Page 104 of Butter My Biscuit

“What are you thinking about?” Anthony asks as I stare off into the distance, stirring the straw in the martini I switched over to.

I shake my head. “Everything. My little sister is getting married. Feel like my destiny is to be an old maid.”

He pats my leg. “You’re not even thirty, sweetie.”

This makes me snort. “I will be in two and a half years.”

“Southerners are weird as fuck with this marriage stuff. Most people don’t even start living their lives until they’re in their mid-thirties. Now, if you’re forty and unmarried, call me.” He orders another drink. “Another?”

I nod and tap my glass. “Might as well. What time is it?”

The clock on the wall says it’s just past eleven, which means we’ve been at this since dark. Five hours. Shit. I lost track of time, and now, I’ve drunk way too much.

Our glasses are set on the bar top. Then, when I turn my head and meet Anthony’s dark brown eyes, we kiss. It’s sloppy and wet, and I tell myself I need this.

When we break apart, we both slam back our drinks, and then he pays. I bring him back to my place, and as soon as we’re alone again, I give myself a pep talk. Right now, I don’t want anything other than to be fucked, for him to erase the memories of the last person.

Anthony undresses me, throws my clothes onto the floor, and leans me back on the bed. But it feels off. I kiss him, trying to push the thoughts away, wanting to be into it. Needing to be.

“What’s wrong?” He pulls away. His cock is hard inside of his shorts.

I huff and lie back on the bed, holding my hands over my eyes. “I can’t do this.”

“Someone else?” He pulls away.

“Just a lot of baggage. I’m too in my head.”

He sits next to me and laughs, pulling up his pants and grabbing his shirt. “I’ve been there.”

I pick up my bra and panties, sliding them over my body.

“I should probably go.” He runs his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “I’m sor?—”

He stops me. “No apologies.”

Then, he kisses me on the cheek. “I hope you find that happily ever after you’re desperately searching for, Grace.”

“Fuck, me too.”

22

HARRISON

I thought about it.

I changed my mind.

I’m going to Hawaii.

Beckettforgotto put me on the schedule so I took it as a sign that I needed to get on a plane. Maybe he just said that because he understood how much I needed this trip, or maybe it was a universal coincidence; either way, all signs pointed to me going. And I need to talk with Grace. A real talk, one where we can hash this shit out and really start over if that’s what she wants.

I sleep the entire flight there, and when I land, I take a cab to the hotel. I walk up to the front desk, test my luck, and ask for a key to my room. When it is slid across the counter, I realize Grace didn’t take my name off the reservation. Silly girl.

With my duffel tight in my grip and my suits thrown over my shoulder, I take the elevator up to the top floor. The glass elevator doors give me the perfect view of the beach, and I’m in awe as the early morning sunlight splashes across the sea. I check the time and see I have two hours before the rehearsal dinner starts, but it’s on resort property so there isn’t too far to travel.

At the end of the hallway is our room.

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