by Max Monroe
That’s right. We’re at a bar, and we’re both drinking Coke.
Talk about lame, right?
“Could this be about you buying my Christmas present?” he asks, and his smile turns mischievous. “When you all but shoved me away and told me you needed alone time but wouldn’t tell me why?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Like I said, it’s none of your business.”
He just chuckles and takes a drink of his Coke.
For the first time since we’ve been here, the music switches over to something that isn’t Christmas music. The opening, pounding beats are so very familiar, and it’s a song I would never expect to hear in this bar. Instantly, I search Luke’s eyes.
“Is this your doing?”
“Maybe.” He shrugs off his leather jacket, sets his Coke down on the table, and holds out his hand. “Follow me, Ace?”
I giggle and set down my drink beside his. “Deep sea, baby.”
“I Follow Rivers.”
This is, hands down, my favorite song, and over the years, Luke has used that fact against me so many times. Whenever I’m in a pissy mood, he turns it on and forces me to dance away the negativity.
We make our way to the middle of the floor, and with my hands held high in the air, I bounce around to the beat of the song, laughing and smiling as I do.
And Luke? Well, he’s always been a really good dancer. Not skilled per se, but he just knows how to move his body, and he knows how to let go without worrying about what he looks like or what anyone thinks.
Honestly, before he came into my life, I don’t think I danced like I do now. I was always a little hesitant, always holding back. But with Luke, I just let go. And goddamn, it’s the most fun I’ve ever had.
The song continues, and eventually, my sisters and their guys join us.
We’re all laughing and dancing and having a good time.
But when I spot a very familiar face at the bar, my eyes go wide, and I quickly close the distance between Luke and me, hiding my body behind his.
Oh, what the hell is she doing here?!
He places his hands on my hips, still moving us to the beat, but his eyes peer down into mine with curiosity.
“Callie,” I whisper.
“What?”
“Callie Camden is here. Behind you, at the bar.”
“No shit?”
“Gah.” I press my body against his, doing everything I can to stay hidden. “She can’t see me, or else she’ll want to talk about that stupid reunion and the fact that I ordered the cake and desserts too last minute.”
Truthfully, I almost forgot about those damn desserts. It took Luke asking me when we were waiting for our plane to start boarding for me to remember.
And because I was so last minute at the bakery Callie insisted we use, and said bakery is incredibly small and pretty much bakes for the whole damn town, her dessert hopes did not come to fruition. Needless to say, her vision of macarons and cheesecakes and shit didn’t happen.
We’re getting cake and cupcakes. Which didn’t go over too well when I broke the news to her via email. There are still several unanswered, anger-inspired messages sitting in my inbox.
Talk about a fucking mess. One I shouldn’t even be involved in, to be honest.
Yeah, but if it weren’t for that, you wouldn’t be right here, with Luke, dancing…
“Just forget about her,” he whispers into my ear, his lips nearly brushing my skin. “She can fuck right off if she thinks she’s going to come over here and ruin our fun.”
“What? Are you going to tell her to take a hike?” I meet his eyes, a challenging smile on my lips.
“Oh, it would be a pleasure, Ace. A real fucking pleasure.”
I giggle at that, but also, I believe it. Luke is generally a pretty laid-back, relaxed kind of guy. He’s level-headed and doesn’t have a temper.
But he does have a limit.
And when that limit is reached, he has no qualms about speaking his mind.
Or punching some guy in the face for trying to take advantage of your inebriated state…
Yeah. That too.
The song switches over to something slower, still fast-moving, but it’s more seductive, sexier.
“Is she still there?” he asks me, his voice quiet and warm in my ear.
I glance over his shoulder and note that Callie and someone I recognize as her husband Kyle, a guy I went to high school with, are heading toward the door.
“Uh…yeah…” I hesitate.
“Can she see you?”
“Um…I can’t be sure…” I answer, even though I watch them walk out of the bar.
Miss Popularity has left the building, but for some strange reason, I don’t want Luke to know that.
“Let’s just keep dancing,” he whispers into my ear again, and the warmth of his breath and close proximity of his body urge a shiver up my spine. He continues to grip my hips and lead our bodies in synchrony with the beat of the song.
The aroma of his cologne—hints of cedar and vanilla and scent I can’t recognize—invades my nostrils and fills my head with nostalgia and memories and familiarity and something else I can’t discern.
But whatever it is, it makes my heart beat faster in my chest.
The song talks about latching on to someone, and fuck, if it isn’t exactly what I want to do.
I want to latch on to him.
I want to bottle this moment and keep it forever.
I want to memorize the way I feel within his strong, muscular embrace.
I want to remember the way his brown eyes lighten beneath the bar lights and the way they darken whenever he looks down at me.
I don’t ever want to forget the way his tongue sneaks out to lick across his bottom lip. Or the way his skin feels against mine when we’re moving to the music.
And I don’t want it to end.
He looks down at me, and I search the depths of his chocolate eyes. I don’t know what I’m looking for or what I want to find, but I get the sense that he’s doing the same thing.
