Page 73 of Bottle Shock
She disappears into the bathroom with her garment bag, leaving me with nothing but my inappropriate thoughts.
I hang up my suit and stare at my reflection in the mirror over the dresser—at the tie I haven’t put on yet, the faint lines at the corners of my eyes, the look of a man who is in way over his head.
After I’m dressed and finishing up the knot in my tie, the bathroom door swings open, revealing Scottie at the threshold.
The moment my eyes land on her, I forget how to breathe.
Scottie steps out in the white satin dress she’d sent me a picture of. She looked beautiful in it then, but in person, it’s something else entirely. The photo didn’t do her justice.
It hits mid-thigh—sleeveless, high neckline—simple but perfect. Her hair is in soft waves, and there’s a pink glow on her cheekbones that catches the light.
“Can you zip me?” she asks, holding the back of the dress together.
“Yeah,” I manage.
I cross the space between us.
She lets go of the dress, exposing her back. My eyes fixate on the lace band of her bra, so dainty and delicate it wouldn’t take much to tear it off her.
Shaking my head, I try to concentrate.
She gathers her hair, holding it up and away from the zipper. My hands hover for a second before I touch her—skin warm beneath my fingers as I slide the zipper up, slow and careful, fearful that if I move too fast, she might step away before I’m ready.
She exhales, the sound strangled and shaky. I’m close enough to smell her perfume—an addicting sweet citrus.
“There,” I say, my voice lower than I mean for it to be.
When I look up, she’s watching me in the mirror. Her expression is unreadable, but there’s an intensity in her eyes that pins me where I stand.
“Thanks,” she says quietly.
I nod, forcing myself to step back before I do something stupid—like undo the zipper and let her dress fall to the floor.
She sits on the edge of the bed to slip on her heels. “Okay,” she says, “so how exactly does this work? We walk in and say we want to get married?”
“Basically. We’ve already got the paperwork started, so it’s just signatures and vows now.”
“Right.” She flattens the fabric over her thighs. Her brows pinch, a line of worry settling between them.
“What’s wrong?”
She exhales through a small, worried smile. “I just realized we’re going to have to kiss, aren’t we?”
“Yeah.” I tug on my tie, the tightness of it suffocating—as if the thought of kissing her hadn’t already been at the forefront of my mind.
“We can’t go in there unprepared. Everyone in that courthouse has to believe this is real. If we’re going to pull it off, we need to at least rehearse it once.”
“Like right now? Just us two? Alone? Isn’t that against your rules?”
She blinks, eyebrows lifting. “Every good performance must be rehearsed. This wouldn’t be for our enjoyment—it’s for practice. So we look natural and not like strangers who’ve never touched and are getting married.”
I blow air through my nose. “It’s just—I really don’t think it’s necessary.”
“Gavin,” she says, amused, “it’s a kiss. We’ve kissed before. It’s not a big deal.”
But it is a big deal. We’ve never kissed alone. And God, do I want to kiss her—take those bee-stung lips and press them to mine, slip my tongue in and coax out every sexy little sound she doesn’t realize she makes. Real or fake, I’ll take whatever she’s willing to give, even if it’s under the pretense of practice.
“Maybe just once,” I relent. “To really sell it.”
