The One That Got Away (Kingston Ale House)

by A. J. Pine

  “Come on in the kitchen, and we’ll fill out some minor paperwork before we get you checked in. And this is a community residence, so don’t be shy around us.” Dora nodded to Brynn’s hand, still resting in Jamie’s. “I remember what it was like when we first got married. Couldn’t keep our hands off each other. A little kiss here or there won’t get anyone’s panties in a bunch.”

  Dora smiled, and Brynn forced her expression to mirror the other woman’s despite the fact that she’d just said the word panties. But Dora didn’t move or say anything after that. She just—waited. And when Brynn’s eyes locked on Jamie’s, she saw that his were wide with recognition.

  It had been ten years. Ten years and five months, but who was counting?

  Brynn. Brynn was counting. Because it had been ten years and five months since she had thought she was going to kiss one boy but ended up kissing another. And here she was, about to do it again.

  She pulled the afghan tighter, but the shaking wasn’t caused by her cold, wet clothes. Not even by the tequila still coursing through her blood. In fact, she wasn’t shaking at all.

  She was trembling.

  Chapter Seventeen

  He could do this. For a free room, and probably a really nice one at that, he could give Brynn a quick peck and be no worse off. He did it all the time. Sure, it was usually on the forehead or the cheek, but this didn’t have to be any different just because they were playing bride and groom and had enough tequila and beer in them to last the rest of the evening.

  He just had to stop thinking about it. Because they had a small audience now as some of the other guests started filing toward the door to see what the fuss was all about. An audience waiting for a show from the newlyweds, and they were failing miserably at playing the part.

  Yet he hadn’t forgotten Brynn’s admission—finding him sexy on more than one occasion, which meant not just today and not just because of the alcohol.

  Damn, even in his state he was still hesitating, still trying to figure her out before he made any sort of move. He had to stop worrying about what would happen when he hit the ground and just fucking leap already.

  So he did.

  It was meant to be quick. They’d pass it off as being shy in front of the onlookers. He even half expected Brynn to flinch when he lowered his head toward hers, deer in headlights as she was. But she raised her chin, a tacit agreement that they were going to do this. A wet curl was plastered to her cheek, and he hooked a finger under it, tucking it behind her ear.

  She shivered as his hand came to rest on her neck. It had to be from the cold. But the hair that stood on end on Jamie’s arms? That had nothing to do with temperature. There was no turning back now that he could feel the warmth of her breath on his face. And when he leaned in to make contact, he heard her breath hitch, and he was sure of one thing—this kiss was going to ruin him.

  The first thing he felt was water. Brynn’s hair was so wet, it was dripping down her face, her bottom lip catching the most recent drop, and Jamie had to steel himself not to flick out his tongue and lick it right off. This was his best friend, the girl he had loved since he was sixteen, and she was on her way to another man regardless of any admissions she made under the influence. His mouth would stay closed, and closed it was when he kissed the girl he pushed away so many years ago.

  It was Brynn who did the unthinkable. She returned the kiss, soft and sweet. But when she should have pulled away, taken a bow because Show’s over, folks, she parted her lips instead and waited for him to join her for what must be the grand finale.

  He only had so much resolve, and she had cracked right through it.

  Yep, this was going to ruin him, but he was going to enjoy the short ride while it lasted.

  Jamie’s tongue dipped inside where it met hers, and damn it if she didn’t let out a little moan. His eyes flew open long enough to see her drop the bouquet to the floor, and then her arms were around his neck, and she was kissing him like she did that night on her couch senior year, but this wasn’t seventeen-year-old Brynn emerging from a fever haze. This was grown-up Brynn, a woman who knew exactly what she was doing and who, with each flick of her tongue against his, was taking his long-protected heart and trampling it to dust. Everything he wanted—everything he’d been afraid to want for ten fucking years—was in his arms right now.

  It was the applause and catcalls that reminded him that what was probably the biggest moment in his life was being shared with a group of total strangers, and the two of them parted.

