Page 39 of Revenge Brunch and Other Disasters

“Good,” he whispered.

And then he kissed her.

Slow. Certain. Like he wasn’t asking for permission. Like the world had already agreed with him.

Linda froze—then melted. Into the kiss, into him, into the way his hand finally cupped her cheek like he’d been waiting to do it forever.

Her fingers tangled in his shirt before she could stop them. She curled into him like her heart had finally stopped panicking long enough to sayyes.

And goddamnhim.

God damn him for kissing her like she was perfection in his arms.

Because it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fake. Not anymore.

When they broke apart, she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak.

Rhys touched his forehead to hers.

“We should get back inside,” he said, voice rough.

Linda nodded.

But she knew.

She was in so much trouble. Because she didn’t want to stop pretending.

She wanted it to be real. And that was the most dangerous thing of all.

Chapter Twenty: The Night He Let the Dog Go First

Rhys

RHYS DIDN’T SLEEP.

He sat in his car outside Linda’s apartment like an idiot with perfect posture and too many feelings, staring at the empty passenger seat where Sir Stumps-a-Lot should’ve been.

But the dog was upstairs.

Because he sent him there.

Like a coward.

He rested his forehead on the steering wheel, trying to breathe through the sound of his own pulse crashing against his ribs. The car was dark, the city humming low around him, but all he could hear was the silence she left behind.

He rubbed his hands over his face, hating himself a little. Okay, a lot.

That kiss had been—

God.

Perfect.

Real.

Stupid.

Because the second he pulled back and saw her face—wide eyes, frozen breath, something soft and terrified—he knew he’d gone too far.

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