The Chemistry of Love(43)

I was a victim of my own biochemistry, and my hormones were trying very hard to stage a coup against my brain.

Catalina came over with the drinks. She handed me one, looked around to find Marco, and then apparently made an executive decision to keep his drink for herself. She squeezed onto the window seat next to me, her legs pressing against mine.

“First, Anna, are you ducking kidding me? Why didn’t you tell me how tall he is?”

It was a fair question. It seemed like the first thing I should have mentioned—I always noticed how tall people were. I wondered if people of average height did the same thing.

Then again, maybe there was a reason I hadn’t. Because I didn’t want to think of Marco as a viable romantic interest. This was an arrangement, nothing more.

I didn’t want it to be more. I wanted Craig.

“How tall do you think he is?” she went on, oblivious to my internal train of thought. “Six four? Six five?”

“Easily.”

“I’d let him put me in his pocket,” she said with a sigh.

“You might actually fit.” I took a long drink and then spit it back into the cup when I realized it was just straight vodka. I did not need to be drunk tonight and knew it would take very little to get me there.

“Why are his shoulders so broad? How does he fit through doorways? Does he have to turn sideways?” she asked. “How many organs do you think he’s carrying around in that massive chest? Three hearts? Two stomachs? And why is he so strong looking?”

“He does have more muscles in his left arm than I have in my entire body,” I agreed with her.

“How am I supposed to feed a man that size? All I have are some chips and a vegetable tray. What does someone like him eat? Two cows?”

“So far he’s eaten a regular amount. Nobody had to butcher extra animals for him,” I said.

“If you didn’t already like him, I would take that man down with all due disrespect.”

A flash of jealousy made it hard to breathe for a second. “I don’t like him.”

She waved her hand. “Oh, you do. You’ve just convinced yourself that you’re in love with that anthropomorphic bran muffin Craig.” Her eyes widened, and she held her cup up. “Sorry. I’m a little tipsy. I didn’t mean that.”

I was pretty sure she did.

She continued. “It’s just that Marco is will-cheat-on-you hot. He should be inducted into the Hall of Fine. If I had a butt like his, I would walk backward into every room.” She let out a big breath as she finished listing all the ways that he was hot. “I don’t know how you’re supposed to resist that.”

I didn’t tell her that I’d been sitting in this nook worrying about the very same thing. “Shouldn’t you be telling me to stay clear of him, then?”

“I’d never deprive you of the experience,” she said. “Hugging him is like hugging a sexy statue. Have you hugged him?”

“No.”

Her eyes got big. “That is bad.” She reached into her back pocket and pulled out her phone. She messed with the screen for a moment and then handed it to me. It was a movie clip. I recognized it as being from The Proposal.

“Such a great movie,” I said. “They don’t really make them like this anymore.”

“That’s not the important part. Watch this scene.”

It was the one where the enthusiastic grandmother had the main couple, who were pretending to date, kiss under mistletoe.

“Do you see that?” Catalina asked. “The awkwardness? The secondhand embarrassment you get from watching two people who’ve never kissed before? If you really want Craig to believe that you’re together, he’ll never believe it if you kiss Marco like this.”

To be fair, the kiss did get better when the two leads both realized that they were enjoying it, but that was beside the point. Catalina and Marco were both right about Marco and me spending time together.

Touching.

Possibly kissing.

My face flushed at the thought.

“You can’t be uncomfortable with each other,” she said. “You have to hug him and hold his hand and do other stuff,” she instructed me. “Definitely kiss the man before some rogue mistletoe or nefarious matchmaker exposes you. If you’re going to commit to your lie, you might as well be all in.”

“And just how far do you think I should take this?”

She took another drink and then giggled at whatever she was imagining. “I mean, if it were me, I’d run that ball all the way into the end zone.”

I frowned at her. “You know I don’t do sports references.”

“You do what you feel comfortable with. But you can’t act like strangers.”

“He said the same thing earlier.”

“See? I knew I liked him already. He really is great. You’re living the romantic-comedy dream, my friend.”

Except there was nothing remotely romantic happening, and the only comedy so far had been me awkwardly embarrassing myself at every turn.

She finished off her drink and handed me the empty cup. “I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I stuck her plastic cup under my own and then set both down on a nearby end table.

Marco sat with the group at the dining room table, and the entire scene happening in front of me was surprising. I had thought he would feel uncomfortable at the party. He was so different than everyone else around him, but he was sitting in their midst, and whatever he was saying, he had the rest of them literally sitting on the edge of their seats. If Sanjit scooted forward any farther, he was going to fall on the floor.