  Brynn’s cheeks were flushed. Her chin was pink from where his stubble had scratched her skin, and Jamie held his breath for the second it took for her expression to register. She was biting back a smile.

  “Hooo-ey!” Frank yelled, clapping his hands together. “Now that’s what I call just married.” He grabbed Dora by the hand and tugged her close. “After I get these two to the cottage room, I’m gonna remind you that we used to kiss like that.”

  He gave her a quick peck and then smacked her on the ass, and Dora yelped with laughter.

  “Don’t you kids have any luggage?”

  Jamie ran a hand through his still-damp hair and sighed, reality interrupting fantasy once again.

  “We were taking a walk. Left the truck down the road at the Coyote Bluff Café.”

  Frank’s gaze left Jamie’s as he glanced outside.

  “Should blow over in a few if you want to wait it out. Or I could give you a lift. Was just thinking you might want to get out of those wet clothes. There are robes in the room.”

  He raised his eyebrows at Jamie who stole a glance at Brynn.

  “I’m freezing, Jamie. I’d love a hot shower…”

  She trailed off, and he wasn’t sure how to proceed. Of course he couldn’t drive the truck back here, but what was the other option? Pacing their room in his soaked clothes, waiting for Brynn to warm up and say something about that kiss? Or did she want some time to herself, to remind herself why she was on this trip in the first place—to once and for all make things happen with Spencer Matthews?

  “We’ve uh…” Jamie started, and Brynn hiccupped and then giggled where she stood.

  Frank nodded. “Ahhh…of course. You two have been celebrating. If you give me your keys, the wife and I will grab it for you. You don’t want to leave it unattended overnight.”

  Jamie opened his mouth to protest, but Dora cut him off.

  “We insist,” she said. “Now you two go get warmed up.”

  “Thank you,” Jamie said, then turned to Brynn. “How about you go have that shower, and I’ll wait here for the truck and our stuff?”

  She nodded and let out a shaky breath, and Jamie knew he’d chosen wisely—deciding to hang back and give her some space.

  “I’ll get the bride to her room before we leave, and then we’d love to have you join us and the other guests for dinner at seven. Frank’s chili is the best in Amarillo, and I’ve got my blueberry cobbler for dessert. Say you’ll join us. All included in the newlywed package.”

  Dora winked, and Jamie didn’t know if he should wink back, if there was a private joke he was a part of but didn’t know the punch line yet. Instead he deferred to Brynn again, and she shrugged and nodded.

  “We’d love to, Dora. Thank you. My name is Brynn, by the way.” She held out her hand to shake Dora’s. “And that’s Jamie.” Jamie smiled when Brynn pointed to him. “Thank you so much for taking good care of us.”

  Dora threw her hand over Brynn’s shoulder and started leading her away from the entrance. “Sure thing, honey. A lot of newlyweds come through here, but they’re not all the real deal. I know the real deal when I see it, and it warms my heart to play a tiny part in you two starting your new life together.”

  It must have been Jamie Dora had her eyes on during that kiss because yeah, that was the real deal. It was Brynn who was putting on the stellar performance, wasn’t she? Sure she was drunk, but that kiss felt too real. In her inebriated state, was she finally startin
g to see?

  …

  Brynn didn’t pace. Wild gesticulation—that was her thing. But this pacing? This frenetic energy made it impossible for her to stay in one spot, let alone concentrate enough to get out of her wet clothes and into the shower that just minutes ago was the only thought that kept her jelly legs from collapsing underneath her.

  But now that she was alone, her only thought was that kiss—Jamie’s lips on hers like he was claiming her. What the hell kind of performance was that? Because that’s what it was, right? Jamie was with Liz. Even if he wasn’t, he had pushed her away the last time this happened, and she’d made him swear to never talk about it again. He had yet to make a real commitment to any woman, insisting his indefinite bachelor status meant he’d never end up like his parents did, and maybe she’d always taken a secret comfort in watching him stay unattached. But Liz—she’d lasted longer than the rest, and Jamie seemed happy. Maybe this was it. Maybe Brynn had realized too little too late, and that show they put on in the entryway of this adorable B&B, where a garden apparently exploded in the aptly named Garden Cottage, was just a show. A drunk, silly show.

