Chapter Nineteen
After another delay in Charlotte, Marcee got back to Belle Cliff at the same time she was supposed to be meeting Alex, her coworkers, and Remy at the Hollerback Bar for their annual New Year’s Eve bash.
Even though she’d tried to end things on a positive note with her folks—despite their shortcomings, they were her parents after all—there was nothing she wanted to do more than lose herself in some tequila shots and Remy’s beautiful brown eyes.
Since she was already late, she rushed home to drop off her bag and freshen up. There was no way she was going to smell like an airplane the first time she touched her man after two weeks.
It was incredible (in the worst way possible) the extent to which she’d missed him.
He’d ingrained himself so completely into her everyday life that not seeing him, touching him, or hearing his voice left her hollow.
Part of her was terrified that she needed him so badly, but the rest of her was greedy, ready to hold him to her and never, ever let go.
Just before she left the house, she sent Remy a text.
I can’t wait to see you. And taste you.
His response was immediate and made her blush.
A taste won’t be enough, not after two weeks. I’m thinking full
course meal.
She might’ve “accidentally” sped all the way there.
The bar was a neon flickering mass of pumping bass as she pulled into the parking lot and shut off Ronaldo’s engine.
Marcee touched up her lip gloss in the rearview mirror before grabbing her purse, then rushed through the dark to the front entrance, icy gusts kicking up the ends of her coat.
Nerves raced through her, as if she’d taken three shots of espresso before performing on stage in front of thousands of people.
Chappell Roan’s latest hit blared through the packed establishment. Just as she’d slipped off her coat and was peering over the heads in front of her, a strong pair of arms wrapped around her waist from behind.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes.” His voice skittered down her neck, a pleasant tingle for him and him alone.
Marcee spun in his arms, arching into his embrace and desperate to feel every inch of him against her.
God, she’d missed this. “Likewise. Now, kiss me, because if you don’t, I might explode.
” She’d barely finished the sentence before his lips swept across hers, forceful and hot.
Perfection was real. It was Remy’s lips and their ability to make her forget who she was and anything she’d ever done.
“Marcee!” Alex shoved through a group of guys, already two sheets to the wind, her face flushed and a grin as big as Texas. “You’re here!” Remy pulled away just in time. Alex leapt at her, squeezing so hard Marcee gasped.
“Whew, babe, I missed you, too!” Alex’s ruffled hair whipped at her before she smoothed it down and her heart grew ten sizes; these were her people. It didn’t matter that she was born and raised in New York. Belle Cliff felt more like her home than the city ever had and that was because of them.
“Ready for a drink?” Remy asked, his warm, broad hand engulfing hers. His thumb stroked down the side, a slow and sensual promise of things to come.
“Definitely. Let’s get this new year started!” She grabbed Alex and tugged her along, their group forming a train to the bar. Matt and his business partner, Pete, were nursing fresh pints.
“Marcee, dear! Good to see you.” Pete pulled her in, hugging her against his side.
“Hi, Pete! Matt, I have a bone to pick with you.” She poked Alex’s ex-boyfriend, now boss, in the chest. “How come you never mentioned that you knew Remy? All throughout college, knowing I was only marginally obsessed with soccer and him, you never once spilled the beans? Rude, dude. Just rude.”
Matt’s cheeks flushed. “Discretion, that’s why. The second that knowledge became common would’ve been the moment the favors started rolling in.” He shrugged and gave her a sheepish smile before fist-bumping Remy.
“My man!” Remy said, voice smug.
Marcee rolled her eyes. “You could’ve had so many women if they’d known you were friends with a celebrity. Rookie move, Matt.”
Matt sipped at his beer and said, almost too low to hear, “I didn’t need women. I already had the best one.”
Alex’s eyes nearly popped out of her head, and everyone suddenly had anywhere else to look.
Remy ordered a round of tequila shots for everyone, breaking the awkward silence.
“To a new year with old friends!” Pete raised his shot glass, nudging Matt.
“To success!” Matt lifted his glass.
“To perfect imperfection!” Marcee raised her glass, blushing at Remy’s gaze.
“To getting what you want!” Alex avoided Matt’s questioning look, clinking her glass against Marcee’s.
Remy looked straight ahead. “I second that.”
