It is a testament to my willpower that I am safely operating a motor vehicle with Brooke sitting in the passenger seat next to me while looking like a walking sin.

For the duration of the 20-minute drive, distractions assault me from every angle. Keeping my eyes on the road and hands on the steering wheel is no small feat. Her mile-long legs are showcased with complete fuck-me heels; her little black dress brings. new meaning to the word short; and her perfume keeps drifting my way, setting off a cascade of physiological reactions within me. I can't describe the way she smells, except to say it's sweet and entirely edible. Constantly catching hints of it makes me want to bury my face in her neck and lick it.

I'd say hopefully that would happen later, but I'm not so sure.

Our conversation flows smoothly enough, yet despite Brooke's knockout appearance, there's an unexpected undertone of nervousness to her body language. Something has changed since the last time we were alone together, and not just the accident. Suddenly, Brooke is more skittish than a baby fawn around me. I ponder this throughout the drive for possible explanations, coming up empty-handed.

I'm still mulling it over when I park the car on the street one block over and hop out, going around to Brooke's side to get her door. Might as well push her buttons a little and see where it gets me. Maybe it'll get her out of her head. Plus, I like feisty Brooke.

"Date night, huh?" I slam the passenger side door to my car shut and press the button on the handle, locking it.

Brooke looks up at me with her sapphire eyes wide, hints of pink lacing the apples of her cheeks. "What's that?"

"It's okay, we can call it that." She looks so bashful that I feel bad for teasing her but like always, she recovers quickly. Her glossy lips pull into a smirk and she gives me a little shove; or tries to, because I don't actually move.

"Are you stalking me now, Hollis?"

"Maybe." Is it stalking if someone is a semi-public figure? Either way, I can own it. Probably for the best that I got a sneak peek before picking her up anyway, or I would have been a drooling, wordless idiot at her door.

We start down the sidewalk, weaving around other pedestrians. It's a beautiful evening, pleasantly warm and humid, and Brooke seems to have relaxed slightly. I wrap my arm around her waist, wondering whether she's going to pull back, but she leans into me a little instead. Even in this completely G-rated gesture, having her body pressed against mine has an instant effect on the pattern of my blood flow. I'm like a fucking teenager around her, it's borderline embarrassing.

"Though if this were a real date, I would cover the bill, so this one doesn't really count. Next time, though."

"Next time?" Her voice is tinged with amusement.

"Right," I confirm. "Next time we go out."

"Who said there's going to be a next time?"

"I just did."

We come to a stop and stand at the corner, waiting the pedestrian crossing signal to change. People mill around us while cars zoom by, punctuated by the occasional angry horn.

Brooke keeps her gaze fixed ahead and her mouth twitches like she's fighting a smile. "That caption was for social media purposes. Content for my followers."

"Then you'll get more content when I take you out. What time is the appointment with the Couture Cakes on Friday?"

"3 PM."

"Perfect. We can go out for an early dinner after."

She lifts her chin, looking up at me with her long lashes lowered and an expression I can't quite read. It's almost like seduction mingled with disbelief. "Are you asking me on a date?"

"That's the idea, Lululemon."

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, almost like she wasn't expecting me to say yes. "I need to think about it."

We've done far less innocent things than eat a meal together, but fair enough.

Plus, I'm pretty sure she'll say yes.

Moments later, the traffic signal changes and we cross, coming to the storefront of La Vie Bistro.

A rush of cool air-conditioning greets us inside the small restaurant. Every table in the front is occupied almost exclusively by couples chatting over candlelight.

A petite woman with greying hair pulled back in a severe bun and ramrod straight posture rushes over to greet us. Despite her small stature, something about her almost intimidates even me. She has the air of a tiny drill instructor.

"Can I help you?" Her voice had a heavy French accent and lacks any warmth whatsoever.

"Um, we have an appointment for 7 o'clock?" Brooke says uncertaintly. "Maccabe Patel party?"

The woman's eyes narrow and she glances down, flipping through the blue plastic binder at the hostess station. "Ah, yes." She glances up with and a ghost of a smile peeks through her stern face. "You must be the happy couple. I'm Marie, the owner. It's so good to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too. But we're actually—" Brooke starts to correct her, but Marie cuts her off with a dramatic wave of the hand.

"You won't believe what just happened. Some couple tried to send their wedding planner to their 5 o'clock appointment. They claimed they had a scheduling conflict. But I know they are skirting the rules. Tsk." Marie shakes her head in disgust. "I sent her away at the door."

"The rules?" I ask, alarm bells going off in my head. Maybe there was something to what Vidya said after all.

Marie's lips press into a terse line. "The menu tasting is a sacred ritual for the couple. No funny business allowed. No family, friends, or substitutions." She spits out the last word like a bite of spoiled food. Brooke flinches slightly but says nothing.

"Indeed," I murmur, pretending to sympathize. Brooke sneaks a peek at me for my reaction, but my poker face is in full force. I can only hope hers will be half as strong.

