Page 26 of Everywhere You Look

Last chance to run, hiseyes say.

Fat chance. I am in this. I am all the way in this.

I squeeze his hands three times in mine and wink.

“I do.”

“Then with the power vested in me by the state of California, I now pronounce you married. You may now kiss one another.”

Oh god.

Ohgod.I forgot about the kiss.

How the hell did I forget about the kiss?

A swarm of butterflies takes flight in my stomach as my eyes drop to Luke’s lips. His perfectly pink lips, accented around the edges by his dark brown facial hair. His tongue swipes out, wetting his bottom lip as he slightly angles his head, giving me room to lean in.

And so I do.

I lean in and gently press my mouth to my best friend’s, feeling his pillowy soft lips brushing against mine for the first time. I almost laugh, but when Luke presses in closer and more firmly against me, I realize there is absolutely nothing funny about this kiss.

It’s warm and sweet and tender. An effervescent feeling sweeps through me like a long sip of expensive champagne, and I fall into it. I let go of Luke’s hands so that I can move one to his hip and the other to his nape, gripping him and pulling him closer. He lets out the softest gasp, and my body acts on instinct. The slight parting of lips gives room for my tongue to slide past, dipping into his mouth and tickling against his. He tastes sweet and minty, like the wintergreen toothpaste that sits on his bathroom sink. The brush of Luke’s beard against my clean shaven face sends a shiver running down my spine, and when he grabs my hips, slowly massaging me with his fingertips, I feel my cock thickening behind the zipper of my dress pants.

It’s only then that I remember where we are, who we are, and why I shouldn’t let myself lean further into this blissful oblivion.

I start to pull away, and Luke punctuates the short make-out session with a peck to my lips that makes me feel almost precious. My stomach swoops, and heat rises in my cheeks.

One kiss. That’s all it took for those stupid, tingly feelings—the ones I could have taught a masterclass on suppressing—to come bubbling back to the surface in full force. One taste of Luke’s lips, and all of my rational, adult, big-brained thinking goes straight out the window.

God fucking damn it all to hell, I have a crush on my husband.

11

YOURS, MINE, OURS

Luke

God fucking damn it all to hell, my husband can kiss.

That shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Dean’s lips are perfect. Soft-looking and pillowy with the cutest little cupid’s bow arch at the top. His breath smells like peppermint and when he grows out his facial hair, he always keeps it tidy. I’ve seen his various bottles of beard oil littered around the bathroom.

Dean McKenna’s mouth was made for kissing.

That’s probably why I’m still thinking about it minutes after he pulled away. After the commissioner declared us married, all the fanfare was over. Having signed the marriage certificate before the ceremony, with Kira providing a signature as our witness, wewere ushered back out to reception where the document was notarized and filed. We’ll receive our copy in the mail in two weeks, but as of right now, Dean and I are married.

“So, who’s changing their last name? Or are you gonna hyphenate like Kira and Warren?” Camila asks as our group pushes out the heavy mahogany doors of City Hall and wanders back out onto the street. It’s cold as hell in this neighborhood, but back on our side of the city there’s no wind. It’ll be the perfect afternoon for the picnic I have planned.

“No! Don’t hyphenate. Dean, you should take Luke’s last name. I like the idea of being the only McKenna kid left,” Kira says, poking her brother in the arm while she talks.

“We haven’t talked about last names yet, Keeks. But I’m cool with whatever Dean wants to do,” I say, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. The truth is, I haven’t stopped thinking about the list of rules on Dean’s phone and the way we both “signed” that “document” with a C and an M. I might have jotted “LCM” on a few Post-its around the offices at the broadcast network before balling them up and burying them at the bottom of trash cans just to see how it feels. I’ve been like a schoolgirl doodling her crush’s name on her notebook, admiring how good they look together.

Except I can’t have a crush on Dean.

He’s just my husband.

“We’ll consult the kids. Maybe it will be best to let them have final say on any big, name-changing decisions,” Dean says with a laugh.

“Yeah, great idea. If we leave it up to the twins, we’ll be Misters Dean and Luke Taylor Barbie Bluey Swift,” I chuckle.

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