Never Planned on You by Lindsay Hameroff

Author:Lindsay Hameroff [Hameroff, Lindsay]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

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Cocktail hour is in full swing by the time we arrive. Graham’s eyes widen as we step into the Black-Eyed Susan’s ballroom. The entire surface of the ceiling is covered in primary color balloons, and oversized cubes in matching shades trim the stage, where a DJ is blasting Billboard Top 100 hits. A sign-in board by the ballroom doors spells out Jackson’s name with letters shaped like video game controllers. The black tabletops are surrounded by cherry red chairs, and flower arrangements erupting from the heads of blocky video game characters serve as centerpieces. In one corner, a cluster of preteen boys are poking holes in the bottoms of plastic cups in an admirable attempt to shotgun Shirley Temples.

“Is it me, or is this a Roblox Bar Mitzvah?” Graham asks, lifting one eyebrow.

I shake my head. “There’s no accounting for the taste of thirteen-year-old boys.”

Graham purses his lips as he glances around the room. “You do have to appreciate the impressive dedication to the theme. Did you plan this?”

I shake my head. “I would have loved to. Family events are my favorite kind to plan. But my sister was insistent that she could do it all herself.” Without quite meaning to, I add more bite to the last word than I intended. I’m well-aware of Sarah’s hyper competence. She’s been that way her whole life. It’s not that I think she needed my help planning Jackson’s Bar Mitzvah. I just wish she’d been willing to accept it. To let me step outside my role as her little sister and be her friend and partner.

Graham casts me a sidelong glance, his brows pinched thoughtfully.

“But you’re great at what you do,” he says, as though befuddled by the idea that anyone wouldn’t agree. “Don’t they see that?”

“No need to bullshit me, Benedict. You’ve already hired me.” I give him an exasperated eye roll and shove my hands playfully against his chest. But then he catches me by the wrist and the amusement immediately seeps out of me. His gaze is penetrating as his thumb traces circles over the skin of my palm.

“It is getting increasingly difficult to bullshit you,” he says, his voice so low it’s practically a whisper. I’m not quite sure what he means by that, but my brain has gone so fuzzy that it’s impossible to parse out much of anything. My fingers, now moving of their own accord, slide between his, and his gaze drops to the place where our hands are interlocked. A muscle in his jaw ticks.

With what feels like an insurmountable effort, I extract my hand from his. The attraction that pulls me toward him is undeniable, but the reality remains that giving into it is wrong and will only result in disaster.

I take a step back and then toss him what I hope is a passably neutral smile.

“Come on,” I say, nodding toward the dance floor. “Let’s get you an inflatable saxophone.”

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