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“Got it,” I told him. The MC stepped over to pick up a different mason jar.
“How about spanking? Is that a go?” Bennett asked me under his breath.
“Save that for later.” I winked up at him.
He blew out a breath and shook his head. “You’re going to kill me, woman. I swear you are.”
The MC held out the jar. Bennett gestured for me to go ahead and pick for us. I pulled out a slip of paper and opened it up. Then laughed while Bennett read it over my shoulder. It read:blind date where one person is formal and awkward and the other has a hearing problem.
“Which one do you want?” I asked him.
His head was bent next to mine, his brows scrunched together as he read the paper. “The formal, awkward guy.”
“Get ready.” I nudged him in the ribs with my elbow then we each took our places and waited for the MC to set a timer.
“Aaaaaand go!” He pointed to us.
Bennett went from smirky hot guy—his normal self—to stiff and terrified-looking guy in a split second.
“Pardonnez moi, mademoiselle,” he said with a stiff bow, using an English accent while speaking French. “But I believe I have the pleasure of your company this evening.”
“What?” I asked in a high falsetto voice. “Oh, I’m not that kind of girl. No pleasure on the first evening.”
A few snickers from the audience didn’t break Bennett’s character. Nor mine.
“May I say that your perfume smells of hyacinths in bloom. It reminds me of my Aunt Gertrude.”
More laughter.
“I’m sorry? When was I rude? I’m just saying I don’t do sex on the first date.”
He reeled back in fake shock while a ripple of laughter filled the room. His flustered Englishman impersonation threatened to make me break character, but I somehow held it together.
“You’ve got me all wrong. I would never undermine the fairer sex by assuming such a thing.”
“Dude, if you proposition me one more time, I am out the door. But I really want my steak dinner, so keep it in your pants.”
The laughter grew louder as we continued on for two more minutes, neither of us even flinching or falling out of character. When I mistook his word “ratio” in reference to his riveting divorce statistics for the word “fellatio,” the audience fell out in hysterics. We had to pause for five seconds before continuing with our act.
By the time the MC rang the bell to end the round, I was high with the exhilaration of performing without any script and simply following instinct.
What made it even better was that I was sure it rolled so easily for both of us because we did it together. Bennett and I just matched. We fit. In every possible way. That familiar pang squeezed inside my chest.
We gave a quick bow to the applause then stepped down hand in hand back to our table. As soon as we were in our seats, Bennett scooped his hand under my hair and wrapped my nape then hauled me close and kissed me hard. A well of emotion burst inside my chest.
“What was that for?” I asked when he finally broke the kiss.
“For making me do that.” He laughed. “That was awesome.”
“I told you it was fun!”
He then scooped me out of my chair and plopped me in his lap, then the oh-so-controlled, straight-laced Bennett Broussard kissed me and held me close in front of a room full of strangers.
“It was terrifying, though,” he said, chuckling in my ear.
“But you did it. And it was awesome. See! Not everything has to be planned to perfection.”
His laughter ebbed, his eyes glittering with a new emotion. Something deeper. Darker.
