Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-one
RHETT
People speak of moments that alter the trajectory of a life.
Those seismic instants that leave indelible marks, etched so deeply you can summon them at will, even decades later, as if they were yesterday.
Yet what most overlook, what slips beneath the surface of their memory, are the fragments.
The granular, almost invisible moments, that quietly gather momentum, nudging you toward those life-altering events.
“Wes, I still can’t get over the fact that you thought that stick in the water was a snake,” Lexi says, grinning into her wine glass.
“I still say it looked like a snake.”
“You screamed like someone was pulling you under,” Slone says, snorting.
“Yeah, because I didn’t sign up to be in a live-action National Geographic episode,” he shoots back.
Anderson leans forward with a grin. “Okay, but real question, if we were in an actual survival situation, like stranded on an island, who’s the first one to panic?”
“Oh, Lexi,” Margo says immediately.
Lexi gasps. “Excuse me?”
“You’d freak out if your phone died, let alone if we had to catch our own food,” Margo teases.
“She’s not wrong,” he says. “You told me you once left a restaurant because the Wi-Fi was slow.”
“I have standards and a high-stakes job. Sue me.” She winks. “I dare ya.”
“I’m not suing the lawyer,” Connor replies, smirking. “I may come off as dumb, but I’m not that stupid.”
Wes laughs, shaking his head. “Which makes it even funnier that you agreed to come on this trip. No room service, no real air conditioning upstairs, and I’m pretty sure you asked if the lake had filtered water.”
“It’s a reasonable question! There are bacteria in freshwater.”
“I’m just saying,” Wes says, leaning back, “I half expected you to take a rideshare back to Atlanta the first night.”
“I’m sorry, I like nice things and have good taste,” Lexi mutters, sipping her wine with a dramatic sigh. “You’re lucky I like y’all.”
They all laugh as Lexi flips them off with a perfectly manicured hand.
“Who’d actually survive, though?” I ask, swirling my drink.
“Slone,” Margo and Anderson say in unison.
Slone tilts her head, considering, and then nods in agreement. “Yeah, I’d survive out of spite.”
Connor points at her. “That is the most Slone answer I’ve ever heard.”
Laughter rolls through the group again, and I lean back in my chair, letting it wash over me. These people, my people, they’re more than friends. They’re stitched into my life now, filling the emptiness I’ve carried since I lost Josh.
I watch Rachel throw her head back in a true, belly laugh. I can’t help myself. Everything about her draws me in.
Rachel catches me watching her. One brow arches slowly. “What?”
I shrug, trying to play it off even though I’ve been caught. “Am I not allowed to look?”
“That’s dangerous territory, Rhett.”
“For you, maybe.”
She nudges my leg with hers under the blanket. “You gonna tell me what you’re busy thinking about, or do I have to guess?”
I’ll admit I’m having a hard time giving her space. I’ll do it because I told her I would, and I mean what I say, but I never promised I wouldn’t make her remember how it feels when it’s easy between us.
I lean in so only she can hear me. “Your body is pressed against mine.” My voice drops.
“I’m trying to be the good guy, Sunny. I’m really trying to give you space.
But I’m one breath away from losing it all.
It’s hard to remember I shouldn’t want to touch you when your bare skin is up against mine. ”
She shifts closer, tilts her mouth toward my ear, and whispers smooth as whiskey, “Maybe I like watching you squirm.”
“I did always love that mouth of yours.”
She leans into me, in no rush to escape whatever line she is toeing.
I respond by tipping my head to make her feel the weight of my focus. When her smile twitches, I know she is aware she crossed into dangerous ground. I don’t give her the satisfaction of pulling back, though. I stay right there, because I like watching her squirm too.
“Keep talking like that,” I say. “And I’m gonna forget we’re not alone out here. You really want that, Rach?”
Her hand slides over mine, brushing against my skin as she takes my beer without asking.
“You don’t know what I want.” Her mouth tilts into a curve I can’t ignore. “Maybe that is exactly what I want.”
Heat pricks at the back of my neck. She lifts the bottle to her lips, swallowing slowly, eyes locked on me the entire time. Her tongue sweeps across her bottom lip, a clean, languid pass, and I feel it straight through my chest. She is baiting me, and every second is a test I want to fail.
She rises. Stretches. The hem of her shirt slips just enough to reveal a thin strip of skin above her waistband. My pulse spikes, and I fight the urge to reach out and trace it. Her shorts ride higher on her thighs, and she doesn’t fix them. She wants me watching, tethered to her.
She turns toward the house, pauses, and then her gaze finds me again. She’s daring me to understand exactly what she is doing. I do. Every inch of her is a challenge. Every movement is a pull she knows I can’t resist.
I stand and begin to follow her. Behind me, faint voices from the group float in.
A low whistle from Connor. Margo’s laugh, sharp and bright.
Slone murmurs under her breath, “Finally.” Bottles clink in applause, but I don’t hear it.
I’m already moving, already consumed and chasing the fire she lit and left smoldering in me.
They all know. But I don’t care about them or about the noise. Right now, it is only about her.
