The Chemistry of Love(76)

Maybe I could make things more equal by putting some effort into this. I reached up with my hand to stroke the back of his neck with my fingers. I began to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. Soft. He nuzzled the side of my face in response, and it sent heat streaking through my veins.

“That did the trick. Craig’s heading this way,” he said.

“I can’t believe your dumb plan is working,” I told him softly, my eyes closed. I had kind of forgotten about Craig, being caught up in the chance to touch Marco.

“I’m more than just good posture and charm, you know.”

He was definitely more than that. Marco stopped dancing, pulling away from me. I felt disoriented, like I was being yanked out of a world where only Marco and I existed, swaying together on the dance floor.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I said and hoped it was true.





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


“Here comes your knight in rusting armor,” Marco muttered, and I was sure that I had misunderstood him. He must have said something else, but I was too disheveled to have properly understood.

Craig joined us, and I waited to feel something. Nervous. Excited. Curious as to whether or not he’d take the bait.

Instead . . . all I could think about was Marco as he turned to face Craig while keeping one hand around my waist.

These feelings I had caught for Marco weren’t okay. If for no other reason than I knew Marco wasn’t interested in me, and I’d had enough unrequited crushes to last me a lifetime.

And what is Craig exactly? my subconscious asked.

I tried to tell myself that was an entirely different situation. Marco thought Craig and I could work out.

He did think that, didn’t he? I couldn’t really remember if he’d ever said as much. He’d encouraged me and seemed to believe this plan could work. But that probably had less to do with me and more to do with Marco’s particular set of skills. Determination, passion, and total delusion.

Craig and Marco exchanged hellos that sounded terse to me.

I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know what to say. I’d been anticipating this moment and felt . . . empty.

“I’m going to grab you something to eat,” Marco said. “You need something with nutritional value that isn’t a Pop-Tart.” He leaned in and said, “I’ll try to find something as sweet as you taste.”

I knew that had been entirely for Craig’s benefit, but his words lit me up like a Molotov cocktail. I didn’t need a mirror—there was no doubt my lips were a dark red.

Then he moved forward, like he was going to kiss me on the cheek. Which would be a normal thing for a boyfriend to do. My heart pounded in anticipation. But he stopped short. It felt weird. I was sure it looked weird.

Craig must have noticed. We couldn’t let that happen again. Marco and I hadn’t kissed, and we were going to fall into that rom-com trap. I would have to talk to him about it.

And we would have to kiss.

For no other reason than to keep this ruse going. Because now it wasn’t just about trying to get Craig and Leighton to break up—it was about helping Marco get his dream job, too.

I wanted him to have it. In the competition for the CEO job, I had chosen a side. I wanted Marco to win.

That seemed significant.

“Be right back,” Marco said and melted into the crowd.

Leaving me alone. With Craig.

What was I supposed to say? All that studying and learning about him, and I had no idea what to say to him. I finally blurted out, “Logan Hunt.”

Craig looked very confused. “Excuse me?”

“I heard that Logan Hunt might leave the Portland Jacks. He’s the quarterback.” That was Craig’s favorite team, and I had been reading boring sports gossip for this very moment.

“They’ll throw more money at him. Plus, his wife works as an announcer at the stadium. He’ll never leave.”

Great. Now I had to know things about sports players’ personal lives? Craig took his phone out and began scrolling. This was going extraordinarily well. Again, I was at a loss for words.

You never have this problem with Marco. That was the truth. Sometimes I felt like I talked too much. I’d even apologized for it once, but Marco had told me that he found the way my brain worked fascinating.

Meanwhile, the other Mr. Kimball found me so boring that he was on his phone.

“So, it’s Emma, right?” he asked, still not making eye contact.

“Anna,” I corrected him. He’d forgotten my name again?

“I was closer that time,” he said with a smarmy grin that was like being doused in ice water as he finally glanced up at me. “You’re here with Marco?”

His question surprised me—both the amount of disbelief in his tone and the fact that all our hard work getting photographed had apparently gone to waste.

“I am. Because I’m his date. Since we’re dating.” That didn’t sound at all forced.

“Huh. I guess he doesn’t have a type.”

That felt painful. Maybe he meant it as a compliment and I was letting my own insecurities get in the way of that.

“You’ve changed some things about yourself,” he continued on. “You look great! You’re kind of like that . . . what’s that fairy tale? Oh yeah. Like the ugly duckling.”