Page 40 of Off the Beaten Path

She cuts off as I pull her down the hall, stopping in the same spot we did last time. My hand at the small of her back is the only thing stopping her from thudding against the wall.

“Wren,” I breathe, my mind in shambles now that we’re away from the crowds of people. The din of music quiets in this little hidden away nook. I’m sure someone will come down here to use the restroom at some point. In a town full of busybodies, I should probably care, but I can’t bring myself to. Not when Wren’s got her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. Her cornflower blue eyes are wide as she stares up at me, that ring of dark blue around the irises drawing me in like a moth to flame.

Gathering my thoughts, I ask, “What are we doing?”

Wren’s breath fans against my lips, and I want to sag into her, but I stop myself, planting a hand on the wall beside her head.

“Aren’t we pretending?” she whispers.

I search her face, looking for any indication that she’s telling the truth. There’s a constellation of freckles over every inch of her skin, and I want to trace them with my fingers. Her bottom lip is full, her top dipping in a deep cupid’s bow. This close, I can tell she has the longest eyelashes of anyone I’ve ever seen. They’re just a pale red, and white blond at the tips. She’s an amalgamation of features that make her into something stunning, precious, and utterly unforgettable, but I can’t tell if she means what she’s saying.

The truth sizzles beneath my skin, begging to be let out, and there’s only a moment of hesitation before I give in.

“I’m not.”

Wren’s face softens into something like surprise before it changes, her eyelids growing heavy, her breath stopping completely. She blinks once. “Me neither.”

That’s all it takes.

My last vestige of control snaps like a worn-out rubber band, and my hand dives into those curls that have been driving me mad, pulling her close enough to fuse her lips to mine. The pool cue clatters to the floor as Wren drops it and fists her hands in the collar of my flannel, erasing the last bit of space between us until we line up perfectly.

I won’t lie and say I haven’t thought about kissing Wren before. When I’m staring up at my ceiling at night, cold and tired and lonely and wanting, it’s practically all I can think about. I’ve imagined how it would happen, whether it would be soft and slow or frantic and hot, how she would taste, how she would feel.

Nothing could have prepared me for the real thing. For the press of her curves against me. For the taste of her lips. For the way she responds, leading the kiss even though I was the one who started it.

If there was ever a doubt in my mind that Wren wanted me, she’s obliterating it.

A hard groan escapes me when Wren sinks her teeth into my bottom lip, and I drop my hand from the wall, placing it behind her thigh, hauling her up against me. Her legs wrap around my waist, bringing her face more level with mine, and I take the advantage, gripping her hair tighter and angling her head better.

She lets out a soft moan, and my tongue slips inside, tangling with hers. I was right. She does taste like strawberry wine, although mixed with the taste of my beer. My skin flushes hot with the knowledge that she’s going to taste it for the rest of the night.

I pull my mouth away long enough to trail open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, down the smooth line of her neck to where her scent is the strongest, like she sprayed her perfumeright there. I want to memorize that scent, imprint it on the back of my mind to remember when I need a pick-me-up.

I can’t imagine anything feeling better than this. Better than Wren Daniels sighing my name in my ear, scratching the back of my neck with the tips of her fingers, tugging my mouth back to hers.

I’m not sure how much time passes, but the kiss goes on and on, changing tempo from something hard and rough to languid and seductive, like a lazy Saturday morning in bed, with long, lingering touches and twisted sheets and all the time in the world.

“Holden,” Wren murmurs against my lips, her fingers scratching against my scalp before moving down the length of my neck and across my shoulders.

When I don’t respond, she pulls back. I follow, trying to close the distance between us once more, but her laugh fills the gap, making my eyes spring open.

Her lips are kiss-swollen, her cheeks and neck red from the scrape of my beard. She looks like every dream I’ve woken up from over the past few weeks, and I want to pinch myself to make sure it’s real.

“Holden,” she says again, a smile curling up one side of her mouth, making that faint dimple crease her cheek. “Your phone is vibrating.”

I finally notice the buzzing in my pocket, pressed against her thigh.

“Sorry, I better check this,” I say, slowly lowering her to the ground, soaking in the way her body slides against the length of mine. I brace one hand against her hip when she seems a little unsteady, and she flashes me another heart-melting smile as I fish my phone from my pocket and swipe it open.

“She’s okay,” Finley says on the other line, and my heart, which has been beating erratically for the last few minutes, slams to a stop in my chest. “I think June’s got a stomach bug. She’s been complaining of a tummy ache and just threw up.” Finley pauses. “Twice.”

I back away from Wren, pushing my free hand through my hair. “Why didn’t you call me the first time?”

“She had a bunch of sweets, and so I thought it was that at first,” Finley says, and at my loud sigh, Wren’s brow wrinkles, and she signals, asking if everything is okay.

I nod, focusing on the conversation.

“Anyway, I was going to call you after I got it all cleaned up, but then she threw up again, and so I don’t think it’s just from the sweets.”

---