America's Geekheart (Bro Code #2)(82)

Charlie needs another raise for pulling this off.

Ah, there’s Sunny at the top of the metal stairs now, in a butter-colored gown that hugs her trim figure. Judson’s at her side, his head twisted to say something to the woman standing behind him.

I can make out a trail of golden fabric, but I can’t see Sarah.

That has to be Sarah.

Unless she’s backing out.

But because she doesn’t want the attention?

Or because I was the dumbass who shouldn’t have told her how much I want to kiss her the other night?

I do want to kiss her. And strip her. And make love to her.

And I wanted to be there in her bedroom with her last night, or to have her in mine.

But if she’s not ready, I can wait.

I’ll wait a fucking century if I have to, because she orders food for me and posts blogs that tell off trolls who don’t realize they’re being told off, and she sasses bouncers who call me an asshole even when I deserve it, and she has no idea she’s gorgeous and strong and a fucking inspiration for just being her.

Judson steps aside, and every thought, every breath, every heartbeat stops.

Complete, full, no question stops.

Swear on my underwear, even the earth stops breathing.

I lock eyes with those gorgeous brown orbs, hidden behind layers of mascara, but still there, looking for reassurance, and fuck me with a hand beater, when her rosy lips tip up in a tentative smile, I’d sell off every last one of my lines and homes and buildings and buy her a first-class ticket to Mars if that’s where she wanted to go.

Or Saturn.

Or to the scoop in the Big Dipper, so she could try drinking out of the well of Space.

I swallow hard when Wyatt nudges me. “Think you’re supposed to go get her, not gawk at her, dumbass,” he mutters with a grin, and my feet start working again.

Mom gives me a little shake from the other side, and I realize I forgot I’m still holding her hand in my elbow. I let her go, and I head toward the stairs to meet my date.

“Hurt her and you’ll only wish you were dead,” Judson growls as he and Sunny greet me at the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m really falling in love with this growly thing,” Sunny murmurs to him. “Will you talk to me like that in bed tonight?”

I try to focus on them, because I’m supposed to smile ruefully and shake their hands and thank them for being here with us tonight, but Sarah’s still waiting, and I can’t take my eyes off her.

Her thick dark hair is pulled high in a fancy twist, with a few expertly curled ringlets hanging loose. Her gown—she’s wrapped in golden lace, all of her curves on display, with two thin straps over her shoulders. Sunny’s clearly gotten to her with the makeup, and the dudes up in the International Space Station can probably see her lashes from there. And the rose on her lips—of course it’s perfect.

But it’s her eyes that have me completely captivated.

Big, dark orbs of apprehension mixed with anticipation.

They’re even more uncertain up close.

“Hi,” I breathe when I reach her.

“I really hate that your underwear is so comfortable but you refuse to do that kind of magic to the monstrosities known as women’s shoes,” she says through a fake smile, and even though I know she’s probably already in need of some TLC on those poor feet of hers, I can’t help smiling even bigger.

“I’ll put research and development on it first thing Monday morning.” I brush a kiss to her cheek, close to her ear, and whisper, “I missed you.”

“I miss me a little bit right now too, but I missed you more. Let’s let all these people take your picture so we can go eat. Someone I know has me obsessed with food now.”

“I don’t think they want my picture,” I tell her honestly, which earns me a pursed-lip, straight-laced, don’t be ridiculous eyebrow arch that I’ve watched photographers spend hours coaxing out of female models. “If your feet hurt that bad, I could carry you.”

“Don’t you dare. This dress is so tight it’d probably split and flash my Slimzies at every last reporter down there.”

I tuck her arm into my elbow and lead her down the curved steps. “Why so tight?”

She sighs, eyes on me. “Because I loved it,” she confesses. “Apparently I have some of my mother in me after all.”

“I have a tailor—”

“Beck. My mother is Sunny Darling. This dress has been through six tailors. Even my Slimzies has been altered.”

I can’t stop smiling. “I mentioned I missed you, right?”

“I missed you too,” she whispers again with a soft smile, and boom.

My heart implodes with happiness, then builds itself back up again to fist-bump my stomach. “I’m going to ask you out on another date,” I inform her, “but this time, I’m not going to start it with a really bad post on social media.”

She finally laughs, then grimaces. “Did you hear that? Or was that my imagination?”

“What?”

“I swear I just popped a seam.”

“Where?”

“My back.”

“You know if I lean back and check it out, there will be a million pictures of me checking out your ass all over the tabloids tomorrow. Not that I don’t want to check out your ass—I totally do—but my PR team would kill me, my mother would disown me, and Ellie would die laughing, at which point Wyatt would find my cold lifeless body and bring it back to life to kill me again for killing my sister.”