Page 43 of The 7 Rules of Moving On
Watching Billy and Kathleen canoodle through the door, Trig shook his head. “That’s twice tonight I’ve been sermonized by the prophet Dave Matthews.”
Kissie didn’t respond, not a single chuckle, not even a smile. She just stared into her beer.
“Looking for your own prophet?” he asked, reaching for the buttons of his sweaty shirt through sheer force of habit. His fingers stilled on the second button when he noticed her gaze return to him, drifting down to his hands.
They were alone now, the entire town converging on the Montgomery mansion. Everything suddenly seemed so quiet, until she said, “Why did you stop?”
It was his turn to fight through a swallow. He was pumping the breaks. He was erecting barriers. He was creating distance.
“Kissie,” he said, dropping his hands, “you’re leaving tomorrow. I know this morning was…it was amazing. But we probably shouldn’t—”
Stepping into his space, the fire in her eyes banking, she lowered her forehead to his chest and said, “I know.”
He wrapped her inside his arms, cradling her neck, kissing her head. “I’m going to miss you too much. Way too much.”
“Me too.”
Burying his nose into her hair, breathing her in maybe for the last time, he was about to pull away when a familiar song chimed from the counter between the cash register and the blender. Right where he’d left his phone.
Her head whipped up, her blue eyes meeting his, huge and breathtakingly beautiful. “Is that the Big Bobby’s Tires song?”
He’d been setting his phone to silent whenever he was around her, but he must have forgotten tonight. “Um…”
Turning around, she swiped his phone off the counter and held it in her hands like it was made of glass, like it was precious. “You set my jingle as your ringtone?”
“It’s a great song,” he said, trying to play it off as no big deal. Because what if she thought he was some massive creep who’d been dreaming about her for years and had spent hours searching the internet for this damn song before finally finding some random YouTube video of a dog chasing its tail where it was playing in the background?
“Trig.” That was all she said, only his name. But the way her eyes glistened, filling with tears, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that everything he ever wanted or ever would want lived behind those eyes. It wasn’t until her chin started wobbling, however, that he finally understood an essential truth he’d been intent on denying for the last three years.
There were no guarantees in life. No path he could follow that wouldn’t fork and branch in countless, unanticipated ways. No way to know if turning down one branch or the other would keep him from getting hurt again or keep him from being truly happy. All that existed was the moment he was in, the step he was taking right then. It was the only true thing he had. And this moment, this step, was presenting him with the chance to have everything he ever wanted. No matter how brief it might be, no matter how much it might hurt when it ended, when life gave a person a moment like this, they needed to fucking grab it.
Taking his phone from her and setting it back down onto the counter, he cupped her face in his hands, brushing the single tear sliding down her cheek away with his thumb.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, leaning into his touch.
“Something I will never, ever regret,” he answered, and then he kissed her.
It started slow, careful, but within seconds his tongue was brushing over hers, one hand fisted in her hair, the other on her ass.
“Take me to your room,” she pleaded, pawing at his chest, unbuttoning his shirt. “Please.”
“No,” he growled. “Too far away.”
Picking her up, hoisting her legs around his waist, he carried her back into the kitchen and kicked the door shut behind them.
She ripped open his shirt, a button popping off and clanging into the sink while he sat her on top of the counter.
Slipping down her body, he pulled a strap of her dress off her shoulder, exposing a lacy black bra. For a moment he could only stare at her, forcing himself to commit her to memory, the straight line of her collar bone, the slope of her neck, the rosy tint of her nipple peeking through lace.
Her fingers in his hair, pulling his mouth to her breast, snapped him from his reverie.
Bending to the task, he sucked her nipple into his mouth through the lace of her bra. While he cupped her other breast, he tongued her nipple free, licking and nipping and teasing until her fingernails scraped across his scalp and her moans made his cock strain against his zipper.
He sank to his knees, leaving the heaven of her breasts only so he could worship the rest of her. When he gazed up at her, her eyes hooded and chest heaving, he slid his hands up her thighs, hooked his fingers into the thin band of her underwear, and pulled.
“Shit,” she breathed, spreading her thighs apart for him.
After tucking her underwear into his back pocket, he raised her skirt, exposing her fully. She was pink and glistening, so wet he was glad he was already on his knees. Kissing his way up her thigh, his teeth grazing over her warm, soft skin, he nestled between her trembling legs.
