Page 8 of Pucked Into Position

She’s a vision in the light blue dress she picked out. It’s got thin straps, a draped neckline, and the skirt falls to just above her knees. I was surprised, but also grateful, she hadn’t picked something shorter. She’s already going to be on display tonight. I don’t need the paparazzi getting more than either of us bargained for.

She takes in the restaurant around us, her lips parting in awe at the romantic setting. The lighting is low and intimate, candles are lit on each table, and the ambient music is soothing. It all feels far too real for a fabricated PR stunt.

Or maybe it’s perfect.

I feel a twinge of guilt. This is too much to be putting on Lana twenty-four hours after she arrived, and less than that since her first classes.

When the waiter returns with our drinks, he also brings two wine glasses and tries to pour wine I didn’t ask for. I put my hand over the one in front of her.

“We didn’t order wine.”

He looks at me in surprise. “Of course, it’s on the house, Mr. Walker,” he adds, still trying to pour.

I keep my hand over the glass. “While I appreciate the gesture, we won’t be drinking tonight.”

The waiter straightens, seeming a little miffed, but otherwise listens. “What can I get for you then?” He sets down the bottle to take out his notepad.

I order for both of us, having asked Lana what she wanted when we arrived, and the waiter leaves with our order and the wine.

If anyone asks, I’ll tell them she simply doesn’t drink because she’s focused on her studies. I refuse to even drink around her, not only out of respect for her age but also to avoid a potential scandal if a photographer captures a shot that makes it look like she’s drinking.

“How were classes today?” I ask, attempting to break the silence between us. Not because it’s awkward, but because I genuinely want to know how her day was. I normally don’t ask anyone that.

“They were good.” She folds her napkin and settles it into her lap, nervously smoothing the corners. “It was all just syllabus stuff today. I’m excited to get into the real work.”

The conversation shifts from awkward small talk into comfortable conversation, and even after the food arrives, we keep talking. I listen intently, my eyes barely leaving her mouth. I’m infatuated with how her lips curve when she smiles and how soft they look when she gets self-conscious. She tells me about the books and music she likes, what she’s most excited about in her classes, and how life at home has been. I realize we have a lot more in common than I thought, and soon the conversation feels natural.

We order dessert. For the paparazzi, of course, I hold out a forkful of cheesecake to her. “Ladies first.” I smile.

Her eyes light up and she bites her lip. My heart races as she leans in and wraps her mouth around the fork, letting it slide smoothly between her lips.

I’m frozen in place, arm still out, watching her mouth.

I want to kiss her.

Lana covers her mouth and giggles, her cheeks turning pink beneath her blush. Something rears up inside me, even though I know the paparazzi are waiting to photograph us together.

Coming back into my body, I smile at her and we finish the dessert. By the time we pay the bill and get up to leave, I can feel the electricity pulsing through the air between us, drawing us closer together.

Lana settles the strap for her purse over her shoulder and I reach out my hand. She hesitates for a fraction of a second, then takes it. Sparks dance up my arm at the feel of her soft skin. I lace our fingers together, and she squeezes once. I’m acutely aware of her hand gripping mine as we weave between tables, and my jaw tightens every time I catch another man watching her walk by.

We take one step out of the restaurant and are met with a blinding explosion of camera flashes. Paparazzi step out from behind cars and bushes, lenses clicking furiously.

I step partially in front of her, trying to shield her from the onslaught.

“Ryan! Smile for the camera!” One shouts.

“Is this her? She’s so beautiful. Kiss her for the camera!” Another shouts.

I glance down at Lana, fully expecting her to be reeling back into herself. But she seems relatively calm all things considered.

I lean in to speak against the shell of her ear. “It’s okay if you’re not comfortable with this. We can just walk to the car. I’ll deal with the fallout later.”

She shudders as my breath ghosts across her skin. Looking up at me, she wraps both arms around my neck.

I barely manage a breath before my lips are on hers, pulling her into a deep kiss. She sinks into it, and her grip around me tightens. I wrap my arms around her, my brain short circuiting, making the flash of cameras and shouts of excitement die away. My entire focus is honed on Lana.

She teases my lip with her tongue, careful and hesitant, and a low growl vibrates my chest. These reporters don’t get to see her like this.