Page 46 of Raised On It

“Emmett, I said he was kinda cute, I didn’t say I would share my milkshake with him. Let’s not go crazy.”

She’s talking to Emmett, but her gaze is still all mine.

The bonfire begins to roar, and the light from the flames adds a warm glow to her face. The way she’s looking at me right now, her eyes are burning as hot as the embers at the bottom of the roaring bonfire behind me.

In fact, amid all the burning hot lust simmering between us, there’s also a sense of comfort. Like I’ve known her my entire life. Seeing her here with The Crew feels right. Josh, Emmett, Amelia, Reece, and Rachel are all here. If only Parker and Audrey were here, the night would be perfect.

Ending this perfect day with perfect people and my perfect city mouse feels not only right but so very good.

She’s the one.

And I’m fucking scared shitless.

I always knew she was out there.

Now she’s here, and I’d do anything not to fuck up what we already have. I made sure to work my ass off all week long so I’d have this weekend with her. If I stop moving, I may pass out from exhaustion, but it was worth it.

As if reading my mind and wanting me to know the work was worth it, Mason closes the small distance between us. She lifts up on her toes and kisses me.

Really kisses me.

Right here.

In front of everyone.

The pressure of her hands on my shoulders to keep her balance is all it takes for me to take the moment a little caveman, lifting her up so her legs wrap around my waist. I walk her backward placing her on my open tailgate where we continue our kiss for all to see.

She tastes a little like the spearmint of her gum and a whole hell of a lot like heaven.

There’s a faint buzz of activity behind us. My brain knows it’sthe sound of everyone egging us on, but neither of us pays them any mind.

On the tailgate, she’s sitting higher than me and continuing to take what she wants. Leaning down, she holds my face, taking the lead again. I’m new to taking it slow, but if this is what it gets me, I’ll keep it up as long as it takes.

Having the confirmation that she reciprocates my feelings means more than getting in her pants, and I’m certainly not going to put on the brakes because my friends are watching.

Eventually, she comes up for air, and with her forehead against mine, I feel her minty breath across my face when she whispers, “Thanks for a great week. I really enjoyed my tour.” She punctuates her gratitude with a giggle. Shadowing her, I cup her face in my hands and give her one more peck on the lips.

I could kiss her all night.

I know we are grown-ass people, but I feel like a teenager who finally figured out how this whole making-out thing really works.

The taunting of my so-called friends finally registers.

Doing a little spin, I take a bow and then settle myself between Mason’s legs.

It kills me to have my back to her, but I’ve committed her firelit glow to memory. Her long honey-colored hair is up in a high ponytail that emphasizes her slender neck. I was glad she left it up when she changed out of her simple white T-shirt and her cutoffs that fit her just right but not in that Daisy Duke kind of way. They were appropriateandstill hot as hell, but she insisted on changing into the light flowy dress she has on right now. She went from the girl next door pretty, to sexy and flirty in her little summer dress that make her legs look a mile long. Currently, everything but her legs is hidden by my flannel and the loose material of her dress falling just right over her thighs to keep her modest.

The flannel she put on when the temperature dropped. Shedidn’t ask, and I didn’t offer. The shirt was on the passenger seat when she got in the truck earlier today, and she just put it on. I did bring it for her, just in case she needed it, but I didn’t tell her that. She saw it and simply put it on of her own accord. I love that she felt comfortable enough to perform this small act without asking.

I’m never washing the damn thing ever again.

Having my back to her is also okay because her arms are wrapped around my neck and mine are resting on her silky-smooth legs.

In the middle of a debate about men’s bedazzled jean pockets—I firmly believe they’re jeans not chandeliers and do not need to be adorned with anything remotely close to bedazzling—her lips gently graze the shell of my ear, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why I feel like I need to stick around. All I want to do is throw her in the cab of my truck and take her home and of course straight to bed, but I restrain my testosterone-laced wants and chill.

Mason O’Brien is not a one-night stand. Time with her is not something you rush. She is a fine wine you savor, and when we do finally sleep together, I plan on doing just that. Savoring the hell out of her.

I catch a glimpse of Reece, and he gives me a barely there nod that says he sees it too. She finally found me, and he’s happy for me.

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