, traitorous organ that clearly has zero respect for my boundaries, softens.
He starts walking toward me.
The crowd seems to blur. I hear people talking, but it’s all static now. All I see is him, closing the gap like it’s always been his job. The plane is already disappearing into the distance, but everyone’s still watching us.
He reaches me, and I’m still wearing a frown, but it cracks, just slightly, like my face forgot how to hold it.
He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t say a word. Just steps in and takes me with his strong hands around my waist, tugging me into him like this is where I’ve belonged all along.
His face is close. Closer. Lips almost touching.
“You asshole,” I whisper into his mouth. Then we’re kissing. It’s not sweet. It’s not delicate. It’s messy and hot and completely unfit for public consumption.
I can taste the apology in his mouth and the want and the regret and the damn and the, God, I missed you.
People are laughing and clapping.
“Way to go, Mitchell!” someone shouts.
“Be careful, don’t eat the girl…”
But we don’t hear them. Not really. Because we’re in it now.
He and I.
Riley’s voice comes from somewhere off to the side, awkward and trying not to be. “I’ll… err… leave you two to get a bit of, umm… privacy.”
We’re still kissing when Blake pulls back a little, wincing.
I blink, breathless. “What?”
“Before you say a word,” he kisses me again, slowly this time, and finishes, “I’m so, so sorry. But yes. That night in Sin City, you were a bet.”
My stomach does a small nosedive, until he adds, “But what I hadn’t bet on was falling in love with you.”
God help me.
“Damn, I want to hate you,” I mutter against his mouth and kiss him again anyway. “But I can’t.”
“Good! Let me make you dinner tonight.” He brushes his nose gently against mine. “At my place.”
I pull back just enough to get a better look at his black eyes. The right one is worse than the left. The swelling. The slight purple around his cheekbone.
