Page 74 of The Last Kind of Kiss
“Your heart’s beating really fast,” he whispers, breaking out that signature, high-voltage grin that nobody in their right mind could resist.
Him saying that only makes my heart march faster, my nerves jamming the words currently caught in my throat. “I’m a bit nervous,” I admit quietly.
“You are?”
“Everything’s out in the open now.”
Bristol’s grip never wavers. There’s no doubt or uncertainty christening those handsome features of his. In fact, his confidence silences the discouraging voice in the back of my head.
“I’ve got you, Lils. I’ve got you, and I’m never letting go of you.”
“Yeah?” I ask, rising to my tiptoes because, one, these heels don’t do much for me in the height department, and two, I want to drown myself in that leather and woodsy man musk of his.
He fixes some of the lipstick smeared by the corner of my mouth, his own lips shimmering with pink residue. “I’m dumb, but I’m not dumb enough to make that same mistake again.”
I don’t know if I can hold the tears back this time, and if we don’t partake in some communal drinking soon, I’ll probably look like Samara fromThe Ringby the time the party’s over. We make our way toward the living room where everyone’s gathered, and this gigantic tower of oversized Jenga blocks sits dauntingly in the middle like a fear-inducing monument. The long, leather couch that can seat at least ten people with no problem is occupied, leaving my designated spot on the cushy, carpeted floor. This is an intimate affair with the Reapers’ immediate family, which thankfully means there’s no paparazzi to be seen.
Multiple side conversations rumble on, and everyone’s attention has been stolen by the adorable baby girl using Kit’s arms as her personal hammock. The environment itself is curated to beentirely baby-friendly, with the low hum of music and warm mood lighting to be as understimulating as possible. Baby Eda—Kit and Faye’s daughter—is dressed from head to toe in a pink onesie that says in large, bejeweled print on the front, DADDY’S FAVORITE. And to top it all off, there’s a matching bow wrapped around her alfalfa curl of hair.
I’m not someone who usually likes children—let alone babies—but she’s the cutest little thing in the entire world. She has Kit’s bronze skin but Faye’s big, round eyes, and the apples of her cheeks puff out in a perpetual smile. She’s on the bigger side because of Kit’s D1-bearing-athlete genes, and she’s currently curling her chubby fists into her father’s shirt.
It's crazy how much everything’s changed. Just a year and a half ago, I met Faye for the first time at a pool party when she was in her sophomore year of college. And now, she’s juggling her senior year and being a full-time mother.
Speaking of futures, I can’t help but wonder if Bristol’s and my children would have his eyes or mine. I’d hope they’d get his charming smile and pageant-winning dimples. I’d even just settle for his brunette head of hair.
I wonder if Summit wanted to be a mother. I wonder if they even discussed the topic of kids. I mean, they were college sweethearts. Of course it was probably brought up in passing. I don’t…Ishouldn’tbe thinking about that right now.
Bristol sits down in front of me with his legs spread out—every yummy acreage of muscle splayed out for me like an all-you-can-eat buffet—and he pats his lap.
I blink, stupefied. “What are you doing?”
“Waiting for you to sit on my lap,” he replies nonchalantly.
“The floor is carpeted.”
“Uh-huh. But I can bet mylegsare a lot comfier. Andmy girldoesn’t sit on the floor.”
He definitely wasn’t talking about his “legs.” He is right, obviously. It’sverycomfortable…pretty big too.
I snort a little. “Your girl?”
That cute, boyish look he had going on is completely gone now, supplanted by the hottest stare I’ve ever seen, so dark and dominant that I’d fling my panties off if we weren’t surrounded by a room full of people.
“My girl,” he assures, leaning back on his palms. “Or do you need a reminder?”
Oh. My. God.
Inebriated by both the drinks and Bristol’s universal appeal, I waste no time in situating myself on his lap, braiding one arm around his neck to support myself. He nuzzles his nose into my throat as his minty breath plumes against my skin, and he’s one dangerous move away from resuscitating the needy pulse in my cunt.
Did I mention how much I’m loving this new chapter in our story? Like, a lot.A lot, a lot.
I used to attend parties religiously in college. I was the one dragging Aeris along to every frat party on the weekends. I was making friends, talking the night away with strangers, going home with guys who said the right things. And in some ways, I guess that’s how I dealt with my own insecurities of not being liked or wanted. I stretched myself so thin to bury that pain, and all it did was establish empty relationships that failed the moment we all stepped into the real world.
But it’s different now. Parties aren’t an escape. They aren’t something I suffer through anymore. They’re an extension of home, and so are the people sitting around me right now.
I’m about to call for a ceasefire before I turn Bristol’s crotch into a splash zone, but the world throws me a Hail Mary in the nick of time. A curly mane of red hair bobs into the picture—attached to a girl in fishnets, a miniskirt, and an off-the-shoulder crop top—and my entire face lights up.
“Calista?”
