“Why did you wear such tight jeans?” She gasps between peals of laughter.
“The tightness of the pants doesn’t matter. Loose-fitting ones would have been worse. There would have been an actual tent.”
That sets her off, and she starts laughing again. God, I love the sound of it. I match her laugh for laugh. I realize how crazy we must look standing in here, snorting and crying with laugher, the door locked behind us.
Suddenly, I don’t care. It feels good. It feels good to laugh, to be alive. I haven’t actually realized that in years. Haven’t been thankful. I buried myself in just about everything there was besides actual living.
When I glance down, I sigh with relief. Apparently, the body has a hard time doing two things at once because, after all that gut-busting laughter, the bulge is gone.
“If it happens again,” Sutton whispers, noticing what I’m noticing, “Then just grab me and shove me in front of you. Or sit down at a table and pull your chair up under. Either way, let me help you. I do it for a living. I’d like to think I’m fairly decent at my job.”
I can think of a few ways she could help me, and none of them are any less than R-rated. I quickly think about something else, so I don’t have the same problem again. Usually, I can control myself. I don’t know what happened back there. It’s a first for me. I think, ever. Public boners aren’t exactly a thing I have a problem with.
“You are good at your job.” I think this is the first time I’ve ever told her.
And I mean it. I can tell she knows I do because her forehead crinkles up just a little, and her lips part in surprise. She recovers fast and unlocks the door. Opening it, she turns back to me.
“Shall we? You have a sister to go and congratulate.
CHAPTER 10
Sutton
As the evening progresses, I can sympathize with Philippe. My body isn’t exactly following my commands. In fact, it’s gone completely rogue. My hormones are rioting, and I think the rest of me is just as traitorous. If I were a guy, I think I’d be sporting a pretty big hard-on too. Just saying. I’m surprised my nipples haven’t carved a hole through this dress yet. Also, just saying.
The dinner was surprisingly good, the speeches were even tolerable, and Philippe has been in a decent mood all evening. I can count the number of times I’ve seen him look truly happy, with just one hand. On one finger. Tonight.
His sister didn’t seem at all put out when we went together to talk to her. Philippe even tolerated the family photos he had to participate in, and his mom walked around with a huge smile all day. All in all, I’d count the evening as a win.
Soon, the dance starts, led by the bride and groom, then the wedding party, then Philippe dances with his mom. I enjoy watching him. He’s so gentle with his mom as he guides her around the other couples dancing so freely and effortlessly.
I do wonder what it would feel like to be the one tucked in his arms. Our table has a few open bottles of wine, and I take advantage of one of the whites. I don’t honestly really even taste it. I’m just trying to drown out the fact that my female organs have started to rule my life. Also, why am I disappointed that I’m sure Philippe will have every excuse in the book not to dance again after this. We’ve already sold the boyfriend-girlfriend thing. Anything else is just extra. I’m sure that within an hour, Philippe will make excuses about getting out of here.
“Is everything alright?” I jump at Philippe’s voice in my ear and his hand on my back. I didn’t even realize the song had ended.
“Yeah, sorry. Too much wine. I’m zoning out.”
He slides into the chair beside me. “You’ve only had two glasses that I’ve seen, and you ate the entire meal. You shouldn’t even feel it.”
“Wow. Rude.” I lift my glass. “I’ll have you know that wasting food is a terrible thing to do. It was good. I was starving. And this is technically my third glass, and I’m a lightweight, so what can I say?”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Philippe pours himself a glass of the white I was just sampling. I know for a fact that he doesn’t like wine. I’ve actually heard him complain when people gift it to him at Christmas. But I don’t comment. I just watch his lips meet the glass. Watch his throat bob as he swallows.
Is it incredibly pathetic that I’m jealous of his wine glass?
Yes. Yes, it is.
“Are you okay?”
He nods and slowly sips at his wine. He also watches me unnervingly like he’s waiting for me to add something to that. So I can’t resist.
“You’re not normally nice. This is a change…worrying about me, noticing other people around you.”
“Thanks for that. Maybe I’m different outside of work.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
Philippe leans in. We’re the only ones at the table, but he drops his voice so only I can hear him. “I’ve never tasted you at work, so I’d say that’s hard proof of how some things are quite different.”
Flustered, I grab my glass of wine and practically choke myself downing whatever’s left of the glass. I have absolutely nothing to say to that, unfortunately. Although right now would be the perfect time to shoot something snarky back at him.
“Would you like to dance?” Philippe surprises me. I think it’s a trick question, so I ignore him.
I make myself so busy by pouring another glass of wine that I nearly jump straight out of my seat when