  Her phone buzzed and she jumped, having forgotten it was in her back pocket. Thank God for her waterproof case.

  It buzzed again as she pulled it out, and she stared at the two text notifications before she opened them up and read.

  Spencer: I was just thinking about you. Are you on the road? Will I see you before the launch?

  Jamie: Truck’s here. Be there in a minute.

  Brynn let out an exasperated sigh, wishing she could flip-flop the names that went with the texts. But Jamie didn’t say things like that to her: I was just thinking about you. He was thinking about the truck. And she—she was still thinking about that kiss.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  She lost her footing and staggered back, catching herself against the floral bedspread of the Garden Cottage bed.

  It’s just Jamie out there, she told herself. I can do this—whatever this is.

  Her free hand fisted the bed covering while the other threatened to crush her phone.

  So she let it drop from her hand as she took a deep breath and moved toward the door. When she opened it, Jamie stood there, his blue eyes a gray storm of emotion, a look she’d never seen on him before.

  “I wasn’t pretending, B.” He let out a long breath while Brynn seemed to hold hers. “I don’t know what that means, but if it means anything to you at all, please…tell me.”

  She let herself exhale, a trembling release of breath, but she felt light-headed nonetheless.

  She hadn’t been pretending. He wasn’t pretending, either.

  The boy who called her Sleepy Jean. The man who claimed her with his kiss.

  She stared at him, at his questioning eyes, at the bags on the ground beside his feet. Yep. The bags would definitely have to wait.

  She touched the tips of her fingers to her own lips and then to his. He kissed them, but that was it. He was waiting for her.

  There was something she had to ask him. Something important, but she couldn’t remember now. The only thought in her head after his admission was, God, how long we have waited.

  She slid her hand higher, her palm resting on his cheek, yet he remained still. He said the words, and now she had to respond.

  And then Brynn Chandler rose on her toes and kissed Jamie Kingston.

  No audience, no pretense, and certainly no lucky bouquet.

  She hooked her finger in the belt loop of his jeans and pulled him over the threshold, pushing the door shut behind him.

  “I wasn’t pretending, either.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Brynn’s finger was still attached to his belt loop, and Jamie was feeling dizzier by the second. He looked down at her hand and then into her glassy brown eyes behind her lenses.

  “You…you weren’t pretending?”

  He felt it in the kiss, enough to give him the balls to say the words. But now he needed to hear her say it again. And maybe one more time after that.

  She bit her lip and shook her head as her finger curled tighter on his pants.

  “Look,” she said, then nodded toward the ice bucket on the dresser. “Dora grabbed it on the way to the room.”

  Champagne. Because they were newlyweds, of course.

  “We should toast,” she said. “To…a change of plans!”

  She was too adorable when she was excited, and shit…was she really excited about him? About them? What about how she felt a week ago? Jamie didn’t want to go back to that night, to him throwing open his office door and finding Brynn straddling another man in his fucking chair.

  Pain ripped through him at remembering the sight, and he tried to shut it out, because he was not going to let one stupid memory ruin what was about to happen.

  She handed him the champagne.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, and she nodded.

  Brynn yelped with laughter as he popped the bottle open, and Jamie thought there was no better sound, especially when that smile was for him. Two plastic flutes sat next to the ice bucket, and he filled them with the sparkling liquid.

  “To a change of plans,” he said, handing her one.

  “To a change of plans.”

  They tapped the glasses together and then sipped. At least Brynn sipped. Jamie drained his, sure that everything happening right now had to be some sort of alcohol-induced hallucination. Too perfect and too right, he didn’t want to take a chance they’d break the spell. As if she read his thoughts, Brynn followed suit, emptying her glass, too, giggling when she pulled it from her lips.

