The Paid Bridesmaid(9)

“Done,” I told her as I headed to the outskirts of the party, not wanting anyone to overhear. I’d lost track of Camden once; I didn’t need it to happen again. One of the camera crew had pointed his camera at me, and I put my hand up in front of my face so they’d stop filming me.

“How do I find it again?” she asked. I had to walk her through how to put me on speaker and then scroll to her messages to find the photo.

“Well, he’s handsome!” she declared. “I approve.”

Just what I’m living for. Your approval of a relationship that’s not happening. I smiled, even though she couldn’t see me. I’d read once that your tone changed when you smiled. “It was so great catching up with you but I need to go and get something for the bride to eat.”

“It feels like you’re trying to get off the phone with me.”

I am, I wanted to say, trying to ignore the hurt in her voice. It was a lot of pressure being a long-waited-for child. I headed to the dessert table, piled a plate with chocolate-covered strawberries, and then brought it to Sadie. There. Not a lie.

She smiled up at me, saw I was on my phone, and said softly, “Come find me later. There’s something I need to tell you.”

I nodded to show that I’d heard, and was about to ask her what was going on when the director came over, wanting to set up some shots of Dan and Sadie playing the games.

So instead I told my mother, “I really do need to get back to this party.”

“Are you taking fish oil? You need those omega-3s for fertility. And you should probably be taking folic acid, too. Just in case.”

If they gave out medals for patience, I should have been awarded the Purple Heart. “I haven’t even kissed him.”

“I have faith in you! Use your wit and beauty. Go get him!”

“Bye, Mom.” I hung up my phone. That woman had no boundaries whatsoever. I looked at my calendar and realized it was the night for my dad’s weekly poker game with his buddies. He was usually the voice of semi-reason and had the effect of helping to dial back most of my mom’s obsessiveness.

I went back to my table and saw Camden seated there, shuffling the deck of cards.

“What are you doing?” I asked. He set the cards back in their spot on the board.

“Nothing.” He gave me a sheepish look and I sat down next to him, not able to hide my grin. I grabbed the cards and started tabbing through them. Every other one was a large number.

“You’re cheating,” I said. This should have upset me, but it tickled me. That he was so desperate to beat me that he’d resort to cheating. And doing it so openly and badly was just icing on the cake.

“I’m not cheating,” he responded in a tone that was both indignant and teasing. “I’m just . . . giving myself a strategic advantage.”

“You were literally stacking the deck in your favor. Do you know what this means? It means you know I’m better at this game than you. I don’t even need to actually win at this point because I’ve already beaten you.”

He grinned at me, his green eyes dancing with delight. That surprised me. I’d dated a guy in college who was competitive, too, but in an ugly way. If I’d accused him of cheating, he would have thrown the cards to cover up what he’d done or gotten up and sulked for two hours while I tried to make things better. I’d told myself that I’d never date another competitive guy again, but I appreciated that Camden was willing to own his competitive streak and somehow managed to make his cheating seem playful. That he seemed to thoroughly enjoy that I challenged him. I probably shouldn’t have thought that was cute, but I did.

I could date a guy like him.

No, you cannot, I told whatever inside me had come to that conclusion.

It was hard to remember that as he leaned in toward me, and I got a whiff of that delicious clean smell. I swallowed hard as he said flirtatiously, “You caught me. I hate to lose. But the game’s not over. Nobody’s beaten anyone yet.”

“Semantics,” I replied, with a wave of my hand, willing him to not come any closer. “Potato, tomato.”

He looked amused. “What? That’s not how the saying goes.”

“It should be because do you know anyone who says poe-tah-toe? No. Everyone I’ve ever met pronounces it exactly the same. So, potato, tomato has always made more sense to me. Two different items that sound alike.”

“You surprise me. You seem like the type to be a stickler for saying things correctly. I like that.”

I shrugged, inwardly delighted at the idea that he liked something about me.

“It’s the third time tonight you surprised me. The first was when you brought Sadie some food. It’s very cool of you to look after her that way.”

“It’s my job.” The words fell out of my mouth before I could stop them, as I felt all warm and fuzzy inside that he’d been paying attention to me. I pressed my lips together. What was it about this man that made my tongue so loose? I was usually the best at hiding this stuff and watching my words and it was like he exuded some kind of truth serum that made me want to tell him things. Things I wasn’t legally allowed to tell him. “As her maid of honor. It’s my job to look after her.”

“You did that earlier today, too. It made me think you were a kind person.”