Page 5 of That Kiss

“Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

He stands, the fridge door closing as he twists off the top of the bottle. He turns around slowly, the beer frozen halfway to his lips when his eyes meet mine. They quickly drop down to my cleavage. I’m petite but God didn’t spare any curves when it came to my body. His eyes drag up me slowly before he finally takes a slow sip. His tongue darts out to lick off a drop of foam before his lips spread into a lazy grin.

“Good surprise or bad surprise?”

And there it is: That slow little fizzle in my belly that burns for this man every time he smiles at me.

“Good, of course.”

“You look . . . nice.” His eyes peruse me again as he takes another drink.

“Thanks.” I look down at the dress and cardigan I bought specifically for the party. I wanted to feel grown-up tonight, like a young woman who’s finally coming into her own instead of the usual array of band tees and denim shorts I sport. “So wh?—”

“Deck, bro, come here. You have to see this.” His younger cousin Aiden pops up behind us, startling me and pulling Decker’s attention away. He gives me an apologetic smile, but I wave it away, walking back toward the great room to find my parents.

“I’ll find you later.”

By midnight, all the guests have finally dissipated, the caterers have cleared everything out, and I’m exhausted.

“Good night, Brennan.” I hug Decker’s mom back, her faithful Baccarat Rouge still lingering. “And thanks again for letting me throw the party at your house.”

“Of course, darling, your parents are our best friends.” She cups my face. “You’re practically a second daughter to me. Now drive home safely.”

“I will, I promise.” I take the steps down the front porch toward my car when I hear Decker’s familiar voice.

“Leaving just like that?” I spin around to see him leaning up against the porch, a bottle of whiskey in his hand, dangling by his knee. “Told you I’d find you later.”

“It’s pretty late.” I shrug, my cardigan now fully pulled tight around my body.

“And? You’re young and you don’t work tomorrow. Come on.” He motions with his hand holding the bottle, walking back up the porch steps to the chairs at the far end of the corner. I follow him.

He takes a swig of the whiskey before handing the bottle over to me. I reach for it, staring at it like it’s going to bite me.

“Oh please, I’ve seen a bartender pour liquor down your throat on more than one occasion.” He laughs and it makes me laugh too. I close my eyes and take a swig, the burn hitting my throat and stomach almost instantly. A few years ago, yeah, I was absolutely a party girl, but these days, that doesn’t interest me so much.

“Smooth,” I cough and sputter as I hand it back to him. He laughs again, taking another drink before the silence settles between us. “So what are you doing back in town?” I finally ask.

“Not much,” he leans forward, his elbows on his knees, “just wanted to see the family is all.” He pulls his cowboy hat from his head, running his hands through his dark hair.

“Your beard’s gotten long.” I lift my chin.

“Guess it has, hasn’t it?” He runs his hands over it briefly before turning back to the whiskey. “So what’s life like in Boulder? Gotta be more exciting than here.”

He stretches one leg out in front of him, leaning back in the chair. Somehow this man manages to look better in person than any fantasy I could conjure up. His broad shoulders dwarf the chair, his chest thicker since the last time I saw him.

“It’s good,” I shrug, pulling my eyes away from him. “I’m usually pretty busy with work, but I love getting out and hiking on the weekends with my friends. What about you? How’s life in Texas?” My stomach clenches when I ask, because I know there’s a fair chance he’ll tell me he’s happily in love. The way Dolly and Brook looked at each other during drinks last night, I half-expected him to show up with someone.

“Can I ask you something?” he asks, ignoring my question and reaching his hand out to touch the edge of my cardigan. “Why are you pretending to be someone you’re not?”

I frown, pulling the material away from him. “I’m not. I’ve worn dresses before.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. You look uncomfortable; you’ve been tuggin’ at that thing all night.”

“Well, I’m not uncomfortable. I’m fine, just cold.” I let the cardigan fall open, attempting to appear relaxed, because he’s absolutely right. I do feel uncomfortable, but it’s not because of what I’m wearing; it’s because he continues to stare at me like he’s about to pounce. “And for the record, people change, Decker.”

I keep my gaze forward as the conversation bounces between us, moments of silence lingering. I want to ask him what’s on his mind—why he’s trying to find himself at the bottom of a bottle—but I know it’s a thread I have no interest in pulling at.

“I should probably get home. It’s super-late and I’m sure yo?—”

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