Chapter 29
FELIX
Of all the women in all the towns in all the world, she’s the one I get to kiss right now.
She’s the one I’ll get to kiss tomorrow, too, and maybe even for years to come.
India’s arms twine around my neck as she lifts up on her tiptoes, drawing closer to me, and a thrill runs through my veins at the soft press of her body. Something deep and wanting stirs in my chest, but I rein it in, letting my lips move gently over hers. She’s inexperienced, I can tell, but she doesn’t seem bothered, and I love it.
“Be honest,” I murmur in between kisses. “You’ve been dreaming about this for years. You’ve been waiting for this very moment when you get to kiss the most handsome man in the—” But I break off as she finds me again—swallows my surprised laugh, steals it from me, and I can feel her smile against my lips.
“You’re absurdly full of yourself,” she says—no more than a whisper and the graze of her teeth.
I freeze at the sensation, my hands stilling in her hair, my pulse leaping. She does the same, and for a second suspended in time, I don’t think either of us breathe. I hold desperately to my self-control as her chest rises and falls against me, as she leans back until our gazes clash.
“No!” Juliet calls from the upstairs window. “Why did you— ow! Aurora!” Then, as though she’s a middle-schooler standing by and watching a fight, she begins to chant: “ Kiss! Kiss! Kiss— Aurora, stop! Ow ?—”
A loud slamming noise tells me that the window has been shut, and despite my faint embarrassment, I grin.
“I wasn’t done with you,” I admit, curling my hands more tightly in her hair and leaning back in. “I wasn’t even close?—”
India surges up to meet me, and this time I let myself taste her, let my lips move as hungrily as hers do—she’s insistent, demanding, full of fire, and I can’t get enough.
I might never stop.
And I might never have to.
“I want to help you with your bucket list,” I tell her several moments later, when we’ve broken apart to breathe. Her arms are still around my neck, her face buried in my shoulder, and I revel in the feeling of running one finger up and down the curve of her spine—touching her in a new, simple way that nevertheless sparks my pulse.
“Be careful saying that,” she says, the words muffled, her breath hot against my skin. “You don’t know what else is on there.”
My answering laugh is easy. “I want to help,” I repeat. “I’m brave. I can handle anything you throw at me.” I pause. “Let’s go on dates, too.”
She leans back, looking at me. “Where?”
“I have it on good authority that there are some great romantic spots around Lucky,” I say casually.
“Yeah?” Her eyes are full of laughter as she raises one brow at me. “Do tell.”
“There’s a great little bookshop over on Main,” I say. “Word on the street is they sell books featuring the brother’s best friend trope.”
“My favorite,” she murmurs, and I grin.
“There’s also an outlook called Crow Point. We might like that.”
“Very interesting.”
“Mm-hmm. There are also some hot springs nearby,” I go on. “Not too far outside of town.”
Her amusement vanishes in the face of surprise. She blinks up at me. “We didn’t visit the hot springs,” she says. “Did you go without me?” She narrows her eyes. “I thought I was the only woman you were blackmailing.”
I bite back my laugh, folding my arms further around her. “I would never even think about blackmailing anyone else.” After a second of hesitation, I say, “I considered taking us there. But I was concerned about seeing you in a bathing suit. I was finding you a little too attractive.”
“Scandalous,” she says. Then she tilts her head. “You got your article done.” She nods to the newspaper resting casually on top of the boom box a few feet away. “What about the TV thing you guys are doing?”
And for a second, I consider telling her. I consider telling her that my coworkers now believe I’m the one who inadvertently flashed everyone at the Bicentennial Pageant—wedgie and all. But the idea has barely bloomed before it withers and dies.
I couldn’t say why, but I don’t want her to know. So I just nod. “It’s all going fine.”
“Good,” she says with a contented sigh. “That’s good.” Then she smiles up at me. “Well, I do want to do all those things. But before we go on any dates or do anything from my list,” she says, “there’s something else we need to take care of.” Her gaze sparkles with something mischievous.
“I was thinking the same thing.” I lean back and look down at her, grinning. “Cyrus?”
She nods. “Cyrus.”
Cyrus is not happy to see me. He’s even less happy to see my fingers threaded through India’s.
We beam at him anyway—the biggest, cheesiest smiles we can manage.
“Did we wake you?” I say, like I don’t know perfectly well that our three minutes of loud knocking and bell-ringing would have been impossible to sleep through.
His glare is answer enough, as are the rumpled pajamas. “It’s ten at night,” he says in a flat voice. “I hate you.”
“I know,” I say brightly. “And I’m full of regret. But our good news simply couldn’t wait.”
And with that, India pops up on her toes and plants an exaggerated kiss on my cheek. It’s wet and slobbery and, miraculously, I do not even care.
Besides—I know now that she doesn’t really kiss like that.
“We’re dating,” India says once she’s planted a few more kisses on my cheek and then turned to Cyrus again. “There will be lots of PDA.”
“ Lots, ” I say with a nod.
“Any time we argue?—”
“Which may very well be a lot?—”
“We’re going to come to you,” India finishes. “We’re officially appointing you our very own relationship counselor.”
Cyrus is contemplating how to commit murder right now. I’m certain of it. He’ll spare India and get rid of me, ditching my body somewhere no one will ever find it.
India clearly notices, too, because her voice softens as she steps forward. “Cy,” she says, poking his arm in a way that reminds me of what they must have been like as children. She smiles up at him, a hesitant but sincere flicker of light over her face. “Chill. We’re obviously joking.” She hesitates and goes on, “I wanted to tell you because I’m really happy.”
And I watch it happen then, the real-time thawing of Iceberg Cyrus. The longer he looks at her, the more his posture relaxes; his expression grows less tense and irritable, and a slow breath eases out of him.
She’s a magician.
“I have boundaries,” Cyrus says tiredly as he slumps against the doorframe. “I do not want to witness any extreme PDA. Under no circumstances will I be dragged into any disagreements”—he shoots me a severe look—“with the understanding that if you insist, I will be on India’s side unconditionally.”
“What if she’s wrong?” I say. I think it’s a very reasonable question, but he glowers at me. Then he scrubs his hand down his glasses-free face.
“I can’t believe you dragged me out of bed for this,” he mutters.
“It’s because we want you to share in our joy,” I say. I tighten my grip on India’s hand, just because I can.
It’s weird; I’ve held the hands of more women than I care to admit. But it’s never felt so intimate before. It’s never felt so tentative, or exploratory. I’ve never wanted to revel in the sensation of someone else’s palm pressed to mine like this.
“Go back to bed, Cy,” India says, finally taking pity on her brother. “Have sweet dreams.”
There’s a thought—Cyrus having sweet dreams. What would he even dream about?
I don’t get a chance to ask, because he just grunts, nods wordlessly, and then closes the door in our faces.
I glance at India as we turn to head back to the car.
I bet it’s not too late to make her laugh a few more times tonight. A smile curls over my lips, and I squeeze her hand again.
She once told me that the best things are sometimes hidden—that you have to look for them. I almost missed her when she passed by, because I wasn’t looking.
I’m not going to waste another minute.
“All right,” I say as we stroll along. “Pay attention, Sunshine.” She glances over at me, and something giddy rises in my chest—fizzy bubbles of absurd delight. “I have some new pick-up lines I want to test on you. They’re better than the last batch. I promise.”
The snort that escapes her lips is loud and unladylike and entirely her. “You,” she says, “are a big, fat liar, Felix Caine.”
But her eyes crinkle at the corners, and her nose scrunches up as she smiles.