The thing is, Loren and I agreed not to kiss again after the wedding, and I want to honor that boundary. So I reach behind me for one of her hands, and move it forward in front of my face. Then slowly, tenderly, I press a kiss to the center of her palm.
She lets out a tiny gasp, and I watch through her fingers as her lips take the shape of anO. When she doesn’t pull away, I brush my mouth over her wrist, blazing a trail of whisper-soft kisses along her skin.
She tastes like sunshine and silk. My lips continue to graze her, tracing the pulse of her vein. When I finally draw back, our gazes catch.
Awareness ripples behind her eyes, like she’s sensing my true feelings.
Or maybe I’m imagining a small shift in hers?
No. That’s wishful thinking.
The singer in the song swears, once again, he’ll love this stranger forever.
Then, from somewhere behind us, a teenage girl squeals.
“Mr. Adams! Ms. Cane! What are you doing?”
Chapter Sixteen
Loren
“Pivot,” Bridger grunts, jumping back so fast I feel the cold where his hands used to be.
Sayla pitches her voice into full-on director mode, shouting, “CUT!”
But I think we’re too late.
Sophomores Kylie Roper and Megan Henderson are in the doorway to the green room, mouths open, eyes popped wide.
Dex shuts off the music. For a moment, the silence is deafening. Then Kylie giggles. “But seriously, though. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Sayla chirps. “Well, I mean, obviously something’s going on. But it’s not what you think.”
Megan glances at Kylie. “What does she think we think?”
“I have no idea.” Sayla shrugs. “But you two just interrupted us blocking out a scene. For a play. With a wedding. Obviously.”
Kylie’s gaze flicks between my dress and Bridger’s tux. “Why areteachersrehearsing a play?”
“I’m thetheaterteacher,” Sayla reminds her, shifting her weight. “And I wasn’t sure how a wedding would look on the renovated stage, so Mr. Cane and Ms. Adams agreed to help me out.”
Kylie narrows her eyes. “Don’t you mean Mr. Adams and Ms. Cane?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Actually, you?—”
“Anyway, they aren’t teachers right now,” Dex chimes in. “They’reactors.”
“That doesn’t?—”
“I wanted to film the scene to study the footage and analyze the play’s potential,” Sayla adds, waving her phone as a distraction. “But I already know this won’t work. It was just … terrible. All wrong. Zero chemistry. There’s just … nope. Ugh. Nothing. Forget it. CUT!”
I frown.
Okay, Sayla. We get it. Bridger and I aren’t a real couple. For a moment, though, I was pretty sure we both felt … something. And not just the physical reaction from our kiss last night. But a deeper connection.
Apparently, no one else sees anything between us, though.