Page 67 of The First Kind of Love
Hayes interrupts me with dewy-eyed curiosity. “Wait a second. As in…?”
Shit. That’s right. I forgot to tell my teammates that I lost my V-card. I mean, now’s as good a time as ever, I guess.
“Yeah.”
Hayes’ fists fall away so he can slam a hand on the countertop, and the force is so loud and jarring that it jettisons any of my self-confidence. “Fully! Oh my God. I know right now probably isn’t the best time to celebrate, but holy shit, dude. I’m so proud of you.”
“They grow up so fast,” Gage sniffs, wiping an invisible tear away.
“Tell me everything. Actually, don’t. Actually, do. Fuck, man. We’ve been waiting eons for this to happen,” Hayes exclaims, more ecstatic than I am at the news of getting my dick wet—which is a tad bit concerning. Also, it didn’t take meeons. It took me a reasonably appropriate amount of time to lose my virginity.
Gage, surprisingly, is the last one to overwhelm me with a terribly invasive interrogation. “How was it?”
“It was incredible…but it was only incredible because ofher. And then I had to go and ruin everything. I don’t think she even wants to talk to me right now.” My heart is still on a slow recovery to its full working extent, that little tumor of guilt pulsing in the abysmal pit of my stomach.
The groom-to-be puts a pin in my brooding. “But you don’tknowthat. You’ve given her space, right?”
I nod.
“Then what if she’s waiting for you? What ifshewants to talk to you, but she thinks thatyoudon’t want to talk to her?”
That’s ridiculous. I always want to talk to Shiloh, even about the not-so-good stuff. Could I really live with myself if I justgive up? I’m not going to lie and say that I’m not a coward, because there’ve beenmanytimes when I have been, but this can’t be one of those times.It can’t.I have to fight for her—for us. Just because she’s uncertain about the future doesn’t mean that I have to reaffirm her doubts.
Be brave, Fulton, for once in your life.
I don’t know how, but I practically sober on the spot, and I rise to a stance. When moisture threatens to fog my vision, I blink it away, figuratively holding on to the last-standing fixture amidst a hurricane of grief. It devastates everything around me, reduces houses to debris, floods the streets until they’re unrecognizable, and yet I continue to cling to hope. I continue to wait for the storm clouds to herald the thinnest sliver of light—of redemption.
I need to go to her.
I don’t even manage to get a word out before I’m sprinting to the front door. And the minute I open that partition to traverse the entire resort, my heart tap-dances against my ribs—a light patter that would’ve been overlooked if it wasn’t for the complementary blip of love that followed in its wake.
Because Shiloh Nguyen is standing outside, waiting for me.
Something breaks in my throat, and I can’t speak. She looks so small in her dark blue cocktail dress, and the sight of thesemi-dried mascara tracks tainting her skin is like a fucking hockey stick to the gut. I hate that I made her cry. And I know I have no right to be thinking this, but even in spite of her tears, she’s still so breathtakingly beautiful.
All my stupid, Neanderthal mouth manages is “Wha?—”
“Can we talk?”
Don’t blow this, Fulton.
Shiloh shivers, and I fumble for the nonexistent jacket on my shoulders before realizing I didn’t bring one with me. I don’t really think she wants to talk in the middle of Hayes’ bachelor party, but I don’t want her to freeze to death either.
“Yeah, of course. One sec,” I say, darting back inside the madhouse to grab a throw blanket from off the couch, narrowly missing what I think is supposed to be Tipsy Twister but instead looks more like a disturbing recreation ofThe Human Centipede.
I shut the door as quietly as I can without attracting attention, then I sling the thin, fleece blanket over her shoulders, biting back a smile when she actually accepts my warm and fuzzy olive branch.
“Thank you. I didn’t realize it got so chilly.” She huddles further into the cold-resistant covering, and there’s a spasm in my bicep that oh-so desperately wants to pull her into an embrace.
“Did you walk here? All the way from the event room?”
Hayes got to use their hotel room for his party, while Aeris booked one of the event rooms for hers, and there’s enough distance between the two so they wouldn’t accidentally cross paths before the wedding. So, in short, Shiloh walked across the resort, by herself, at night, in nothing but a tiny scrap of fabric. There’re about a hundred things wrong with that picture, but Overprotective Fulton needs to take a chill pill while Guilty and Remorseful Fulton wins his girl back.
“Yeah, it wasn’t a big deal though,” she dismisses. “I wasn’t thinking and should’ve brought a jacket.”
A growl stirs in my chest. “I should’ve come to you.”
Seeing as the night has been nothing but back-to-back surprises, I shouldn’t be shocked when Shiloh breaks our unofficial no-contact rule and touches my arm, lifting the lid off all my emotions that have been pressure-cooking since our argument.
