Page 236 of Make the Play

Right here in front of everyone, he French kisses me. Full tongue, in the middle of Charlie and Jake’s backyard, under two paper streamers and a clothesline of baby laundry.

The backyard erupts, and I try to protest, I really do. But I’m also half-upside-down, slightly stunned, and I’ve officially hit the stage of fake-wedding-induced delirium where my brain has left the building.

Ofcoursehe’s doing this. Ofcoursehe’s absolutely unhinged enough to take Meadow’s fake ceremony as an opportunity to tongue me in front of all our friends and half a plate of mini quiches.

So instead I laugh right into his mouth, which only encourages him. He deepens the kiss on a low, slow groan, and I can feel the smirk when we hear someone protesting from their seat.

“Alright, enough!” Reid snaps, voice cutting through the chaos. “There arechildrenpresent.”

“I am a children!” Meadow yells back proudly. “And I said they could!”

“Ugh, my corneas would formally like to lodge a complaint,” Logan adds.

“Why, honey?” Lulu croons mockingly. “Sad we haven’t a chance to kiss afterourvows yet? ”

He turns to her, wide-eyed with shock while Lulu simply sips her mimosa with terrifying calm. Eli stands abruptly and mutters something about never coming to brunch again before stalking off toward the food table.

Chase finally lets me up, though he doesn’t let go. I wobble a little, flushed and not even pretending I didn’t love every second.

He grins like the smug little shit he is.

“You’re blushing, Mrs. Walton.”

“Notmy name.”

“Yet.”

I don’t say anything else, because I’m too busy trying not to smile like an idiot. Like someone who just got fake-married in a backyard and secretly wouldn’t mind doing it for real one day.

Once everyone’s plates are filled and they’re seated around the outdoor table, I make an excuse to head into the kitchen for a breather.

I have all of five minutes to process what the fuck just went down, when I hear his footsteps. Chase steps into the kitchen with a smile that tells me I’m going to let him get away with whatever he’s about to do.

I turn away quickly under the guise of grabbing a plate, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already behind me. I feel him over my shoulder with unbearable awareness as his hands bracket either side of my body.

“You good?” he murmurs, breath warm against the side of my neck.

“Fine.”

“You ran off after the kiss.”

“I wanted a mimosa.”

“You making it on a plate? Thought they usually came in glasses.”

I clench my jaw. “Maybe I wanted some damn peace.”

He hums, clearly amused. “You’re lying.”

“I’m ignoring you, actually.”

“You’re doing a shit job.”

His hand slides slowly up my spine. “You looked good out there.”

“It was fake,” I tut, instantly regretting it. “Meadow’s fantasy.”

“Mine, too,” he says. “And the second you started walking toward me, I couldn’t think of a single thing I wouldn’t give to make it real.”

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