Chapter 17
JONAH
Kissing Winnie is dangerous. This is something I know to be true.
She’s too beautiful, and too tempting, and if I kiss her, I worry that I won’t want to stop.
I’m better off single—the past has proven that to me.
Still, none of this reasoning seems to matter, because my body has a mind of its own, and I already feel myself leaning in closer to her.
After all, what’s one kiss? I’m overthinking things, looking at it from every angle and assessing the potential risks like I always do. But maybe this isn’t the time to be level headed.
“A practice kiss,” I mutter. “Why the hell not?”
I lean in further and she stands up a bit taller, our faces mere breaths away from one another. My lips fall against hers, and she meets me, softly pressing that pink mouth against mine. At first, neither of us moves, and for a brief moment I think this is it. Just a peck on the lips. Nothing more.
And then I feel Winnie’s hand release mine and tentatively pull on the edge of my shirt.
It’s like something unlocks inside of me at feeling her try to bring me closer, and I haul her against me, relishing the softness of her body against mine.
I part her lips with mine and the taste of her floods my mouth—perfection and promise and hope.
She lets me in, sighing against my mouth and opening for me entirely.
I probe her mouth with my tongue, and she answers by exploring right back, and sinking deeper into the kiss.
My hands roam lower across her back, settling right above her ass, and Winnie lets out a small whine and presses herself against me, seeking more.
I give it to her, walking her back against the hallway wall, and ravaging her mouth. She hitches one leg up and hooks it around me, and then my hips are nestled against hers, our mouths still locked, our lips still melding together.
In the back of my mind, I’m aware that no kiss has ever been like this for me before.
No kiss has ever consumed me like this, or kindled me into such a blaze.
No kiss has ever made me this hungry—for her taste, her scent, her mouth.
I feel her core pressing against me, and her mouth dragging across mine, and her hands tangling in my hair.
It’s everything a first kiss should be.
“Ahem,” a voice says.
I let go of Winnie, and instinct has me shielding her. We’re both still clothed, but she probably doesn’t want anyone else seeing her like this: face flushed, hair mussed, mouth red and swollen.
Thankfully, it’s just Ronda, the owner and bartender of the Neon Horseshoe, smirking at us over her glasses. “I’m understaffed tonight so I came to make sure the bathrooms were in decent shape. Didn’t expect to find the two of you here.”
“Sorry ma’am,” Winnie says from behind me. “We didn’t mean to be so indecent.”
“Honey, this bar has seen a lot worse than a few kisses in the hallway.”
“Well, uh, good then,” Winnie says. “The women’s bathroom is fine by the way. I was just in there and it even smelled pretty good. For you know, a bathroom.”
Ronda laughs, her smile stretching across her face. “I like you. You’re Winnie, right? The new girl staying over at the Wilson’s?”
“That’s right.” Winnie darts out from behind me, and shakes Ronda’s hand. “I love your scarf by the way. It’s gorgeous.”
“Oh this old thing?” Ronda says, gesturing at the patterned scarf holding her braids back from her face. “I got this at a little boutique in Rockwell Falls. Wish we had something like that here.”
Winnie nods eagerly. “I noticed that there weren’t any cute clothing stores in Star Mountain! It made me a bit sad.”
Ronda nods in agreement. “Now, you two go on back to your tables and when I get back to the bar, the next round is on me.” Then she disappears into the bathroom, cleaning supplies in hand.
Winnie and I stare awkwardly at one another for a moment once Ronda has left. I don’t think either of us was expecting the kiss we shared to go like it did, and now neither of us seems to know what to say.
“So, uh, good practice!” Winnie pipes up after a moment. “See you tomorrow! I need to get back to Candice and Jenny, now.”
And then she’s high-tailing it down the hallway and back into the bar, leaving me with the memory of her body against mine, and the taste of her in my mouth.
I only have one suit. And I have no idea if it’s good enough to wear to my wedding or not.
My hands itch to pick up my phone and call my mom to ask for her advice, but I promised myself I’d tell my parents after—after the papers are signed, and the money is transferred.
I’ll tell them once Winnie and I are married, and there’s nothing they can do to stop me.
I never imagined what my wedding might be like.
I had a serious girlfriend a few years ago, but when my mom got sick, Jessica broke up with me.
She left me when I needed her most and it was a knife to the gut.
From the moment I told her my mom had cancer, she started pulling away, and when she finally left, I was already too numb from the shock of how quickly my mom had deteriorated to really process Jessica leaving.
Nothing else was as important to me as spending time with my mom: going to hospital appointments, holding her hand during chemo infusions, and rubbing her back while she was vomiting.
My dad was there too, and together we made sure she had all the support she needed.
I haven’t dated anyone seriously since, and I’ve certainly never thought about marriage.
While my mom was in treatment, it hurt too much to imagine the future, because I wasn’t sure she’d be in it.
So I just avoided thinking about it all together.
And after Jessica, I’m admittedly wary of commitment—what’s to stop the next woman leaving when things get tough?
What’s to stop my mom from getting sick again?
I adjust the lapels of my suit and sigh.
It fits me, at least. But the material is cheap and I know it won’t be as nice as whatever Winnie is wearing.
Maybe it shouldn’t matter. Even if this marriage is real on paper, everything else about it is fake.
And we’re just getting married in a courthouse.
Maybe a suit is the completely wrong choice after all.
Winnie might show up in those jeans she likes so much, for all I know.
What the fuck else can I wear, though? My wardrobe is purely functional: comfortable, sturdy clothes I can work in and that last. I decide to stick with the suit, knowing that my mom would say too formal is always better than underdressed.
I pocket the wooden rose I carved last week and a small box on my nightstand, and then I’m out the door and on my way.