“Luke,” I whisper his name, but I don’t know why. It’s like my mouth just needed to feel his name roll off my tongue.
My ears become acutely aware of the sound of my heart beating inside my chest and the addictive beat of the song. And my eyes can only see him.
Everything else around us, the other people dancing, my sisters, the crowd chatting loudly at the bar, just disappears. And we stay like that, eyes locked and bodies still moving together.
We’re so close. So insanely, painfully, pleasurably close.
My personal space is his personal space, and hell, I wouldn’t want it any other way.
His face moves closer to mine, and his lips are right there. Just a breath away from my mouth.
We’re going to kiss. Every cell inside my body tells me it’s going to happen.
God, I want us to kiss.
But I can’t stop myself from remembering that list I wrote, the one with the rules Luke refused to acknowledge.
“Best friends don’t kiss,” I whisper.
“Well, they should.”
And then, he does.
He. Kisses. Me.
Lips to mine, he coaxes my mouth with the kind of soft tenderness I didn’t even know was possible. His hands slide into my hair, and the teeniest of moans escapes my throat as it feels like a million goose bumps slide across my skin.
He kisses me in the kind of way I’ve always dreamed of being kissed. Slow and delicate at first, and then spreading like wildfire into something that smokes with passion and heat.
I have no idea what this means, if this is pretend or if this is real, but goddamn, it is the best kiss of my life. Just…making all the other important kisses of my life seem like child’s play. Seem inconsequential. Seem like nothing.
When the music switches back to Christmas-themed and our kiss gradually slows and comes to an end, I lean back and look deep into his eyes and wonder if this is the one and only time I�
��ll get to experience perfection on my lips.
And when Em grabs my attention and asks me to come to the bar with her and get another round of drinks, my mind won’t stop racing with questions.
Was that real? Damn, it sure felt real. It felt like the realest, most powerful, most perfect thing I’ve ever experienced.
Did Luke feel it too? Or am I the only one who is still reeling from that kiss? Whose lips are still tingling from where his lips were on mine.
And the most important question of them all. Did that kiss solidify that what I feel for him is far deeper than just friendship?
Or has it been that way for years?
December 24th, Christmas Eve
Luke
Last night, I broke all the rules. I threw caution to the wind and just gave the fuck in to what I wanted.
Last night, I kissed my best friend, but now, it’s more apparent than ever that Ava isn’t just my best friend. She is everything I’ve ever wanted. She is the one girl, for the last fifteen years, who has always been on my mind and in my heart.
I have no idea what she is thinking or feeling, but I know, now more than ever, that I want her. I just want her. No one else.
But since we woke up this morning, her dad’s itinerary has kept us otherwise distracted from that kiss. For the last twelve hours, we’ve run around like Christmas lunatics, checking off every activity on her dad’s silly schedule.
Baking cookies with her mom and sisters and aunts.
Standing in the front yard, freezing our asses off, and singing fucking carols at confused passersby.
Watching White Christmas with caramel popcorn and hot chocolate. And, honestly, I’ve never seen a family consume more hot chocolate in the span of mere days than the Lucies.
Basically, you name it, and we fucking did it today.
There isn’t a single person in Lakewood who could accuse us of lacking holiday spirit. If anything, there might be a few people inside this small town who want to strangle the Lucie family.
“Goddamn it, Al!” Poppy’s voice filters up from the downstairs den. “You should never attempt to roll for a long straight unless it’s open-ended!”
“Ha-ha-ha! Poppy’s getting mad because she’s going to lose!” Lily exclaims.
“Shut up, Lil! Even down ten points, I’ll still find a way to kick your ass!”
Though the night appears to still be young downstairs, her mom and dad and great-aunts and uncles invested in a tense game of Yahtzee, Ava and I decide to call it a night and head upstairs.
While she busies herself with a shower, most likely needing to literally wash off the overwhelming amount of Christmas spirit that’s permeated her pores, I lie on her childhood bed, still fully dressed, paging through one of her old yearbooks.
When I spot her junior year picture, I grin.
Still blond, still gorgeous, but always slightly eccentric, she half smiles in her photo, and her attire consists of the most outlandish, bright-as-hell T-shirt that has the famous Star Trek quote, Beam me up, Scotty.
For someone who isn’t a Trekkie, has never been a Trekkie, she still manages to pull it off with her blond hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun.
It’s things like this that make me wish I could’ve known Ava before college. That I could’ve seen in her action when she was a young teenager.
You would have loved her even then.
That thought makes me falter, hesitate, and I blink several times to clear the fog of confusion threatening to consume my brain. With a shake of my head, I continue to distract myself with pages of her yearbook.
But when the shower cuts off from the en suite bathroom, and a few minutes later, when the door opens with steam filtering into the bedroom, nothing can distract me from the sight before my eyes.
In nothing but a towel knotted above her chest, Ava stands there. Her cheeks are flushed red and her blue eyes are bright and her wet hair hangs down past her shoulders.
Fucking hell.
She is the epitome of every fantasy I’ve ever had, wrapped up into one tempting and irresistible package.
