Page 68 of Playing for Keeps
Leaning forward, he speaks to the driver.
“The Velvet Club, please.”
“Of course, sir,” the driver replies, pulling away from the Fairmont.
I glance over just as Wyatt loosens his bow tie and pops the top button of his shirt. My gaze goes to the bit of sun-kissed skin now exposed, and I quickly look away, reminding myself to get a grip. I need to get it together before I say or do something stupid. No more champagne tonight; that’s clearly messing with my head.
“That’s better,” he says, tossing the bow tie onto the seat between us. “I can finally breathe.”
“What’s The Velvet Club?” I ask, hoping he hasn’t noticed how weirdly I’m acting.
“It’s a club on the edge of the city,” he says, turning toward me. “You like to dance, right?”
“Iloveto dance,” I say, unable to hide my excitement.
He laughs at my reaction. “Good.”
I raise an eyebrow and hold his gaze. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen youdance, though. You are going to dance with me, right?”
He smiles slowly. “Yes, Ivy. I’m going to dance with you.”
Before I can respond, my phone chimes from my purse. I reach inside, pulling it out and smiling when I see a message from Ash. But when I unlock the screen and read it, my smile fades.
Ash:WTF!
“Everything okay?” Wyatt asks.
“It’s Ash,” I say, turning the phone to show him her message. Just then, another one comes through.
“I guess that explains the ‘what the fuck,’” Wyatt says with a quiet laugh.
I turn the phone back around and stare at the image she’s sent. It’s of Wyatt and me outside the Fairmont. His arm is around my waist, and we’re looking at each other like nothing else exists. The caption beneath it reads:
"Arizona Cardinals linebacker, Wyatt Brookes, finds love with childhood friend, Ivy James."
“We look pretty convincing,” I say, still caught in the moment the picture captures.
Wyatt moves closer, his shoulder brushing mine as he glances at the photo again.
“Yeah, we really do,” he says, his voice low. “Ash must be freaking out. I’m surprised she hasn’t called yet.”
I glance toward the front of the car, suddenly aware that the driver can probably hear everything. Lowering my voice, I lean in closer to Wyatt.
“I don’t know why she’s freaking out. I told her this morning we were pretending,” I tell him.
“You did?” he asks, surprised, his face barely an inch from mine.
I meet his eyes. “Is that okay?”
“Of course. People were bound to find out eventually. I guess we’ve got some explaining to do once we’re back in Hope Creek.”
“Yeah… my parents are going to be confused. They’re not big on social media, though, so hopefully I can tell them before they see anything.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Damn, I didn’t even think about your parents. I’ll come with you to explain if you want.”
“You don’t have to–”
“I want to.”
