Chapter Three
DAVIS
I am a grown-ass man. I should be able to control myself as my best friend walks into my kitchen on a regular ol’ Wednesday night.
But nope.
Kyra does a little shimmy—à la teenage Britney Spears—as she saunters across the room, her rhinestone sneakers catching the light from the chandelier just right, sparkling almost as much as she does.
Her fiery curls are draped over her shoulder, their natural vibrant color a stark contrast to the deep purple blazer she’s wearing.
But it works. Because Kyra can pull off pretty much anything.
Fuck me, she’s gorgeous…
“There’s my future wife,” I shout, pushing back from my desk and padding out into the kitchen to greet her. I sneak in a kiss to the cheek, wishing I had the nerve to move over a few more inches and kiss her for real. But I don’t.
“Oh, I like how that sounds,” she teases, setting an unlabeled bottle full of red-tinted booze on the counter. “Maybe we should have done this sooner.”
Would that have been so bad?
For a split second I think about asking that out loud. About crossing that line. But again, I don’t have the nerve. I’m not risking it with her. She’s too important to me.
I shrug, smirking like I know a secret. “After tomorrow, it’ll just be wife.”
She shivers, a small giggle escaping. “Even better.”
I lean back against the counter, taking her in, once again trying to play it cool.
Like I’m not the hottest of messes inside, my heart racing at speeds that would set records, all while trying to remind my dick to behave.
And stop my hands from reaching out, grabbing her hips, and hauling her into me.
Same way I always am when she’s around. Always have been.
The moment Kyra Murray walked into my life, my heart was hers.
With a mess of wild red curls that when we were younger resembled that one Scottish cartoon princess, she’s been my ride or die for whatever crazy idea I came up with.
From skipping class, to cliff jumping, to having my back for that one week in college I considered ditching finance and becoming a whitewater rapids guide.
There’s a reason she’s the one I pitched the marriage idea to.
Yes, it all magically works out mathematically, benefiting us both.
Something that makes me wonder if this isn’t the stars aligning.
But more than that, Kyra Murray is the only woman on this planet I’d be willing to take this leap with.
My crazy ass doesn’t function without her as my voice of reason.
One more reason I’ve never tried to cross the line. Because if something ever happened, I don’t know what I’d do.
“Long day?” she asks, turning to face me, resting a hip against the counter.
“Unexpectedly so. I could bore you with the details, but…”
“I’m here and willing to listen, but I’m not going to understand a single thing you say.”
I chuckle, loving her honesty. It’s one of the many things that makes her so irresistible.
“Eh, it’s nothing too technical. I moved around some meetings so that I could take tomorrow off,” I tell her.
Kyra nods, pushing off the counter and taking the three steps over to the cabinet where I keep the lowball glasses.
Grabbing two of them, she returns, opening the unmarked bottle she brought and pouring us both a drink.
“One of the clients I rescheduled for the very end of the day didn’t mention that they had some paperwork that needed immediate attention. ”
“Three days before Christmas?”
“Yeah. So, even if I had left the appointment for tomorrow, it was gonna be a rough one. Which is why I packed up early and headed home, so I could try to get through it all without being interrupted.”
I take the glass she hands me, taking a swig of the unknown concoction.
Given the type of bottle it’s in, I know it’s from Lindee’s stash, so it’s got to be good.
And maybe not entirely legal. The liquid hits my tongue, slightly sweet and highly potent, catching me off guard and going straight to my head.
“Holy shit!”
“It’s an early batch of the watermelon moonshine from when Lindee was still testing the recipe. So, it’s a little higher proof than what she’s legally allowed to sell.”
I swallow hard, trying to get my bearings again. Damn…
“Only a little?”
Kyra laughs, my insides lighting up like the Christmas lights downtown at the musical sound. One that I can’t wait to hear for the rest of my life.
Holding up my drink, I turn serious for a second. “I’d like to propose a toast.”
“To?”
“Us. To twenty-five years of incredible friendship, and a lifetime more of happiness. One last night of freedom, and thousands more of an epic adventure.”
Kyra’s eyes soften, strands of gold and green dancing through the wetness forming in them. The genuine, loving smile she gives me makes my already misbehaving dick start to twitch and damn it…if she isn’t the most stunning creature to have ever crossed my path.
“To us.”
Raising her glass, she clinks it to mine, taking an equally big sip. Brave girl.
“Shall we head to the General Post?” I ask, still ready to keep our original plan. “I know I dragged you out here since I was finishing up work, but we can still go out.”
Trouble, Tennessee isn’t big by any means. And most of the establishments in town are geared toward those who are visiting the distillery or staying at the local resort to go hiking or fishing. Except the General Post.
