The touch

No, thanks." She looked at Mike and glanced in Stella's direction before turning to go. "Nice to meet you," she flung over her shoulder.

As Mike and Stella walked, still hand in hand, back to the bar, she leaned over and whispered in his ear, "I can't tell whether she hates you or wants to fuck you."

His bark of laughter made a few people look in their direction.

"She definitely hates me," he said against her ear, "but she's also been acting weird all day. You see why I needed you here?"

Her breasts against his chest and her lips against his ear made him want to pull her even closer, but they were in a room full of people.

Oh, and right, she wasn't really his girlfriend.

"I do see," she said. "I think I need another drink after that interaction. I'd better switch to champagne; I can't chug martinis all night or I'll be useless tomorrow."

He wondered if she'd noticed that he was taking every opportunity to touch her all night. Some of it wasn't even conscious; he just liked the feel of her smooth skin, the warmth of her body next to his, the softness of her hand in his.

"I should have said . . . if I do anything that bothers you tonight, you know, with the pretending- you're- my- girlfriend thing, just let me know, okay? Step on my foot or something?"