Page 71 of Butter My Biscuit

I meet his eyes. “I don’t remember what happened.”

“You were straddling me, pinning me down on the floor, and he walked in.” He swallows. “You almost kissed me.”

“Ahh, yeah, but you turned your head. That was the moment I friend-zoned you for good.” I shoot him a wink, remembering that night pretty vividly.

I wanted him then, but he denied me. Mainly because I had a boyfriend, but we won’t talk about my recklessness. He’s loyal like that.

But it kinda hurt. I knew where I stood and was fine with it. I’m still fine with it, knowing my relationships are cursed.

He clears his throat. “I wanted you to be sure. Even if I was a rebound.”

“Iwassure. I was also really fucking nervous because it’s kinda a big deal to get drunk and make out with your best friend.”

He tucks his hands in his pockets, and I want to worship every inch of him.

“I’m not the one in denial.” He says it like he could read my mind.

“I’m not.” My tone is light. “Every person I’ve ever known who’s dated their best friend became strangers. The thought of that makes me sick to my stomach. If we start something, there’s a finish line somewhere.”

“Not true. Maybe you’re so pessimistic with love because you’re searching for it in all the wrong places.”

“I’m a realist, Harrison. Women whose parents divorced when they were young have a sixty-nine percent chance of also getting a divorce. That gives me and whoever I marry a thirty-one percent success rate. I’m not a mathematician, but doesn’t seem like the odds are in my favor,” I breathe out. “They’re not. And I can’t lose you.”

Within two steps, he’s in front of me, wrapping his arms around me. “I’m not going anywhere. Our secrets are safe. But you have to promise me one more thing …”

“Tell me.”

“If either of us gets to a point where we feel like this will destroy our friendship, we stop, no matter what. Even if the other person doesn’t want to.”

I cross an X over my heart, and he repeats it.

With his hand pressed against my cheek, he whispers, “Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal.”

“Merry fuckin’ Christmas,” I say, and he dips down and kisses me.

14

HARRISON

Iwalk into my parents’ house, whistling. It smells like cinnamon and sugar, and I can hear my family in the kitchen.

Images of last night play on repeat in my head. Grace’s mouth on mine, her soft pants filling the space, the way she quivered beneath me, and whispered my name …

Did it actually happen?

Yes.I smile.Yes, it fucking did.

And I’d do it all over again if given the chance.

“Ooh.” They point at me when I walk in. “Look who’s the last one here!”

“I am not.” I check the time, knowing that I’m thirty minutes early. My eyes scan the room, and I count my sisters and brothers, and Hayden and Summer. Guilt is written all over their faces. “Y’all planned this. What a bunch ofassholes!”

The room bursts into laughter because the last one who arrives at our family gatherings has to do every single dish. There are so many of us that if it happens on a holiday, like Thanksgiving or Christmas, when we eat all day, it quickly becomes a full-time job.

“That’s what you get for setting me up on Thanksgiving.” Beckett offers me a mug of coffee, and I begrudgingly take it.

“It was his idea, but I helped execute it,” Kinsley offers with a wink.

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