The Wedding Contract(22)
That would suck beyond measure. There’d be nothing more humiliating, or degrading. I’m practically selling myself to this guy. He’s not the novice I thought he was when I made the bet with Mandy. He’s also not as unassuming as everyone else believed. Nick Ferro is cold and cunning. I’d bet anything that handing me the thimble back last night was a way to play with my brain, so I’d second guess myself. Well, I’m not going to. I am the best and I know I can shoot better than he can.
With every ounce of determination I can muster, I grab his shoulder and spin him around. Grabbing his tie forcefully, I pull his face down to mine. “I don’t need time to think about it. I know I can kick your ass any day of the week and twice on Sunday. Get ready to bend over Nick. You have a wager.” I toss his tie in his face before offering my hand to him. Nick grins, takes it, and shakes my hand hard, sealing our deal.
Still holding my hand, he pulls me to him in a swift movement. “No backing out.” The yank startles me and lands my chest firmly against his. He does it on purpose, knowing it’ll throw me off balance. There’s an attraction between us. We both feel it, we both recognize it, but that’s all it is and nothing more. I’m not that dumb girl who falls for a Ferro.
My grip on his hand tightens and I push into him harder. “Sky Thompson doesn’t run. And you better pick which bridge you’ll be jumping from. I was serious about that part.” I step back and wink at him—the way he’s been winking at me—and turn on my heel. As I walk away I can feel his hot gaze slip over my back and down to my hips.
Look all you want, Nick. You’re not going to win.
CHAPTER 15
The rehearsal is basically a dry run of the wedding. The coordinator isn’t too annoying. She’s actually very helpful, otherwise I’d get stuck doing her job. It’s not until Sophie is on her dad’s arm, ready to walk down the aisle, that I notice Nick and I want the same space.
I bump his shoulder and push him into a pew. “Move, Ferro. You’re blocking my shot.” Missing the prized picture of the bride coming down the aisle is an unforgivable offense. Apparently, Nick has a decent eye because he made a beeline for this location at the same time as me. He didn’t follow or look around—Nick knew where he wanted to be for that shot.
Nick shoulders me back and I practically step on Sophie as she passes. Sophie smiles and gives me a deadly look that says she will kill me if I trip her on her wedding day. Nick pushes his hair away from his eyes. It’s warm and his dark hair is damp and sticking to his skin along with his dress shirt. The sudden thought of sliding my slippery body against his flashes through my mind; I chase it away with a mental broom. Thoughts like that are poisonous, but they keep popping up. The way he moves, something in the depths of his eyes, that arrogant smirk—it just makes me think it’s a mask. The man I’m seeing behind that is the real Nick. This is, well, it’s a façade and there’s nothing I’d like to do more than tear it away and see the mess beneath. I can relate to an honest mess—perfection, not so much.
Speaking of which, my mother takes this moment to publically scold me. “Skylar, let the professional take this shot. You’re in his way.” Mom is sitting on a pew right in front of me. I suck in a breath and try to steady myself.
Nick’s gaze flicks to the side and takes in my reaction. Great. Now he has more ammo. Launch my Mom on me, turn me batshit crazy, and I’ll mess up. That’s the biggest chink in my armor and he sees it like sunlight on a bear’s bottom. I change my expression and laugh, like she’s joking, but Nick’s already seen. So has everyone else. Good old Mom just changed everyone’s opinion of me in a few seconds.
Nick grabs my elbow. I look up at him, suspicious. “This isn’t the only spot we both want. There are three more, at least. Let’s flip for them.”
I nod, because it seems like the fairest, fastest thing to do.
“Aisle shot. Ready?” I nod. “Heads or tails?”
“Heads,” I answer as Nick fishes a coin from his pocket. The rest of the wedding planning continues around us. We back into a corner, half listening, while we sort out who gets which spot.
Nick flips the coin, catches it in his palm, and then flips it over onto the back of his hand. “Sorry, it’s tails. I get the aisle.” I don’t say anything. Nick holds the coin and says, “Ring shot, we both want the front center aisle, right?” I nod. “Call it in the air.”
“Heads.” I always say heads.
Nick catches it, flips the coin over, and my stomach sinks. “That’s two for me. And there’s one last shot that I’m sure we both want the same shooting location.”