Page 63 of False Start
And what frustrated me almost as much as that fact was that I’d thought of Kyle in the process.
My cheeks heated as I worked on getting ready, the memory of my fantasy still bright behind my eyelids. I’d wondered what it would have felt like if that kiss we’d faked earlier had lingered. I’d imagined what could have happened if when he jokingly pinned me on the bed, he hadn’t just laughed it off and left me to nap.
What if he would have stayed, pressing into me, his thigh gliding between mine.
What if he would have noted how faint my breath was, if he would have called me out on it.
What if he would have kissed me again — without anyone to perform for?
The insistent ache between my legs that I hadn’t been able to take care of in the bath flared to life once more, and I cursed against it, focusing on the task at hand.
I took my time with my hair and makeup — as if that would somehow suddenly make me good at doing either. I had only a very basic knowledge that I picked up mostly from watching YouTube videos of teenagers.
My hair wouldn’t curl, so I just straightened it, and in the end, my makeup was no more than moisturizer, concealer, a brush of shadow over my eyebrows and some mascara. I added a bit of lip gloss that I was fairly certain was four years old to finish the look.
I got dressed in one of the few dresses I owned, a very simple black dress my mom had purchased me as a gift for Christmas last year, and then sat on the edge of the bed to strap into my heels.
I was doing just that when Kyle rounded out of the bathroom, his eyes on where he was fastening a button around the wrist of his gray-blue button-down shirt.
My hands stilled where I was buckling my shoe, eyes scanning him from head to toe.
His hair was still a bit damp from the shower but styled with just the right amount of mousse. He had that swoop going, the one that reminded me of the boy I used to know. His tan skin and bright blue eyes blazed against the color of his shirt, and the way the cream slacks he’d paired with it hung off his hips made it impossible for my gaze not to snag there.
Kyle looked up, and I snapped my attention back to my heel, finishing the clasp before I stood and grabbed my clutch.
When I dragged my gaze to Kyle again, he was staring at me with his lips parted.
I tried not to flush at the sight of his eyes on me, at the way his Adam’s apple bobbed and the muscle in his jaw ticced. He didn’t rush his gaze after I caught him staring, either. He took his time like he had nothing to be ashamed of, letting his eyes wander over every inch of me.
His eyes finally found mine, and he arched a brow on a whistle.
“Damn, Mads.”
The words were almost a whisper, they were so low, and they made goosebumps parade across my skin.
We were silent in the elevator on the way down to the lobby, Kyle checking the time on his watch. We also stood three feet from each other.
But the moment we hit the lower floor, Kyle looked at me, extending his arm with a crooked grin. “Let’s give them something to talk about.”
I blushed, looping my arm through his and letting him guide me into the lobby.
We didn’t make it two steps before Giana grabbed me by my free arm and tugged hard enough to turn all three of us in the opposite direction.
“This way!”
She dragged us with enough force that we didn’t even get the chance to argue or ask what was going on. Instead, Kyle and I shared curious looks before trying our best to keep up.
Clay jogged up behind us a moment later, looking over his shoulder before he grabbed Giana’s hand protectively.
“Cops are here handling it, and hotel security has the front under control. We should be good this way.”
“What’s going on?” Kyle asked as we wove through some doors that I was fairly certain guests weren’t supposed to access.
“Media got wind of the wedding,” Giana grumbled.
My heart stopped in my chest, and I flicked my eyes up to Kyle, who pressed his lips together in a flat line.
The media.
