Page 110 of Butter My Biscuit

I sigh, keeping my voice low. “Did you ever forgive Dad for breaking up the family?”

She meets my eyes. “That marriage ending was the best thing that ever happened to me. Honestly. I’ll always be grateful for the time your father and I had, but I think we’d fallen out of love. The divorce was better than being in a loveless marriage. Who would wish for that? Not me. Sometimes, we just choose the wrong person, ya know? And we get second chances.” She pats my leg, and we fall silent. “Why is Harrison here?”

“Not sure,” I say. “But I have an idea.”

He returns, and she gets up out of his seat, and he hands me a drink. “Thought you might need it.”

“You’re right.” I laugh and shoot it back, licking all the sugar from the rim.

One of my sister’s friends, Adeline, moves next to Harrison and strikes up a conversation. I hear her ask about me, and he tells her we’re just best friends.

The ceremony and reception are over, but everyone lingers around the beach, and many make their way to the minibars in their nice clothes. As Harrison chats with her, I get up and make my way to the same stool I occupied the night before when I was with Anthony. What a disaster that was.

“Cranberry and vodka,” I tell her.

“Goin’ for the hard stuff tonight?” She pours it and sets it down in front of me.

“I just want this weekend to be over.”

She watches me spin the ice with my straw as the band plays a sad song from the ’90s.

“Yeah, I hate weddings too. Especially working here.”

“Have you ever been around someone that you just know would be good for you, but the timing is always wrong? Like the chemistry, the conversations, everything is exactly what you wish for, but … it’simpossible. Probability absolutely zero.”

She nods. “Oh, is this about you and Harrison?”

Her knowing his name doesn’t surprise me. “He doesn’t meet a stranger, does he?”

“Tips well. Hot. Confident. Flirty as fuck though,” she tells me, tossing her silver bottle opener and catching it in the palm of her hand. “But if I were you, I’d turn around because he hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you walked away from him. But that’s just me.” She shrugs, refilling my drink. “That one is on the house.”

The warm wind blows, and the tiki torches flames flickers. I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath, chugging it back. That whole damn bottle couldn’t give me the courage I need.

“Fearless,” I whisper, then turn around.

As soon as our eyes meet, he gives me his perfect Valentine smirk, and then he excuses himself. Even though there are a lot of people on this beach, he’s locked in on me. And as he moves toward me like the angel of death coming to bring me to hell with him, I think how much I fucking love that navy suit on him. It makes his eyes look dark, like the deep sea, and I want to drown in them. He moves closer, like an unstoppable magnetic force pulls him toward me.

He holds out his hand when he’s close. “Dance with me?”

“But no one is dancing,” I say, shaking my head and tugging him back to me.

He leans in and whispers in my ear, “Who gives a shit? It’s just me and you.”

And in the moment, I believe him. Because it feels like it’s just us and nothing in the world matters.

He slowly leads me to the sand, walking in front of me with our hands outstretched. When he turns and looks at me over his shoulder with that smoldering gaze, heat rushes through me. Then, he turns around, placing his strong hand on my hip, resting his forehead on mine. My eyes flutter closed, our mouths dangerously close.

We’re playing with fire, and it’s catching up with us, chasing us like a forest fire blowing in the wind. We won’t survive this—I already know—and then what?

We dance barefoot to the moody song. I interlock my fingers behind his neck, not letting him pull away, but he doesn’t. I feel him grow hard as a ragged breath escapes me.

It’s too much, I think.

He’s intoxicating; he’s the poison in my blood right now. My utter temptation, the man who was sent to ruin me, and, fuck, do I want to be ruined by him when his lips slide across my mouth and his tongue slides against mine.

“We shouldn’t,” I whisper as he fists the back of my dress.

Not only are we fighting ourselves, but we’re fighting each other too. His kisses are too intense, too greedy, too hot, and I’m losing control, all willpower gone.

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