“What are you doing?” she asks, tilting her head to the side, and it takes me a hot minute to figure out what she’s even asking, her eyes pointed toward the book in my lap.
“Uh… Just checking out your…uh…junior yearbook.”
“Oh God.” She groans.
“It’s not that bad.”
“Not that bad? I’m pretty sure I wore a Star Trek T-shirt for that picture.”
“You did,” I answer and watch on with far too much fascination as she strides over to our suitcases and bends over to riffle through her clothes.
That towel, that fucking towel, moves up her thighs and just barely keeps her perfect ass covered. And my eyes don’t miss two rogue drops of water that slip down the silky skin of her thighs.
This is not good. At all.
My mind threatens to think about last night’s kiss.
My cock threatens to take full notice of Ava’s lack of clothes.
And my fingers itch to reach out and touch her.
It’s almost too much to bear.
Pretty sure it is too much to bear.
Before I know it, I’m closing the yearbook, setting it on the nightstand, and standing up to walk over to her. I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her back toward my chest.
She squeals a little in surprise, but I keep her body pressed against mine and whisper into her ear, “You want a little help?”
“Help?” she asks, leaning her head back to meet my eyes. But goddamn, it only makes her more tempting, elongating her neck and pushing her breasts up and nearly out of her towel.
“Yeah,” I respond, and my voice borders on ragged. “Help. With getting dressed.”
Ava turns to meet my eyes, and I just stare down at her, knowing full my well my eyes are showing everything I’m thinking right now. Everything I’m feeling.
She explores my unwavering gaze, and her chest starts to rise and fall with near-panting breaths.
But then she shocks the hell out of me by placing her clothes—a pair of lacy underwear, a minuscule tank top, and sleep shorts—into my hand.
Ho-ly shit.
She undoes her towel and lets it fall to the floor. And she stands there, completely and utterly naked. Just…miles upon miles of Ava’s gorgeous bare skin. Her pink nipples harden at the change in temperature and her breaths continue to come out in pants and those sapphire eyes of hers dare me to follow through with my offer.
It feels like it takes me a whole minute before I can stop gawking and actually do something.
First, her tank top. Slowly, I slide it over her head, the backs of my hands brushing her nipples as I adjust it on her body.
Her breathing turns stuttered and shaky.
But I keep going.
Her lacy underwear next, I kneel down in front of her and, with Ava’s hands gently gripping my shoulders, I slowly, so slowly, slide them up her legs, taking in every inch of the gorgeous view on my way back up.
I don’t stop until my face is a mere breath away from the apex of her thighs.
Fuck, why are you doing this, dude?
Frankly, I don’t know why I’m doing this, why I’m torturing myself—and teasing her—but it’s the most painful pleasure I’ve ever felt. And my now-hard cock can certainly agree.
I want Ava. That much is apparent.
But I don’t want to rush it. I don’t want to rush her.
I want to take my time with her. I want to savor every little touch, every new discovery, just…everything. I feel like I’ve been waiting a lifetime to see her like this, and hell if I’m going to ruin it with haste.
And most importantly, I want to make sure Ava is ready. I want her to be so fucking ready that she is practically begging me.
She needs to be completely free in the moment. She needs to be willing to completely let go. And she needs to know that this isn’t pretend. It’s real. The way I feel about
her. The way I look at her. The way I touch her. The way she makes me feel.
It’s taken me fifteen years to fully give in to it, to let myself realize that I want more than friendship with her, but now I know.
I. Fucking. Know.
“You’re so beautiful.” I stare up at her, still on my knees, her naked body on full display before my very eyes. The depths of her blue eyes contain everything I want to see—passion, heat, desire. I let out a deep exhale, and when my warm breath brushes across her, the whites of her eyes roll back ever so slightly, and her lips form a tiny O.
She wants me to touch her.
It’s apparent in her now-ragged breaths, in the way her eyes darken with heat, the way her nipples harden, and the way her fingers grip my shoulders.
Fuck, the things I want to do to this woman. I want my name on her tongue. I want to see the way her eyes look when she comes. I want to feel her and taste her and make her feel things she’s never felt. I want to worship at the temple that is her beautiful body and make it mine.
I want to make her mine.
Not fake. Not pretend. Not just friends. But mine.
Her dark lashes fan over her cheeks as she blinks, still staring down at me.
Her full breasts move up and down with each unsteady pant.
And I just kneel before her, lace still clutched between my fingers, wavering between moving my lips the last few inches—and finally, fucking finally, tasting her—and not rushing this.
My heart threatens to beat out of my fucking chest, while my body wants to react, to give in to the urge, the desire, the want, the fucking chronic need.
But not yet. Not now.
I’m ready, but Ava isn’t ready. I don’t know how I know this, but I do. I just…know her. I always have.
Even though my body is fucking pissed, my mind is made up.
Tenderly, I pull the lace of her underwear the rest of the way up her legs until they cover her completely. And I finish it off by slipping her sleep shorts over her hips.
She continues to watch me, confusion resting in her eyes, but I don’t let that deter me. Instead, I smile and stand up to press a lingering kiss to her forehead.
“All set,” I whisper against her skin.