Page 74 of Bottle Shock
She grins and extends both hands toward me, palms up. “Fine. Let’s make it official.”
I take her hands, and we stand there—awkwardly at first—like we’re at the altar instead of the middle of a hotel room. Her eyes glint with amusement as she says, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”
Her smile widens as she steps even closer, her hands winding around my neck, our bodies flush as she tilts her chin up. The fragile atmosphere between us turns heavy, like one wrong move could break whatever this is.
I reach for her waist without thinking, hands resting lightly against the soft fabric of her dress. Her gaze drops to my mouth, then lifts back to my eyes.
“This is just for practice,” she reiterates, and I’m not sure if she’s reminding me or herself.
“Mmm-hmm” is my response; the ability to utter more would be impossible.
When our lips meet, it’s nothing like the first time. That kiss had been rushed, messy, too much adrenaline. This one is slow. Intentional. Her mouth moves against mine like she’s testing how we fit, learning the shape of us.
It’s should be just a peck.
But it’s not.
I pull back a breath, enough to see her—to see her reaction, only to lean in again.Her hand finds my jaw, thumb grazing my cheekbone. Every nerve in my body is standing at attention. When her tongue tangles with mine, all sense of reason ceases to exist.
I dig my fingers into her hips, needing to erase any distance between us. Her breastsmold against my chest, soft and round.
She threads her fingers through my hair, tugging hard enough to hurt. A whimper escapes me before I can stop it, and my glasses shift—one side lifting. I couldn’t give a shit; it would take a hell of a lot more than that to tear me from her.
My hands start to wander, skimming across the satin, grabbing a handful of her ass. Her response is to deepen the kiss, forcing my neck to bend at her will. I explore, grazing under her breasts, sliding around her ribs, enjoying the discovery of every perfect inch.
The desire to push this—the want to take it much further—I can hardly control myself. But I have to. Because none of this is real. It’s me, with years of unrequited feelings coming to the surface, and her only reacting to our physical chemistry.
With as much restraint as I can muster, I slowly disentangle myself, breaking our connection.
We stare at each other, both of us catching our breath.
“Well,” she says after a beat, voice a little wobbly, “that should do it.”
“Yep,” I quip.
Neither of us moves for a second. Then she clears her throat and steps back, fixing her dress like she’s not sure what to do with her hands.
I adjust my glasses, turn toward the mirror, and throw my hair back up—needing the distraction. “Ready?”
“Sure,” she says, her tone too bright. “Let’s do this.”
CHAPTER 20
Scottie
WILTED FLOWERS
Gavin ruined me.
He kissed me like no other man has, and I’m not sure I’ll ever recover.
The drive from the hotel to the courthouse goes by in a flash. Maybe it’s because the distance is short, or maybe I’m still dizzy from Gavin’s kiss. I fix my lipstick in the visor mirror, slide my veil into place, and pretend I’m not seconds away from falling apart.
Either way, I’m far from composed, and now is not the time or place for my heart or hormones to get the best of me.
The courthouse sits at the edge of the island, tucked between tall hedges and old brick buildings. It looks less like a government office and more like a New England manor—arched windows, ivy climbing the walls, and a flag stirring in the misty breeze.
We walk in together. The clerk at the front desk barely acknowledges us when Gavin hands her the paperwork. She glances over the marriage license and stamps a few pages, then points us toward a side room where a judge is waiting.
