Chapter 3 #2
My heart hammered in my throat.
A couple of songs passed. I was giddy, spun out on alcohol and his closeness, and the way he never got bored of making me laugh. The crowd seemed happy to let us exist in our own little bubble.
The next song was a ballad. Dean drew me closer, my chest pressed to his, my cheek brushing his collar. I felt the steady thump of his heart. He smelled of sweat, salt, and aftershave, and I was in danger of being completely, pathetically lost in it.
In other words, it was the perfect time for Aunt Carol to materialize, martini in hand, her smile beaming and intensely curious. She didn’t circle like a shark. She floated over, inserting herself into our bubble with the cheerful entitlement of a beloved relative.
“Well, look at you two!” she chirped, her voice carrying over the music. “Brynn, darling, I haven’t seen you this happy in ages.”
I tensed, but Dean just smiled, never breaking our rhythm. “She has that effect on me. I’d like to think the feeling is mutual.”
Aunt Carol’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes sharpened. “It’s all so sudden, though! How long have you been keeping this handsome man a secret from your favorite aunt?”
The question was a direct hit, designed to catch me off guard. My cheeks heated.
“Oh, it’s… it’s pretty new,” I stammered, the lie feeling flimsy on my tongue.
“New is right!” Aunt Carol said with a little laugh, patting my arm. “Poor Todd was so surprised. But it must be the real deal if you’re already this inseparable.” She took a deliberate sip of her martini, her gaze flicking between us. “You two just look so in love!”
The words hung in the air, a challenge disguised as a compliment. I felt the eyes from nearby tables on us. Dean tensed beside me, the steady rhythm of our dance faltering.
Dean’s expression shifted. He stared directly at me, his gaze serious, intent. “I think we can do better than just looking the part.” His voice was just loud enough for our audience to hear.
Then, without warning, he spun me, caught me at the waist, and dipped me low over the sand. I yelped, unprepared, arms windmilling until I found his shoulders and clung for dear life.
The world tilted. Torchlight and stars above, Dean’s face so close I saw the flecks in his light-blue eyes. My hand moved down to his chest, settling above his wildly beating heart. Everything stilled—the music, the chatter, the crash of the surf.
He waited, searching my face. His eyes stopped on my mouth. My brain was all static.
Then he kissed me.
When the heat of his mouth hit mine, the bottom dropped out of everything. His lips were gentler than I expected, cautious at first, giving me an out. I didn’t take it. I pressed up to meet him, and he deepened the kiss, his hand at the nape of my neck.
He deepened the kiss, his fingers tangling in my hair as he tilted my head back. His thumb traced slow, maddening circles on my skin while his other arm held me against him. A soft groan rumbled in his chest, and then his tongue traced the seam of my lips, a hot, wet demand for more.
I opened for him without a second thought. He swept inside, tasting of IPA and salt and something that was just him. Mindful of where we were, he withdrew to a more proper but still head-spinning kiss. His stubble scraped against my chin, and I wanted more.
I wanted everything.
My fingers, which had been braced on his shoulders, twisted into the fabric of his shirt, clutching him closer as if I could pull him inside me.
I forgot where we were. I forgot the music, the crowd, the tiki torches. There was only the slick heat of his mouth, the possessive grip of his hand in my hair, and the stunning realization that this felt more real than anything I had felt in years.
Then the world roared back all at once—conversation, laughter, the music. Our lips parted, but Dean didn’t let go. Not until I opened my eyes and he smiled like he’d just solved the world’s most impossible equation.
He righted me gently. Aunt Carol was nowhere to be seen. The moment was ours.
Dean ran a thumb along my cheek, his smile softer than I’d ever seen it. “Are you okay?”
I was not okay, but I nodded. I wanted to do it again.
Instead, I leaned my forehead against his chest, letting the music carry us a little longer.
“Next time,” I said, my voice shaky as we resumed our dance, “warn me before you go full-on Dancing with the Stars.”
He laughed, his body vibrating under my hands. “Where’s the fun in that?”
I smiled. For the rest of the song, I let myself be held, swaying in the dark with someone who made me feel like the past didn’t have to dictate the future. The song ended, and reality edged in. But for those few minutes, I’d forgotten what I was supposed to be afraid of.
And when Dean stared back at me, I saw it—he’d forgotten, too.
“Let’s get a drink.” I nodded toward the tiki bar, desperate for a change of scenery, for something to do with my hands.
“Good idea,” he said, his voice a little rough. He didn’t let go immediately. Instead, his hand slid from my waist to the small of my back, a warm, guiding pressure as we walked away from the dance floor together. The gesture was so natural, so proprietary, it made my heart thump even harder.
We didn’t speak on the way to the bar. We didn’t have to. The air between us was electric, charged with everything that had just happened and everything that might happen next.
The bartender took one look at our dazed expressions and reached for the rum. “Two Hurricanes?”
“Make mine a double.” I gripped the bamboo counter for support.
Dean stood beside me, so close our arms brushed. He didn’t look at me, just stared straight ahead at the rows of liquor bottles, but I could feel the tension radiating off him. He hadn’t been acting. I was sure of it.
The drinks arrived. I took a long, desperate swallow of mine, the rum scorching a path down my throat.
It did nothing to calm the frantic energy buzzing under my skin.
The memory of his lips—gentle, then demanding, then wow—was the kind of kiss that made you forget your own name, never mind the rules of a fake relationship.
I risked a glance at him. He was studying me, his expression unreadable in the flickering torchlight. He hadn’t touched his drink.
“So,” he said, his voice low. “That was… convincing.”
“It was a tactical decision.” I tried to reclaim the safety of our joke.
His mouth twitched into a half-smile, but his eyes were serious. “Right. Tactical.” He finally picked up his glass, swirling the dark liquid. “We should probably get back out there. Keep up appearances.”
He was offering me an out, a chance to pretend that kiss hadn’t just rewired my entire nervous system. I could take it. We could go back to the dance floor, back to the safety of the charade.
But as the party hummed behind us, I made a silent vow—no more pretending, not to myself. If I was going to risk getting hurt, it might as well be for something that made me feel this alive.
I met his gaze and held it. “Or we could just stay here for a minute. Alone.”
He watched me for a long beat, searching my face. Then, a smile spread across his lips—a small, private thing just for us.
Not a challenge. An invitation.
“Yeah.” His shoulders relaxed at last. “I’d like that.”
He turned back to the bar, our shoulders touching. We drank together, the joy of the party a distant hum. For the first time in forever, I didn’t feel like a visitor in my own life. I felt wildly, dangerously out of control. It was the scariest, most hopeful feeling in the world.