The house is dim when I step inside, shadows stretching long across the floor from the moonlight slanting through the kitchen window.
I spot her in the hallway near the guest rooms, leaning against the wall, head tipped back, arms loose at her sides, waiting for me.
“Couldn’t stay out there?” she asks. But we both know she already knows the answer.
I move toward her. The dim light catches her in warm gold, shadows sliding across the curve of her neck, down the slope of her shoulders. I lift my hand, dragging the backs of my fingers along her arm, slow enough to feel every shiver she tries to hide.
“You knew I wouldn’t, Sunny.”
Her lips curl into that lazy, wicked smirk. “A girl can hope.”
God, she is lethal like this. Danger wrapped in soft skin. A fire she pretends she can control. I’ll let her have the illusion, for now.
I close the gap between us.
My eyes trail to the line of her throat. Then dip to the delicate curve of her collarbone, then lower to those shorts—those goddamn, barely-there shorts. She doesn’t flinch under my stare, doesn’t adjust. She wants me watching.
She tips her chin up, defiant, daring me to be the one who breaks first.
For her, I oblige. I always will.
“Are you gonna keep teasing me?” My voice is stripped to gravel. “Or are you gonna let me finally do something about it?”
“Who says I’m teasing?”
“You were always a terrible liar, Sunny.” I step in, caging her between my arms, her back brushing the wall. “You know exactly what you’re doing in those shorts.” I hook a finger in the thin material, rolling it between my fingers.
She raises a brow. “Oh, these little things? You like these?”
My hand slides to her waist, fingers slipping just beneath the waistband of her shorts, dragging slowly down the curve of her hip. She shivers under my touch.
“I like what is under them more.”
Her inhale stutters, and for a moment, her confidence wavers.
“And if I make you work for it?” she whispers. “Will you work for it, Rhett?”
I lean in until my mouth is at her ear. I feel her breath catch, and her knees subtly press together.
“Tell me to get on my knees, Sunny.” My lips graze her skin. “See if I won’t work for it.”
Her fingers brush my chest. I’m unsure whether she is steadying herself or trying to push me over the edge.
Either way, it is a spark to gasoline. I could take her mouth and her breath and her balance and make her forget every name but mine. But instead, I lean in, lips brushing hers just enough to make her chase the rest. She exhales into me, and I know she is becoming impatient.
I pull back before she gets it, my mouth still hovering over hers, her breath mixing with mine.
“You know, Sunny,” I murmur. “All you have to do is…” My thumb slides along her hip. “Say it.”
I let my lips ghost over her cheek, her jaw, the corner of her mouth.
“Tell me this is what you want,” I breathe against her lips, “and I’ll have you begging long before I ever touch the places you’re thinking about.”
Her hands snag my shirt, dragging me closer. Her body presses flush against mine. Her hands are greedy, and every inch of space evaporates.
Her eyes find mine. “I’ve wanted this since you showed up at that wedding and wrecked my whole damn life,” she whispers. Her eyes drift over my face. “Since that stupid fucking tailgate.”
Green light. That is all I need.
I grip her thighs and lift her without effort. She wraps around me, ankles crossing at my back, hands tangling in my hair, and we move towards the bed.
Her fingers clutch my shirt, anchoring herself while I pull her into me. Lips swollen, breaths sharp and ragged, skin pressing to skin. I drag her close, trace every curve, every heat-slicked line.
I set her on the bed without breaking the kiss, groaning into her mouth as I tear my shirt free and toss it aside. Her hands are already on me, roaming, learning, and when I pull back, her eyes roam over my chest with no shame at all.
She smirks, breath hitching. “I think I could get used to this.”
I step back slightly, because I need the sight. Her hair is a wild halo, thighs glowing in the moonlight. Lying there, unguarded and fierce all at once, she doesn’t just claim a piece of me.
She owns me. Entirely.
“God,” I say. “You’re perfect. Look at you.” My hands frame her. “Every inch of you—made for me. You’re so beautiful when you’re all fire and need.” My voice roughens. “You drive me insane, Sunny.”
She shivers beneath me as her hands slide into my hair, holding tight. “Rhett…”
“Yeah, baby,” I whisper, brushing my mouth over hers as I let my hands trail down her. “I’ve got you.”
We move together, hips pressing, hands sliding over skin made hot by our need. Her moans drag me deeper. I want to feel every reaction, every breath that stutters, every moment she comes undone under my touch.
Because watching her unravel, knowing I’m the one who does that to her, is everything.
“That’s it. That’s my girl,” I murmur, letting her feel the weight of me over her.
Later, when the room finally falls quiet, her body curled against mine, I let myself breathe her in. I trace the line of her back with my hand, carefully memorizing every curve and dip.
And I start thinking that maybe one of those tiny, almost invisible fragments, one of those small moments that quietly tip the scale and change the trajectory of my life, was meeting a guy named Josh Collins my freshman year of college.
Sitting next to him in geology, laughing over a broken compass and a stupid lab experiment I barely understood.
I didn’t know it then, but that tiny spark set off a chain of everything I am now. It would bring me to her.