Above all else,thisis why I’m here: to convince this woman that Ryan and I are a thing. I need to sell it.

Ryan and Kevin exchange a quick, impersonal nod.

“Congratulations to you both,” Ryan says without a smile.

“Thank you so much!” Blair gushes.

“This is such a beautiful wedding,” I say, laying it on thick. “I hope ours will be even half this amazing.”

Blair’s smile falters, her face twisting in confusion. “Oh, are you guys…?”

“Oh, no,” I laugh, “at least not right now, but definitely someday. Right, honey?”’

When I look over at Ryan, our faces are mere inches apart. I’m smiling widely, but Ryan’s expression is pure terror. Exactly what I was going for.

“Um, yeah, maybe someday,” he finally says.

“But today isn’t about us,” I say, “We’re just happy to be here to celebrate your big day.”

Blair forces a polite smile. “Well, we’re happy you came.” Her eyes linger on Ryan for a second and I feel a pang of something that feels a lot like jealousy. “We better go mingle. Enjoy your night!”

Before she yanks Kevin away, he takes one last look at my breasts. I give him a quick, annoyed glare and turn my attention back to Ryan.

His lips are close to my ear. He has a firm hold on my waist, keeping me close as he whispers, “Are we getting fake married now?”

“No, I just gave you the perfect out. In a few weeks, you can tell them that things were moving too fast, and you had to end things with me. No one will question it after that.”

“Clever girl,” he smiles against my ear.

“Well, it was the look on your face that really sold it. Come on, I really need that drink now.”

Two vodka tonics later, I’m dancing with Ryan to “Uptown Funk.” He’s an irritatingly decent dancer. He doesn’t move a lot, but he is perfectly in tune with every step I take and every beat the DJ throws at us. We stay a respectable distance apart – just an inch or so to prevent any accidental collisions of body parts.

“You know, I was really looking forward to making fun of your dance moves, but you’re not giving me much to work with,” I say.

Ryan laughs and spins me around. The alcohol whirls around in my head, throwing me slightly off balance. I land against Ryan’s chest. It’s not a very soft place to break a fall. Suddenly, I have a weird urge to run my hands over his chest. That’s definitely the alcohol talking. The alcohol and my never-ending dry spell. I think I might legally qualify as a nun at this point.

I pull my hands back as Ryan steadies me.

When a slow song starts, Ryan and I barely even do the junior high pause of hesitation. His hand finds my waist and pulls me in. I let my head fall to his shoulder, which feels amazing in my buzzed state, like I’m no longer responsible for its weight or its weird thoughts about Ryan’s chest. I smell his cologne, faint but nice on his collar. I’ve noticed he doesn’t wear it at work, but sometimes wears it out to the bar on Friday nights. It must be his lady-catching scent.

I could fall asleep right here.

For the first time since we hit the dance floor, I’m pressed against Ryan in earnest, letting him catch my weight as we rock back and forth.

“You getting tired?” Ryan mutters near my ear.

“Yeah, sorry,” I say, pulling my head up off his shoulder, “alcohol usually puts me to sleep.”

“I thought alcohol usually made you hit on guys in front of their ex-girlfriends.”

“Hey, we had a deal. No more mentioning that. Ever.”

“Aftertonight. I had to get one more in before the night’s over,” he says with a little laugh. His chest heaves lightly against mine.

I try my best to shoot him an incredulous glare, but my eyes are too heavy with vodka tonics and sleepiness to pull it off.

“Do you want to go back to the room?” he asks.