Page 82 of Just One Moment

Trustingpeople has never been an issue.It’swhat they’ll do with that trustI’vealways been weary of.Ionce trusted my mom to love me unconditionally.

Graham’sissue isn’t about trust either.It’sabout being accepted for who he is, after so many people—his ex being the primary issue—made him feel like he doesn’t belong.

Jenna’sloss isverymuch my gain.Sheis in no way deserving of the man before me.Justlike my mom doesn’t deserve anymore of my energy.

Whichis whyIpull out my phone and do somethingIshould have done the dayIwalked out of that trailer.

Withme still balanced onGraham’slap,Iopen my phone’s contact book and turn the screen for him to see.Underthe contact:DONOTANSWER,ItapBlockCaller.

Hishead lifts whenIlock the device and throw it on the passenger seat. “Yourmom?”

Adeep sigh escapes me and with itIfeel lighter. “Itwas long overdue.Itgave her leverage over me.Nowshe has nothing.Iknow you can’t run fromJennawith her marrying your cousin, but there are other ways you can let yourself be free of her.”

“How’sthat?”

“Thewedding.Youhave two options.Wego, spread rumors aboutRalphhaving some contagious rash, eat way too much food, and dance the night away with your family.Or…we snuggle up on the sofa withCurlywhile you complete your crossword and pretendI’mnot crying over that baby turtle documentary.”

Hebrushes my hair over my shoulder and rests his palm against my pulse point. “Thescene when they all ran to the water got me a little choked up too.”

Myheart sings when that awfully handsome smile blooms on his face.Theone he doesn’t try to hide around me.Thefeel of it is as good as it looks, if not better whenIgraze my lips over his.Ilove the way his cheeks heat under my palms as we deepen the kiss, but when his hands move lower to the waistband of my jeans,Iretreat.

“Whatdo you want to do?”Igive him a look, telling him he can’t avoid this question; not like last night.

“Apartfrom keeping the peace between my family,”Grahamsays. “There’sonly one other reasonI’dwant to go to that wedding.”

“Whichis?”

Hishands flex against my hips, and then he lays a gentle kiss to the side of my neck.There’sa mix of nerves and eagerness coming off him.WhenGrahamtakes his time like this, carefully choosing his words,Ialways anticipate something meaningful and genuine.Thistime is no different.

“Iwant to see you wearing something pretty.Dancewith you in my arms.Bethe one you leave with at the end of the night.Iwon’t care who sees us together, because it won’t be for show.It’llbe for us.Andjust so we’re clear”—he lowers his head, mouth grazing the shell of my ear—“there won’t be anything fake about it.”

Ifmy heart was singing before, an orchestra has taken center stage in my chest now.

“Nothingat all?”Iwhisper.

Heshakes his head, both our faces erupting into smiles so bright they could break through clouds hanging in the sky.

“Letme take you home and show you how not fake this is.Howfrom the dayImet youIwanted to make you mine.”

His.

Asmuch asIwant him to show me here, we don’t have much space to work with, andIwant all of him.I’moff his lap and back in the passenger’s seat in the blink of an eye, eliciting a chuckle from him as he starts the engine.

It’sa good thing the hospital is a short drive to his apartment, because the moment we walk through the door, we’re a tangle of limbs as we fall to the sofa, and he tugs me into his lap.

I’meager to continue what we were doing in his car, but he’sthe one to break our kiss now. “WhenIasked you to be my girlfriend, it was never about makingJennajealous or getting over her.That’swhatIshould have said to you last night at the restaurant.ItwasBooth’sidea to fake a date, and it sounded smart at the time.Imostly agreed to it for selfish reasons.”

Myfingers glide along his strong jaw and trace over the bridge of his nose. “Whatselfish reasons?”

“Itgave me an excuse to talk to you.”

Thetempo of my heart increases in rhythm with his. “Youtalked to me before.Atthe bar.”

“Youthink that was talking?Quinn,Isaid about ten words to you—half of whichIstumbled over.”

“Thatwas our meet-cute.”Ifrown. “Butafter that night,Ididn’t even think you liked me.Younever texted or saved my number.”

Hishead thumps against my shoulder, and he grumbles, “Honey,Isaved your number in my phone the second you walked away.Didn’twant to scrub my arm for a week.Ididn’t have the first idea about how to talk to someone like you.I’ddo it over again ifIcould.Iwouldn’t have let you walk away, andIwould have insistedIdrove you home that night.”

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