The Christmas Pact(5)
He pointed. “There it is!”
He’d finally broken through to me. And now he was laughing, too. This guy was seriously nuts. But his little plan had worked.
“You took damn long enough,” he said as he continued to dance.
“How could I not laugh? This is utterly ridiculous!” I wiped the corners of my eyes, but still refused to partake in any dancing.
When the song ended, he reached his hand out to me. “I’d like to call a truce.”
He flashed a humble, genuine smile. As much as I was hesitant, I relented and shook his hand. After that performance, how could I not? And that smile.
“Okay, Kennedy. I’ll call a truce with you. But no more chiming in on my life decisions or the content of any emails that come your way if you get them.”
“Done.”
He was still holding my hand, the warmth of his skin sending shivers down my spine.
He nudged his head toward the bar and held up one of the two drink tickets we were each allotted. “Let me get you a drink. It’s the least I can do.”
I shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
He released my hand, only to rest his on the small of my back as he guided me through the crowd to the bar. We stopped at the counter.
“What can I get you? White Christmas martini?”
“Um, no. A vodka soda with lime, please.”
“You got it.” He winked at me and gestured to the bartender.
What kind of bizarre universe was I living in, one where I was having a drink with Kennedy Riley?
Liliana spotted me standing with Kennedy at the bar and gave me two big thumbs up. I rolled my eyes and shook my head. She kept her distance, opting to leave me alone with him.
Kennedy handed me my drink and took a sip of his beer. The music was so loud that he had to speak right into my ear. The heat of his breath, along with the recognition of his masculine scent, made my pulse race.
“So, are you heading anywhere for the holidays?” he asked as his lips brushed against my ear.
“Yeah. Tomorrow morning. I mistakenly booked the first flight out at 6AM, which I think I’m going to be regretting after drinking a few of these things. I’ll have to leave for LaGuardia by four AM.” I held up my cocktail. “How about you?”
“Nope. Stopped going home for the holidays a few years ago. Where are you from?”
“Albany.”
He paused mid-sip. “Get out. Upstate? You’re kidding, right?”
“No. Why?”
“I’m from Rochester. We’re practically neighbors.”
I smiled. Only another person from Upstate would say living eighty miles apart made us neighbors. Here in the city, people packed an overnight bag just to travel the twenty miles to Long Island.
“How come you stopped going home?” I asked.
He looked away and then chugged the rest of his beer. “Long story.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“How long are you staying for?” he asked.
“Just until after the New Year. I’m not really looking forward to it, to be honest.”
“Does this have anything to do with the Christmas letter your mother sends out?”
Ugh. I almost asked how he knew about that, but then I remembered.
“It might have a little to do with that,” I admitted. “Just my mother’s overall judgmental nature, yes.”
“You know it’s all bullshit, right? Someone can be accomplished without having to play for a symphony or whatever shit she puts in those letters. You shouldn’t let it get to you.”
“Well, I’m afraid that’s easier said than done.”
His mouth curved into a mischievous smile. “You know what would be awesome?”
“What?”
“If you could give her exactly what she wants...on steroids.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Like, make some crazy shit up. Laugh about it on the inside.”
“I’m not a good enough liar.”
“I’d be happy to volunteer.”
My eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What are you talking about? Explain.”
“I could go home with you for a bit. You could make up a story, introduce me as some guy you’re dating. You said your mother’s always complaining because you’re not with anyone, right?”
“So you’re offering to be my fake boyfriend. And what would you tell my mother, exactly?”
He scratched his chin, drawing my eyes to the sexy five o’clock shadow that dotted his jaw. “Oh, I don’t know. I’d have to think about it. Or maybe make it up off the top of my head. More fun that way.”
“It wouldn’t be fun. It’s not a game. This is my life!”
He seemed bummed out that I wouldn’t consider his suggestion. “Okay. Forget I said anything. But the offer still stands if you change your mind.” He winked. “You’ve got my email, anyway.”
At LaGuardia Airport the following morning, I was regretting the third drink I’d had last night. I sported oversized sunglasses to shield light from my eyes while I perused the magazines at Hudson News across from my gate.
“I believe your guru’s column is printed in the newspaper, not that trashy magazine,” a deep, familiar voice said from just over my shoulder. Startled, I jumped and turned.