Hidden down a back alley, the entrance is hard to find unless you know where it is on the backside of the old General Store and Post Office. The front of the building now serves as a gift shop, while the back is the speakeasy the locals frequent. Same as it was during Prohibition.
“Or, we could stay in, curl up on the couch, and make a dent in this bottle while judging the contestants on The Great British Bakeoff like we wouldn’t have burned the whole damn tent down on our first try.”
“That’s how you want to spend our last night of freedom?” I give her my best squinty side-eye, wondering what she really has up her sleeve.
Kyra nods. “Would you rather I say that we need to find some strippers or dance naked down High Street?”
Nope, I would not prefer either of those things.
“Sold! One night in just us it is!”
I grab the bottle with one hand, take her hand in my other, and drag her toward the couch. Kyra’s giggle rings out again, and my cock jumps, making me question if I made the right choice or not.
No, I did. Time with her is never the wrong choice.
Three hours later—and more than half the bottle gone—I’m still certain that sticking with Kyra’s idea was the right one. This has been way more fun than going to the Post would have been.
“No, no!” Kyra shouts at the TV, lunging forward. “You cannot ice that Genoise sponge while it is still hot! You will fuck it up beyond repair and you do not have enough time!”
I choke on my drink, trying not to spit it out from laughing at her overreaction.
She’s not wrong. This guy is about to completely ruin his cake and end any chance he has of winning, but something about how she thinks they are going to hear her through the TV and change their actions is too cute for words.
“Do we need a cake for tomorrow?” I ask, the idea suddenly occurring to me. “We didn’t talk about that.”
“We haven’t talked about a lot of things.”
“Like?”
Hitting pause on the remote, I shift on the couch, reaching for her.
Maybe the moonshine has gone to my head, but she seems to melt into me easier than normal as she snuggles against me.
It’s not abnormal for us to sit close together, or even with my arm around her, but tonight, as she rests her head against my chest, it feels different.
Feels good. Feels right.
“Like where we’re gonna live?”
Kyra’s finger traces along my thigh in a random pattern of loops and swirls, the touch light enough that I barely feel it through my jeans. Still, it’s enough to make my skin heat up.
“I figured we’d flip a coin.” I swallow hard, trying to keep my wits about me. Something that is much harder with all this ’shine flowing through me. “Heads my place, tails yours, and whichever one it lands on, that’s where we live. The other we turn into a rental.”
“I like that idea.”
Looking up at me, Kyra smiles in a way I’ve never seen.
One corner of her mouth is tipped upward, in this combination of shy and impish that manages to stir a whole new level of desire in me.
Her glassy eyes tell me that she’s feeling as swimmy-headed as I am, which means we could be headed to dangerous territory if we’re not careful.
If I’m not careful.
“But what about…” she trails off, looking away and pulling back slightly.
Oh no. We’re not going to play that game.
“What?”
I cup her cheek in my hand, turning her head to face me again. Her skin is soft, warm, and feels like perfection against mine. My pulse skips, the anticipation of her answer building in me like steam in a kettle.
“Tomorrow. When the judge pronounces us husband and wife, do you plan on kissing your bride?”
Fuck yes, I do…
The way she asks the question is as if she’s issuing a challenge. One I don’t plan on backing down from.
“Pretty sure it’s not legal unless it’s sealed with a kiss,” I tease, sliding my hand down her neck and running my finger along her clavicle.
She shivers from my touch but doesn’t move away. Instantly, the mood shifts, as if someone flipped a switch or ignited something. My whole body is on fire, wondering how she’d react if I continued to touch her.
“You’ve never kissed me. A real kiss.”
Another challenge. My heart thunders and I lean in, the two of us already impossibly close.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m just wondering if maybe we should practice our first kiss?”
Fuck me…
“Practice, huh?” Wrapping an arm around her waist, I haul her off the couch, getting the both of us to our feet, standing only inches apart. Same as we will be tomorrow. “Like this?”
“Yeah…” She swallows hard, the muscles of her throat constricting. Nerves radiate off both of us, but there’s no denying the pull I feel. Like a magnet to metal, drawing me into her. “Wouldn’t want it to be awkward on our wedding day. You know, with our families there. Watching us.”
“No, we wouldn’t want that at all…”
I step into her, placing my hand on her hip and running it up along her side, skimming the outside of her breast. Not sure what’s driving the train—curiosity, lust, moonshine, or a combination of all three—but there’s no stopping it now.
Leaning in, I pause, my lips a whisper away from hers. The angel on my shoulder tells me that I should wait until we’re both sober—like tomorrow at our wedding—to do this. But the devil on the other side is louder. As is the fire in Kyra’s eyes.
“So when the judge says to kiss my bride, I will.”
And I do.
I kiss Kyra.
Hard.