11. Clint
ELEVEN
CLINT
"...and you know," Trevor's voice carried across the reception hall, "when I look at Kevin and Gretchen tonight, I see what true love really means." He paused, and I fought the urge to groan. This was at least the third time he'd commandeered the microphone. "That kind of connection, that spark—it's rare. And seeing them so happy together..." He turned to beam at his fiancée. "Well, Jessica and I can only hope for the same kind of love they share."
Beside me, Austen made a small sound—something between a snort and a cough that she tried to hide behind her napkin. I squeezed her hand under the table. At least we were on the same page about how incredibly tacky it was to try to steal attention from the happy couple on their big day.
But that was Trevor in a nutshell, wasn't it? Always trying to make everything about him. At least, that’s what it looked like to me from my observations tonight. Had he done that when he’d been dating Austen? We hadn’t talked about it, and I’d gone out of my way not to find out the details while they’d been together. I’d hoped she was happy, but I hadn’t wanted to know specifics. I kind of regretted that now. Not that I knew what I might have done if I’d been aware of things. Despite our long- running friendship, we hadn’t had the kind of relationship where I’d have felt comfortable telling her she deserved better from her partner than she was getting. I’d have only felt the right to truly intervene if she’d been in some form of danger.
It felt kind of awful to be thankful that Trevor had thrown Austen away. I hated that she’d been hurt, but I didn’t know if she’d have eventually made the call to break up or not. Better that they’d been through for months. Though the engagement had obviously thrown her a bit, it was more than obvious to me that she was over the guy. Which meant there was nothing stopping me from making my play to shift us out of fake dating territory and into something real.
The DJ put an end to the interminable speeches, calling the bride and groom out to the floor for the first dance. All eyes turned to the newlyweds, Trevor’s little performance forgotten. Exactly as it should be.
With a sigh, Austen leaned into the curve of my arm where I had it stretched along the back of her chair. She'd been doing that all evening, and I hadn’t been able to resist the urge to touch her, lightly stroking my fingers along her bare shoulder. Her skin was so soft and silky. I wanted to chance to explore the rest of it. Did she recognize I was no longer playing a part? Did she feel the same, or was all this casual affection for the benefit of any eyes that might be on us? We’d been relegated to one of the less desirable tables, which meant there hadn’t been anyone worrisome for us to contend with or perform for. I wanted that to mean her guard was slipping, and she was relaxing into this attraction between us.
Once all the traditional dances finished, the DJ opened up the floor to everyone. I pushed back my chair and wiggled my fingers at Austen in invitation. "C'mon. Let's go make the son of a bitch jealous."
Her answering grin was wicked as she took my hand.
She’d been hesitant during our practice session at her place last night. She wasn’t hesitant now. When I tugged, she spun. When I pressed forward, she fell back, following my lead through one high-energy song after another. We’d found our rhythm, and damn if we didn’t look good together.
Austen cutting loose was stunning—curls escaping her hairdo, her cheeks flushed with exertion, her eyes sparkling. Absolute joy radiated off her as we spun and twirled our way across the dance floor. The dress that had been making my mouth go dry and drool by turns all night now swirled around her legs. Her bold, unapologetic laugh carried over the music every time I pulled her close, until I couldn’t even remember why we were supposed to be putting on a show. All I could focus on was how right this felt. How perfect she was, and how much I adored seeing that brilliant smile.
The tempo shifted, the driving beat fading into something slower, softer. Without coaxing, Austen melted against me. Her skin was flushed from exertion. I felt the warmth of it beneath my palm on the small of her back as we swayed. She tipped her face up to mine, and everything around us faded away, leaving only her eyes, dark and deep and full of something my hopeful heart recognized as yearning.
No more pretending. I wanted this woman more than I wanted my next breath.
Sliding one hand slowly up her spine, I cradled her nape, stroking my thumb along her wildly fluttering pulse. Her breath caught, and I held there for just a moment, soaking in the delicious sense of anticipation, giving her a chance to pull away. But she didn’t. Instead, her pretty pink lips parted on an inhale. If this was the only kiss I ever shared with Austen MacAvoy, I’d make damned sure she never forgot it.
I closed the distance, finding her mouth with mine. Something detonated inside me. The last of my defenses, maybe. I poured everything I had into that kiss—every letter I’d read a hundred times overseas, every dream that had carried me through deployment, every moment the past two weeks that I’d wanted to make this reality.
Austen made a tiny sound in the back of her throat, so soft I almost missed it. But I didn’t miss the way she pressed closer, her fingers curling into my jacket.
To hell with everyone and everything else. This wasn’t for show. This was for us.
Austen rose up, wrapping her arms around my neck, even as her mouth opened against mine. The taste of her flooded into me, potent and delicious, and better than I’d imagined. I hauled her closer, needing more. More skin. More heat. More everything. My hands splayed across her back, holding her close, memorizing the absolute perfection of the moment because I didn’t think I’d could ever let her go.
Someone bumped against us.
My situational awareness gradually filtered back in, telling me that the music had shifted back to dance-party mode. I couldn’t bring myself to give damn. Not when Austen was looking up at me, her lips slightly swollen from my kiss, her eyes wide and full of wonder and heat and possibility.
That kiss had changed everything. It meant tonight wasn’t an ending. God and Austen willing, it was just the beginning.