“You have got to be kidding me,” Leo muttered, jiggling the iron handle. The old cellar door didn’t budge. Behind him, a single bare bulb hummed, casting weak light over dusty racks of Château Margaux and forgotten vintage port.
“We’re fake dating for a wedding, but we just got locked in the venue’s wine cellar. You’re wearing a suit that fits you too well, and the only way to pass the time until someone finds us is to stop pretending.” The lock clicked shut with a finality that echoed off the stone walls.
They’d been fake dating for exactly six hours. It was Jamie’s idea—Leo’s family reunion-wedding combo, and Leo had shown up alone again. Just say I’m your plus-one, Jamie had shrugged at the airport. We’re friends. It’s not a lie. It was a lie, and they both knew it, because friends didn’t look at each other the way Jamie looked at him when he thought Leo wasn’t paying attention. pwp prompts
Leo grabbed his wrist. Not to push him away. To hold him there.
“About damn time,” Leo whispered, and pulled him in. “You have got to be kidding me,” Leo
“Sure.” Jamie’s mouth curved. “We could discuss why you stared at my hands for forty-five minutes during the toasts.”
Then Jamie did something stupid. Or maybe the smartest thing he’d ever done. He reached out and very slowly straightened Leo’s already-straight tie, his knuckles brushing Leo’s chest through the crisp white shirt. “We’re fake dating for a wedding, but we
Jamie grinned. “Plot?”
