Page 136 of Bottle Shock
Right answer.
I can still taste you from this morning, in case you were wondering.
My face flames, going instantly red I’m sure. Rather than reply, I put my phone face down on my thigh before I make it worse.
“Are you feeling okay?” Layla asks, eyes wide, already going into nurse mode. “You just got so red.”
“Yep.” I stand. “I got hot for some weird reason. I’ll be right back.”
I dart out of the living room and down the hall to the guest bathroom. I’m only inside for a second when the door whips open, and Gavin pushes his way inside.
He doesn’t speak.
He doesn’t even make a sound.
He just pins me to the wall, grabbing under my thighs, lifting me, before he crashes his mouth to mine.
His lips are hungry as they devour me, his tongue tangling with mine, his large hands digging into my flesh.
My arms cross around his neck tighter and I shamelessly roll my bodyagainst his.
He lets out a groan, breaking our kiss.
“Gavin,” I whisper, though I don’t know if I’m telling him to stop or begging him not to.
He kisses me again instead—slower this time, sweeter. His forehead rests against mine, both of us breathing hard.
“This is torture,” he murmurs, voice rough in a way that makes me dizzy.
“I know,” I whisper back.
“Maybe it’s time for this to stop being a secret.”
I pull my forehead back from his, meeting his gaze. “Like tell them we’re married?”
We stare at each other for a beat, a smile tugging on his lips.
“Tell them something. I’m tired of keeping us hidden—keeping you hidden.”
My heart thunders in my chest, exhilarated, terrified, and maybe a little giddy.
“So what exactly isthis?”
Putting a label on us feels like a bigger step than getting married.
Because that was about paperwork and legalities.
This is about feelings, and acknowledging that what’s been building between us isn’t some trial run. Not just an exploration with a safety net. It’s real.
“I don’t care what we call it, as long as I get to scream it from the rooftops.”
“Okay,” I say quietly, because it’s all I can manage.
“We’ll talk about it when we get home.”
“Okay,” I repeat, smiling as I try to contain the swarm of butterflies taking flight in my chest.
We hover there—just holding, breathing—until voices filter down the hallway. Excited voices. Loud voices. Something like cheering.
