Page 73 of The Last Kind of Kiss
BRISTOL:How does a lifetime supply sound?
LILA:Ugh, fine. I’ll go with you. But I’m not sharing any of my stash.
BRISTOL:Didn’t expect you to, and I’ll be too mesmerized by you to eat.
LILA:Because of the dress?
BRISTOL:Because you’reyou.
LILA:If you wanted to ask me out, you didn’t need to buy a thousand-dollar dress for me.
BRISTOL:I didn’t, but I like to spoil my girl.
LILA:Are you sure this isn’t some weird ploy to live out your sugar daddy fantasies?
BRISTOL:It wasn’t before, but you just gave me a fantastic idea.
LILA:Yeah, no. I’mnevergoing to call you Daddy.
BRISTOL:Why? Scared you might like it?
LILA:Nope. Just nauseous.
BRISTOL:You love to torture me, don’t you?
LILA:It helps me sleep at night.
BRISTOL:Oooh, yooouuu liiikeee meee.
LILA:We’re dating, idiot.
BRISTOL:*smiling face with tear emoji* Joke’s on you, now I have this over text, and I’m going to make it my screensaver.
24
THE ALL-MIGHTY JENGA TOWER
LILA
Inever thought I’d live to see the day Bristol Brenner agreed to settle down with anyone. And even though our path in getting here wasn’t exactly smooth, I’d go through all that heartache and pain again just to feel as insanely happy as I do right now.
So, as a celebration for this—frankly unbelievable—milestone, we’re attending an annual Reapers party for the first time as an official couple. It’s not a surprise to anyone, really, given our history and the…ahem…racy photoshoot pictures that are circulating the interwebs.
Since Bristol volunteered to help set up, I’m meeting him at the Reapers’ mansion, which allows me about an hour of prep time and daily affirmations in the mirror to get my nerves under control. This is a big deal for me—and hopefully for him.
I’ve gone for a cowl neck, satin dress in an incredible olive color, which has a low neckline and an open back that blurs the line between sophisticated and flirty. And you’d be impressed to know I’m only wearingthree-inchheels tonight. With a few shots of tequila in my system, I set off for the party of the year, more than ready to make my debut as the Reapers’ latest WAG.
The minute I arrive, Bristol seeks me out like a police sniffer dog, cups my face in his hands, and takes advantage of the mostly vacant foyer to stop time with a world-spinning kiss. I wreathe my arms around his neck, press my fast-beating heart to his chest, and arch my back slightly when I feel his hands start to journey lower. I can’t believe we’retogethertogether. With a label and everything.
He treats me to a supple kiss that rounds all the bases and homeruns straight into the cleft between my thighs, and my whole body undergoes a miniature explosion of tingles, warming the liquid courage in my butterfly-filled belly. This kiss feels different. It feels more genuine, more purposeful, more assured. It feels like something I’ve only ever dreamed of before, butbetter.
A thousand times better.
Emboldened, I angle my head so I can deepen the kiss, showing him just how much I’ve missed him—and he doesn’t waste a second before enticing me with his own hungry urgency. It’s more than a chaste peck, but less of a gateway to Make Out Central. It’s…perfect.
We both pull away at the same time, and I’m pretty sure I won’t need another sip of alcohol for the rest of the night. Bristol’s enough of a stimulant. Plus, his lips tastewaybetter. His hair is stylishly messy, and his plain shirt is so deliciously tailored to his body that I can just barely see the definition of his abs through it. And don’t get me started on those cables of muscle running up and down his arms.
His fingers play in the material of my dress, and his eyes have this dazed gloss over them as they survey my face. I’ve been the recipient of many of Bristol’s looks—glowering, remorseful, even a sexy, post-orgasm thank-you—but I’ve never been looked at in this way before. Almost like he’s a bit drunk, but without the alcohol flush on his cheeks.
