candle.
Go.”
“Callie, don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not. If you don’t make a birthday wish, I’ll make one
for you. And you’ll regret that when you wake up three inches shorter in the
morning. And I don’t mean your height.”
He snickers, and his eyes glimmer in the soft light. “I
wouldn’t want that. Three inches less would make me a chick.”
“I have no shame in admitting that I checked you out
earlier. I seriously doubt three inches would do much damage to your current
stock. I can double the wish if your pride needs a more serious hit.”
“I know you were looking.” He grins, angling his body toward
me. “But, fine. You win. I’ll make a wish.”
I hold my finger out between us again, and he closes his
eyes tight, really laying the dramatics on thick. When he opens them again, he
looks . . . smug. Devious. “There. Wish made.”
“Good.” I begin to drop my hand, but he grabs it.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what my wish was?”
“No. That’s against the rules. You’re not supposed to say or
it won’t come true. Everybody knows that.”
He pulls my arm until I’m against him, dragging me over
until I’m sitting sideways in his lap. “I’ll show you then.” Wes slides his
hands up my wet arms to my shoulders and coaxes me toward him until we’re
barely an inch apart.
My brain gave up the moment he said he’d show me, so I have
no reasonable thoughts of rejection forming. Just pure, yielding approval
fostered by my clearly intoxicated hormones. “Showing is always more fun than
telling, anyway,” I whisper against his lips.
He leans in and crushes his mouth to mine. One arm snakes
around my back, urging me closer, while one hand fists in my wet, tangled hair.
The scalding bubbles tickling at my sides are only a whisper of warmth compared
to the heat I feel from his bare skin against mine.
And that kiss? Oh, what a perfect oblivion it is. It’s a
kiss that makes me forget yesterday’s drama of breaking up with Tanner. A kiss
that forces away the memory of Jake, the sickening taste of beer, and the anger
left behind. A kiss that fills me with only gentle unspoken trust and a hint of
sweet whiskey.
I was wrong earlier. This is perfect serenity.
OH, WHAT KIND of hell is this?
The light streaming through the windows only amplifies the
pounding in my temples, and each footstep going down the stairs sounds more
like a sledge hammer connecting with the wall over my head. I want to crawl
under a rock somewhere and die. I knew it would be like this, but I continued
to drink anyway, like a great big idiot. And then, I only made things worse by
drinking whiskey with Wes.
Oh, yeah. Almost forgot about that. That’s probably why I
have this funky taste in my mouth. Deciding I’ll feel better if I clean myself
up a bit, I grab my bag and carefully head into the bathroom, lazily stripping
out of my clothes and laughing at myself when I notice I’m still wearing my
bikini.
Not caring to fight for the perfect temperature, I just aim
for somewhere in the neighborhood of boiling hot and step in, squealing as it
stings my skin and then groaning because it actually feels good. I lather my
hair and body and rinse until I’m clear of not only soap, but tension, too.
Even though my head is still pounding, I feel refreshed when I step out and
pull on my clean clothes—a pair of black running shorts and my slightly
wrinkled Breaking Benjamin t-shirt.
It takes a while to get my long hair free of tangles, but in
the end, I opt to pile it all on top of my head in a messy bun. I don’t have
the heart or motivation to deal with it today. And instead of putting my
contacts back in, I slip on my glasses. The lenses are narrow rectangles,
thickly framed in glossy espresso. I rarely wear them, but I always appreciate
how well they match the low lights in the bottom layers of my blonde hair.
After brushing my teeth—twice—I begin shoving everything
back into my bag, but I
Go.”
“Callie, don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not. If you don’t make a birthday wish, I’ll make one
for you. And you’ll regret that when you wake up three inches shorter in the
morning. And I don’t mean your height.”
He snickers, and his eyes glimmer in the soft light. “I
wouldn’t want that. Three inches less would make me a chick.”
“I have no shame in admitting that I checked you out
earlier. I seriously doubt three inches would do much damage to your current
stock. I can double the wish if your pride needs a more serious hit.”
“I know you were looking.” He grins, angling his body toward
me. “But, fine. You win. I’ll make a wish.”
I hold my finger out between us again, and he closes his
eyes tight, really laying the dramatics on thick. When he opens them again, he
looks . . . smug. Devious. “There. Wish made.”
“Good.” I begin to drop my hand, but he grabs it.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what my wish was?”
“No. That’s against the rules. You’re not supposed to say or
it won’t come true. Everybody knows that.”
He pulls my arm until I’m against him, dragging me over
until I’m sitting sideways in his lap. “I’ll show you then.” Wes slides his
hands up my wet arms to my shoulders and coaxes me toward him until we’re
barely an inch apart.
My brain gave up the moment he said he’d show me, so I have
no reasonable thoughts of rejection forming. Just pure, yielding approval
fostered by my clearly intoxicated hormones. “Showing is always more fun than
telling, anyway,” I whisper against his lips.
He leans in and crushes his mouth to mine. One arm snakes
around my back, urging me closer, while one hand fists in my wet, tangled hair.
The scalding bubbles tickling at my sides are only a whisper of warmth compared
to the heat I feel from his bare skin against mine.
And that kiss? Oh, what a perfect oblivion it is. It’s a
kiss that makes me forget yesterday’s drama of breaking up with Tanner. A kiss
that forces away the memory of Jake, the sickening taste of beer, and the anger
left behind. A kiss that fills me with only gentle unspoken trust and a hint of
sweet whiskey.
I was wrong earlier. This is perfect serenity.
OH, WHAT KIND of hell is this?
The light streaming through the windows only amplifies the
pounding in my temples, and each footstep going down the stairs sounds more
like a sledge hammer connecting with the wall over my head. I want to crawl
under a rock somewhere and die. I knew it would be like this, but I continued
to drink anyway, like a great big idiot. And then, I only made things worse by
drinking whiskey with Wes.
Oh, yeah. Almost forgot about that. That’s probably why I
have this funky taste in my mouth. Deciding I’ll feel better if I clean myself
up a bit, I grab my bag and carefully head into the bathroom, lazily stripping
out of my clothes and laughing at myself when I notice I’m still wearing my
bikini.
Not caring to fight for the perfect temperature, I just aim
for somewhere in the neighborhood of boiling hot and step in, squealing as it
stings my skin and then groaning because it actually feels good. I lather my
hair and body and rinse until I’m clear of not only soap, but tension, too.
Even though my head is still pounding, I feel refreshed when I step out and
pull on my clean clothes—a pair of black running shorts and my slightly
wrinkled Breaking Benjamin t-shirt.
It takes a while to get my long hair free of tangles, but in
the end, I opt to pile it all on top of my head in a messy bun. I don’t have
the heart or motivation to deal with it today. And instead of putting my
contacts back in, I slip on my glasses. The lenses are narrow rectangles,
thickly framed in glossy espresso. I rarely wear them, but I always appreciate
how well they match the low lights in the bottom layers of my blonde hair.
After brushing my teeth—twice—I begin shoving everything
back into my bag, but I
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