Page 23 of Out in the Country

“What? You gonna demand to have the first orgasm? Because that seems like a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“Ugh, why are you so damn perfect?” Hayden says as he wipes the back of his hand over his face before blinking away the remaining tears.

“Can I quote you on that?” I tease.

“Once a month.”

“Five times.”

“Two.”

“Three,” I say as I drag my tongue down the column of his throat, chasing the drops of water on his skin.

“Three.”

Smiling against him, I work my way back up to whisper in his ear. He shivers and his mouth falls open in anticipation, as his cock hardens against me.

“Let’s go see how long it takes you to steal the covers,” I murmur in the most seductive voice I can manage.

“You’re such a dork,” he says on a laugh, but he’s wrapping his arms around my neck as he pulls me in for a kiss.

“But you love me.”

“Yeah, Ev, I love you.” He pulls back and smirks. “I love you so much that I now have to tell you how perfect you are three times a month.”

I rub my nose against his and chuckle. “That sounds terrible.”

“It’s going to bereally hard.”

“Lucky for you I know a good way to fix that,” I purr as I rock my hips into his.

“Lucky indeed.”

11

HAYDEN

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Everett stops looking into the empty ballroom that held Harper and Brian’s reception. He doesn’t answer for a few moments, but when he does his cheeks are pink, and he rubs the back of his neck without meeting my gaze.

“I, uh,”—he clears his throat—“it’s stupid.” He takes a step, but I grab his hand and pull him to a stop in front of me.

“Tell me.”

“I didn’t get to dance with you.”

My lids fall shut on a shaky breath because in my entire lifetime, no one has shown me this much care or consideration, and I feel so unworthy of this man.

Pulling the strap of my bag over my head, I place it on the floor and then take the bag from his hand and do the same.

“Hayden, what—” I pull him through the door with my phone in my hand and scroll through the music I have stored until I find what I’m looking for.

The first notes of “Photograph” by Ed Sheeran play, and I toss my phone onto the nearest table before pulling Everett into my arms. There’s no hesitation in our movements as my arm rests on his shoulder while my other hand clutches his and is sandwiched between us. It’s like we’ve done this a hundred times despite the fact that I can feel his heart hammering where we touch.

“Why this song?”

“It just feels right. Like you…us.” His hand against my lower back presses me tighter against him. “There is an ‘us,’ right?”

“Hell, yeah, there is.” His voice is loud in the empty space, and I chuckle as his declaration echoes off the walls around us. “If you remember, I’m not the one with all the doubts.”

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