My Big Fat Fake Wedding - Lauren Landish Page 0,49

pecs of steel. Nope, didn’t think of that at all. “Tell your mother this isn’t some shotgun wedding. We haven’t even had a chance to discuss babies yet, much less be pregnant.”

Courtney had leaned forward, both elbows on the table at that little tidbit. I had been able to read the ‘gotcha’ loud and clear in her eyes, the delight dancing there and making me squirm in my seat like a caffeinated preschooler. Ross had cupped the back of my neck firmly, forcing me still, and my instinct was to shake him off. But I couldn’t without it looking bad to his family, and oddly, his grip had settled me.

“So you haven’t discussed babies, but you are suddenly so in love that you’re getting married in two weeks? That’s the story you’re going with?” Court said.

And things had devolved from there. They smelled blood in the water, and like sharks, Kimberly and Courtney had started asking more questions. Ones we should’ve had answers to, but because we’re flying by the seat of our pants here, neither Ross nor I had any idea.

So that had been the number-one most awkward moment in my life so far—getting grilled by a family that I once considered a close backup to my own. But this car ride was gaining ground on that frontrunner by the second.

“So, that went to hell in a handbasket faster than a speeding bullet. Now what?” I ask.

Ross downshifts, buzzing past a slower driver on the highway. His jaw clenches again . . . once, twice, three times that muscle pops in his jaw, and I wish I could read his mind. Is he regretting this already? This is such a complicated web of lies when all he really needed was a steady plus-one for a few society page appearances to get his parents off his back. The messy factor is all me—my family, my needs, my lie.

Guilt hits me full-throttle and I turn to Ross. “If it’s too much, it’s fine. I understand if you want to back out, because that was a bloodbath. Babies and weddings and where your birthmark is?” I shake my head. “I can’t believe Courtney actually asked me that!”

Ross’s lips tilt up ever so slightly. “But you knew. How did you know the answer to that, anyway?”

I can feel the heat coloring my cheeks, so I answer back with fire to cover the embarrassing truth. “Look, it’s a brown patch the size of a half-dollar on your lower back. I saw you in swim trunks basically every summer of my life. How could I not know?” I roll my eyes and hope he believes me.

He cuts his eyes over to me, and I smile, hoping it sells that this is no big deal. His answering smirk says I failed big time. “It is just a small spot that happens to be right above my ass. If you weren’t looking at my butt, you’d probably never even notice it. So tell me, Vi . . .were you looking at my ass?”

I bite my lip and shake my head, refusing to answer, but the lady doth protest too much.

“I get it. It’s a nice ass. Can definitely bounce a quarter on it. I’ll show you sometime,” Ross offers. A tease or a promise? I’m not sure which I’m hoping for.

He didn’t answer my question, though, and as much as I’d like to keep with the distraction of his ass, I need to know. “Do you want to back out? It’s fine. I understand.”

His hand leaves the ergonomic comfort of the gear shifter to rest on my thigh. It’s broad, covering a swath of my skin, and even through the fabric of my dress, I can feel his heat. He could burn me up in a flash if I’m not careful. I’ve never had his hands on me like this, at least not sober, and because I don’t remember a lot of last night, this feels new and dangerous. So fucking stupidly dangerous.

Because this is Ross. The guy who made my life hell for so long. The guy who is still mid-prank on his family, which shows he hasn’t really grown up all that much. The guy I really want to slide my dress up and grip my thigh the way he held my neck earlier.

He licks his lips, and I wonder if he tastes like the wine he had at dinner. I’d skipped it entirely, keeping to my short-term promise of water only after last night’s