Page 63 of If You Never Come Back
“What?”
“Tequila.”
“Believe it or not, I’m out.”
I kiss his bare bicep. He lets out a low moan.
“Trust me, if I had known how this day was going to unfold, I would have packed a brand-new bottle,” he says.
I lean over Wes to reach my phone from my nightstand. “No worries. Remy’s always got full bottles at the bar. I’ll text him to drop one off after his shift tonight.”
When I put my phone back, Wes hugs my back against his chest. “I can always run to the store.”
I turn around to face him, softly clawing at his chest with both hands. “No way. You’re not leaving this bed for the rest of this evening.”
“Just what have you got planned for your boyfriend, Shay?” He smirks down at me.
Boyfriend.I beam up at him. My face hot, I can’t help the joy circling within me. Wes is my boyfriend again.
I plant another long and teasing kiss on him before trailing my mouth down his chest. “You’ll see.”
Chapter Twenty
From above the rim of my glass, I stare at Wes. Naked in bed, sheets tangled around us, is my new favorite way to enjoy tequila. I clink my glass against his.
“To new beginnings,” he says.
I raise a brow. “So cliché.”
He laughs, then we take a sip. “It’s the best I can do after the number you did on me.”
My mind drifts back to our night together. We barely racked up any sleep. Mostly naps between mind-blowing sex sessions.
He drains his glass, sets it on the nightstand, then wraps his arm around me, cuddling me into his chest. He squints at the bottle of Dulce Vida tequila that Remy dropped at my door after his shift. “Damn, that’s good.”
“You can thank Remy later,” I say.
Wes lifts his brow at me. “How do you think he’s going to take the news that we’re back together?”
“He’ll be shocked, I’m sure.”
“And probably a little pissed.”
I laugh. “Okay, maybe a little pissed, but if I’m happy, he’ll be happy. Eventually.”
“Are you saying I have some groveling to do?”
“Maybe.”
He stares out the window for a few seconds, like he’s thinking about something else entirely. “Want to grab some breakfast? Maybe at the diner where we had our first date?”
My stomach growls at the mention of food. It’s been more than twelve hours since I’ve eaten. “Yes, please.”
We get dressed and bundle up in our coats. We walk with my sore arm looped in his while I brace myself with a crutch using my good arm. I’ve hit the four-week recovery mark and could probably do without it, but since there’s snow and ice out, I want to be safe. I close my eyes and hum to myself. Us side by side, in step, together. Joy. Contentment. Utter perfection.
Wes stops at the front of a small brick building next to Dandy Lime. “I need to make a pit stop first,” he says.
“The bar doesn’t open until noon, and Remy won’t be up for another couple of hours, so you can’t grovel just yet,” I say.
