Page 93 of Bottle Shock
“Tell me you don’t want this,” he says quietly. “And I’ll stop. I’ll never bring it up again, I promise.”
I look at him.
At the man who has held me.
Chosen me.
Seen me.
Wanted me.
I want him. I want this.
My voice is barely a sound.
Barely a breath.
“I want to try.”
His expression shifts—like something inside him breaks and heals all at once.
He leans in, not to kiss me.
But to rest his forehead against mine.
“Okay,” he says. “As soon as we’re in Wallula Lake, you’re mine.”
CHAPTER 26
Scottie
GIRLS’ NIGHT
The last thing I’m in the mood for is a girls’ night out.
Which is exactly why Elyse didn’t give me a choice.
“You’re coming. No excuses. I’m already on my way,” she stated over the phone. Thatwas ten minutes ago.
And she wasn’t exaggerating, because that’s her now. Honking.
“Yay,” she says, doing a happy clap as I slide into her car. “I’m so happy you’re coming out.”
I snort, laughing. “Not like you gave me a choice.”
She shrugs. “Either way, you’re still coming. And we haven’t been out since you got back. We need this.”
During the drive, Elyse updates me on the house renovations and runs through the latest gossip. Someone’s getting married. Someone else is getting divorced. Two people who barely spoke in high school are apparently having a baby now. The usual small-town shit.
When we arrive, The Jackalope is busy for a Thursday night. Inside, the crowd is split between tourists in sundresses and locals who pretend they don’t know everyone else in theroom even though they definitely do. It used to be a locals-only kind of bar, but apparently the out-of-towners have caught wind of it.
We’re the last to arrive in the group. Marisa, Layla, and Ariana are already seated at a booth, drinks in hand. Marisa passes over a margarita the size of a fishbowl to Elyse as she slides in next to her. I sit on the other side, between Ariana and the outer edge of the booth.
I don’t have any plans to drink tonight. One, because I’m not nearly as reckless as I used to be, so I actually care about monitoring my blood sugar and not spiking it like crazy. And two, because the thought of managing my blood sugar in public feels like more effort than I currently possess. My brain is too preoccupied—with Gavin and tomorrow and what will happen.
So instead, I pour myself a glass of water from the pitcher at the center of the table.
Just thinking about Gavin sends something fluttering through my chest—a mix of anticipation and panic and maybe a little hope. I’m not sure what to expect, but the fact that something could is enough to keep my mind racing.