Before she had a chance to think on it, they let out a hearty, “Cheers!” The golden liquid raced down her throat, velvety smooth and strong. It pooled in her stomach, a delicious heat spreading to her extremities.
Finally, she could relax. No one from Pemberton would dare show their face in a place like this. Remy and her best friend were by her side, and she was as light as a feather.
“It’s time to dance!” Alex grabbed her hand, and they melted into the crowd, the lights, music and pulsating bodies flowing around them like a gurgling spring.
It was one of those perfect nights where responsibilities and expectations slough off like dead weight, leaving you unburdened and floating on happiness.
In fact, Marcee couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so content.
All the insecurities and guilt she felt in New York with her parents and Eli dwindled to nothing.
“One minute until midnight! I repeat, one minute ’til midnight!” the DJ yelled into the mic.
Their group was mashed together on the dance floor, drunk and dancing to anything and everything.
Pete was wedged between two strangers, grinding like they were at an orgy.
Matt had caught the attention of a brunette with the largest breasts Marcee had ever seen, and his face was being smothered as she wrapped an arm around his neck and rolled her body into his.
“Should we get him an oxygen tank?” Remy yelled, grinning.
It’d taken every ounce of self-control she had not to drag him to the bathroom or outside.
His dark green shirt was soaked with sweat and clinging to every sharp line of his chest, leaving nothing to the imagination.
Not that it was stopping her mind from concocting all kinds of dirty scenarios.
Two weeks without his tongue in her mouth or between her legs was positively criminal.
Marcee swayed side to side, ass pressed against him. “Absolutely not. That’s the most action he’s gotten in a year!”
“Thirty seconds!” The DJ fumbled the mic, caught it, and bowed to the round of applause from the crowd.
Remy’s fingers dug into her hips, pulling her tighter against him. Her black denim skirt inched up her legs.
“God, the things I want to do to you.” His voice was a growl in her ear, teeth raking against it.
She gasped as one hand drifted lower, skimming her inner thigh. “I can tell.”
“Countdown from ten!”
The crowd cheered, drunken and merry. “Ten!”
Remy spun her around so she was flush against him. As her chest expanded with every inhale, it pushed into his, where she could feel his heart racing. She couldn’t tell where she began, and he ended.
“Nine!”
Her arms intertwined around his neck like a ribbon, her nails skating down the back of his head. Had there ever been anyone else?
“Eight! Seven!”
Desire and affection built in Marcee as his head dipped toward hers and she swallowed thickly against the lump of emotion lodged in her throat.
“Six! Five!”
There was no one else in the world she wanted holding her. Why did she fight it for so long? Her lips parted with a gasp of anticipation.
“Four! Three!”
Remy’s tongue darted out, wetting his upper lip.
“Two! One!”
Their mouths collided as the room erupted. “Happy New Year!”
It was a picture-perfect moment that would stay with her for the rest of her life.
Confetti and glitter rained down from the ceiling, coating everything in gold and silver.
Marcee pulled back, gasping for air, as Remy’s head twinkled in the lights and glitter fell on her arms. It was like they were the only people in the world, happy and safe and young.
The kind of natural high you could happily drown in.
Looking up at him, everything fell into place, as if the pieces had been there the whole time—if she’d only looked closely enough to notice.
The pressure in her chest was too much. She grabbed his face, hands splayed across his cheeks.
She wanted all of him, like this, forever.
She wanted it so much she should be terrified because that kind of desire meant you had everything to lose, but that was the old Marcee’s way of thinking.
She deserved good things. They both did.
Love wasn’t a risk when it was with the right person.
And Marcee had found that person.
“I love you, Remington Lockley!”
He stilled and their picture-perfect moment froze.
Shit, what did she do?
It was too soon. It was way too soon. She didn’t even know if they’d make it past May, let alone until they were old and gray.
Marcee yanked her hands back, panting as if she’d run a half-marathon. Why did she have to say that? Everything was wonderful and she’d ruined it—just as he’d ruined her for anyone ever again.
She made it one step before he grabbed her hands and tugged her against him.
“I love you, too.”
Wait, what?
He plucked a piece of confetti from her nose, shaking his head. “I said, I love you, too, Marcee Ackerman. Don’t look so shocked.”
Words, so many words, jumbled in her brain as one incoherent mess.
“You’re sure?” she asked.