  And that was all he could think about after that—her lips and what it would be like to taste them again.

  “I really wasn’t alone in that kiss, was I?” she asked. “That was both of us. And I’ve never felt…I never…I mean, what are we even doing?” She threw her hands in the air, her right one clocking Jamie in the chin. “Shit!”

  Jamie swiped a finger over the scratch, but he was laughing. He knew if they crossed this line he’d end up getting hurt. He just hadn’t anticipated she’d actually draw blood.

  “Oh my God, my ring. Jamie, I’m sorry.” But the champagne still had a hold on her, and she let out another giggle. “I’m, like, dangerous around you.”

  He dabbed at the skin with the hem of his T-shirt. The wound was superficial, the location right where she’d gotten him with the letter opener months earlier.

  “Can we try to keep the stabbings to only one a year?” he asked, and she groaned.

  “Maybe you should run while you still have the chance.”

  He shook his head. “No way, Sleepy Jean. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

  She touched him, gently this time, a hand on his chest. And though his shirt was damp and cold, heat radiated from her palm and through his veins. How had he ever thought he could be okay with just her friendship? And what would he do now if he lost it? He’d lose her forever.

  Right now, though, in this room and with the magic that was Amarillo and tequila and lucky bouquets, she was his.

  “Maybe you should kiss it and make it better.” He touched his chin again, and his fingers came away clean.

  Brynn mirrored his action, but her skin was like satin compared to his own rough touch. And the heat, again he felt it from the pit of his stomach to the nerve endings in his fingers and toes. He felt everything when she touched him, and when her lips took the place of her hand, all reason went out the window.

  “Like this?” she asked, her voice breathy and sweet and like nothing he’d ever heard from any other woman.

  His eyes fluttered shut. “Yes.”

  “And this?”

  He opened his eyes to watch as, standing on her toes, she peppered his neck with kisses.

  “Mmmm-hmmm.”

  He raked his fingers into her hair, and she looked up at him.

  “You know we’re going to see each other naked, right?”

  Jamie ch
uckled.

  “It’s kind of what I hoped.”

  “What if you laugh?” she asked.

  “I won’t laugh.”

  “What if I laugh?” she asked, her cheeks growing pink, and shit she was adorable when she was nervous.

  He took off his shirt, and Brynn sucked in a sharp breath. They’d seen each other at the beach. This wasn’t anything new. And yet it was miles away from the boundaries of friendship.

  “You’re not laughing,” he said, and she shook her head. He liked seeing her speechless. He liked being the one to make her speechless. “Now you,” he told her, his voice gentle as he tried to ease them both into the unknown.

  Her fingers fidgeted with the top button of her shirt, but she couldn’t quite get it open. Jamie’s hands covered hers, steadied them, and they undid the buttons together. She let the open garment fall from her shoulders, and there she stood, the cream lace of her bra against the flushed pink of her otherwise pale skin.

  Jamie wasn’t laughing, either. In fact, he had to remind himself to breathe so he had enough oxygen to formulate any sound at all, because her hands moved to the front clasp of her bra, and yep. He still wasn’t breathing.

  “What?” she asked, pausing to look at him.

  He pulled her hands down to her sides before she completed her task.

  “You don’t want me to…” she started, but he shook his head.

  “Seventeen-year-old me is out of his mind with how long he’s wanted to touch you like this. He needs a second to collect himself.”

  Brynn giggled, but he didn’t consider this laughing. It was sweet and sexy, and he inhaled slowly, preparing himself for everything that would follow this next moment. She took his hands in hers and placed them on her breasts, her nipples peaking against the lace, and Jamie felt his erection strain against his jeans as his heart hammered beneath his ribs.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, bringing his hands to her cheeks. He may have had as much as she did to drink, but he knew enough to ask this question. “I don’t want this to be something you regret later.”