Page 5 of Fighting

The women simultaneously guffaw.

“That would be like kissing my brother. No, thanks.” Delia downs the last of her drink and claps it against the bar with a soft thud. “On that note,” she says, pointing at Nessa, then me. “I’m out. Good night, kids. Drink water and get some rest. We have makeup and golf bright and early tomorrow.”

“Looks like you’re going to have to marry, kiss, and kill me, Matty,” Nessa teases, her face split in a wide smile.

In that moment, something inside me shifts. I don’t know about marriage, but yeah, I’m pretty sure I’d like to kiss her, even if she would kill me for it.

She licks at the salt on the rim of her glass, then sips her tequila, the move far sexier than she means for it to be, I’m sure.

I grab her stool and yank it closer to mine. “Last question. Ever seeCruel Intentions?”

Nessa swallows thickly, her eyes locked on mine. Her lips part, and she exhales a small puff of salt air. That soft, wet, pink tongue slowly grazes her lower lip. She angles closer, and her long blond hair slides over one shoulder, curving around her gorgeous, full tit.

I lean in, head lowered. “To be clear, I mean kissing you good night on your other pair of lips. I promise you the best kiss good night you’ll ever have.”

Her pupils blow wide. “Nobody has ever…”

I dip my head and bring my mouth to the sensitive spot below her ear. “Then let me show you what you’ve been missing. Nobody has to know. It’ll be a little favor between friends.” I punctuate the suggestion with a nip at the spot where her pulse is jumping.

She pulls her shoulders back, her breathing shallow. “We’re not friends. But let’s go.”

Tipsy enough to be out of character, but not so drunk to be unaware of the implication, I wrap an arm around her and pick up the bottle of tequila, then guide her to the elevator.

three

Nessa

Three Months Ago | Memorial Day Weekend

Somewhere between theorgasms and when I passed out in Mateo’s bed, my phone’s battery died—something I never let happen.

With a huff, I plug it into the charger on the bedside table in my own hotel room, then scurry to the bathroom to take the world’s fastest body shower.

I’m gathering the embroidered button-down shirt Stef gifted me for getting-ready photos as the rapid-fire dinging of my phone sends piercing pains through my head.

Last night’s clothes tossed on the floor, I pick up the device, finding dozens of unread text messages, too many emails to count—ninety percent of which are probably from stores and blogs I follow—and thirteen calendar reminders. Great. Nothing urgent.

I open our group chat and type out a message before jumping in the shower.

Group Chat: Bad Bitches

[Stef Santos-Manolo, Lily Long, Delia Shane, Nessa Rabin]

Nessa:

Overslept. Getting in the shower. Will be up shortly.

It continuesto chime through my shower, but I don’t bother to check. Only once I’ve finished and am drying off do I scroll through the messages.

Stef:

I’ll rearrange hair appointments. No worries!

Lily:

Some worries. Susan’s not as chill as the bridezilla here…

Delia:

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