Page 50 of Playful Kris

“I don’t do girlfriends, Mom.” I smile, avoiding making eye contact with Kam. “You know that.”

My mom’s face falls, and her eyes slowly drift to Kameron before coming back to me.

“Kris,” my mom hisses, the same way she used to attempt to scold me as a child. Except the difference now is that she can’t. Nor can she make me feel bad, I’m not ten anymore.

“What?” A switch flips inside, and I hate it. I know I’m going to regret the words out of my mouth before I even say them. Knowing that they’re going to hurt Kameron’s feelings. “Kam knows the score, Mom. She’s just my date for the wedding, nothing more.”

I risk a glance at Kameron, and nearly regret it when I see the hurt in her eyes. She shuts down, and I’m waiting for her to decide to leave me standing in this room full of people and dealing with the wedding on my own. But instead, she fakes a smile and straightens her back a little.

Shit.

22

KAMERON

This dick.

After everything…

“Yes.” I smile sweetly at his mom, who he’s not even bothered introducing me to still. “I’m not interested in going back down that road with your son.” I glance over at him. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to grab myself a drink.”

I let my smile drop right off my face when I stare him in the eyes and step past him. Screw him. If he thinks he can act that way, then I don’t give a damn about running interference between him and his parents.

He’s free range now.

Sucks to suck, bud.

I order my drink, thank the nice man, and turn to lean against the edge of the bar as I watch from across the room as Kris has to continue speaking with his mother. And by the way her arms are moving, and how poor Brian looks so uncomfortable while Kris stares at the floor, I’m assuming he’s getting his ass chewed right now.

And should.

I sip my glass of red wine, and move my attention around the room. The floor to ceiling windows overlook the patio with an incredible view of the mountains surrounding us.

If I ever get married, Gatlinburg is definitely going to be one of my contenders. Everything about it is breathtaking.

Small tables are set up around the room with what looks like placeholders sitting on the plates. Curiosity gets the best of me, so naturally I begin walking around trying to find our spot.

It takes me a bit, but I finally find my name and pull my seat out to sit.

“Allow me,” a deep voice says from beside me.

Davidson.

Before I can protest, I’m practically pushed down in my seat and it’s moving toward the table with him throwing himself in the empty one next to me.

“Thank you,” I fake a smile, trying to be polite.

“Having a good time?” he asks, leaning toward me.

“I haven’t been here long,” I point out, which he should know, he watched me walk in.

“Right.” He leans further into me, and if I move any further away I’ll be on the floor.

“You like red wine?” His eyes slowly glance at the glass in my hand before bouncing back to my eyes. The entire moment is awkward and uncomfortable.

“It’s not my favorite, but the menu is limited tonight.” I’m not really a wine-o, but salt a rim of a margarita glass and it’s on.

He laughs. So loud that a few heads turn in our directions, and I just know I’m turning redder than a ripe tomato.

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