Marie's accent grows stronger the more she speaks. "I told them, they are banned." She mimes an exaggerated throat-cutting motion. "They will be eating McDonald's at the reception. After showing such disrespect, no caterer in town will touch them."

That seems rather extreme. I didn't know there was a wedding caterer cartel. And I definitely don't want to land my best friend on the wrong side of it.

"Banned," Brooke says. "Wow..." But I know what she really means is, yikes. It doesn't bode well for us. Or Brendan and Vidya. But I guess we are Brendan and Vidya now, at least as far as Marie is concerned.

Marie turns away, motioning for us to follow her down a hall that I assume leads to the private dining room. Brooke shoots me a sideways, how-do-we-get-out-of-this glance. I wink her me and wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to me and hoping she takes the hint.

Just like earlier, hints of arousal begin to echo through my body at her proximity. Everything starts to concentrate down south. I'm not sure how I'll manage to focus on the food when I'd rather have Brooke on the dinner table instead.

I clear my throat, trying to sound casual and not at all turned on. Or concerned and turned on, which is a most perplexing combination.

Marie slides open a charcoal gray barn door, ushering us into the private room. In the center is a small table for two set with flowers and candles. The walls are painted a deep red, accented by dim lighting and soft music playing in the background.

"So for our big day then, you'll be the one at the wedding?" I ask Marie. Walking over, I pull out Brooke's chair for her first so she can sit down. Partly to be polite, partly because she was hovering awkwardly like she didn't know what to do.

Marie clucks. "Non. I do preparation and planning here. But Neil and his team will cater the event. He's my grandson."

Slight relief settles in. Thank god. He can't possibly be as high strung as Marie. Can he?

As if on cue, a burly, bearded man walks into the room, smiling broadly. "Did I just hear my name?" The warm, southern twang of his voice is a stark contrast to his grandmother's refined French accent. His aura is caring and personable, in other words, the exact opposite of Marie. He extends his hand and I accept. "Neil," he says. "And you are?"

"Brendon and Vidya," I offer before Brooke can come up with a response.

Marie eyes Brooke suspiciously, as if coming to a sudden realization. "Vidya is an interesting name for... you."

Brooke plasters a smile on her face. "My parents thought it suited me."

Good to see she's going all in on this. Either we'll come out deserving an Academy Award, or we're about to nuke the entire wedding. Either way, we can say we tried.

"Ah." Marie nods, looking somewhat unconvinced. Clearing her throat, she straightens her already impeccable posture. "We discussed the menu by email last month, so Neil will be bringing out the first course shortly. Since we are not providing the alcohol, you may look at the wine menu and choose something from the house selections."

"Thanks you," I tell her. My fiancee and I can't wait. Right, hon?"

"Right." Beneath the table, Brooke gives me a little shove with her foot.

Marie and Neil depart, leaving us behind in the most bizarre situation ever. On multiple levels.

"Whew." I loose out a sigh, leaning back in my chair.

"What the hell do we do?" Brooke hisses, leaning over the table. I try to ignore her cleavage peeking over the lace neckline of her dress and only partially succeed. Don't get me wrong, Brooke has intentionally flashed her cleavage at me countless times before to mess with my head—which always worked spectacularly—but now that I've seen her naked, it's a lot harder to remain unaffected.

"We've gone this far." I shrug. "Might as well commit."

Tension stretches across her face. "But I don't even have a ring." She holds up her bare left hand, wiggling her slender fingers as if to demonstrate.

"It's at the jewelers being cleaned."

"What about the wedding day?" Panic creeps into Brooke's voice. "Do you think she'll catch on and refuse to cater the event?"

Good question. I sure as hell hope not. Wish Vidya had known about these 'rules'. But letting Brooke see me sweat will only fuel her worry.

"Nah," I say. "She's eccentric for sure, but her grandson seems more reasonable. Plus, they won't be any wiser until they have all the food ready to go. It'll be too late for them to back out then. At least, if they want to get paid." And according to the budget, the bill isn't exactly small. This is running Brendan almost $100 per head.

"Let's pray you're right."

"If there are any misunderstandings, I'm sure it won't be anything a couple hundreds won't fix."

Brooke gives me a wry smile. "Do you just bribe your way out of everything?"

I mean, if it works... what's the issue?

"That's rarely necessary. Usually, I use my charm to get what I want instead." I unfold the wine menu, scanning the selections. There are several decent options to choose from, but I have a hunch I should let Lululemon across from me have some say.

"Of course you do."

"You seemed to agree last weekend when—" She raises her eyebrows, daring me to finish. I know to quit when I'm ahead so I stop, biting back a grin. "Just saying."

"I'm going to stab you with a salad fork," she mutters, grabbing the wine menu out of my hands.

Looks like a real date is in the works after this one. Still remains to be seen how this one will end.

PLAYMAKER starts soon - don't forget to add it to your library!