Page 8 of Wrecked Rose

Beau puts both hands in the air, splashing a bit of champagne from his cup. “Two minutes to go!”

Anyone who was still inside bolts out to the patio to join in on the fun. It’s pandemonium as they find their friends, and we get ready to celebrate.

The chanting of the countdown starts at ten seconds, and we roll with it all the way down to one. Glasses clink and chaos ensues. I make a slow circle, observing the ritual of kissing at midnight. And there’s a whole lot of it going on everywhere I turn. The obvious pairs are already coupled up, but then I witness this nerdy guy grab a member of the dance team and lay one on her, much to the delight of those around them. And that’s all it takes. I may never get this chance again. A drunken New Year’s Eve is a valid excuse for all questionable behavior.Right?

I spin around, grip Griff by his shirt and lock eyes with him for a second right before I press my lips to his. It’s a fairly chaste kiss, but I couldn’t help myself. I had to.

And dammit, his lips are soft but firm, and he tastes like the whiskey we’d been drinking together. Whiskey and sin. I want to kiss him harder, longer, but I’m already pushing my luck and I know it.

When I ease back, I murmur, “Happy New Year.”

He looks a bit stunned at first, glances around at everyone behind me, then says, “Well, happy New Year to you, too, Max.” His brows pinch together. I measure the passing of time in the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes steadily. Calmly. The exact opposite of the live wire flinging itself around inside me.

I can’t believe I actually did that.

And if I’m not mistaken, Griff’s trying to cover up his discomfort with a nonchalant attitude, which kinda sucks and makes me regret following through on my instinct in the first place. I look over my shoulder. No one appears to have noticed our kiss. Or maybe in the dark, they didn’t realize whose lips were locked together over here.

I give him a slow smile and decide to play it off like I’m drunk—which I am, so at least there’s that. “Sorry, man. I was looking for a pretty face to kiss at midnight, and yours got in my way.”

He looks at me from under his lashes and slides his thumb achingly slowly over his lower lip. “I guess I should be flattered.” Tilting his head to the side, I feel the question in his blue eyes as they glitter in the dark.

I nod. “Damn right, Legendary.” I draw in a deep breath and pat his chest, immediately feeling the need to go into joking mode. “I mean, can you blame me? You’re awfully cute. Now, how about some more of that whiskey? I feel like maybe we could both use it.”

“Hell, yes. And I know what I’m toasting to.” He tilts his head to the side, eyeing me.

“What’s that?”

“To Max, my new drinking buddy.” He winks as he snorts with laughter, catches his arm around my shoulders, and steers me inside.

I would feel really good about this development if I wasn’t all up in my head.

Chapter 5

Griff

My mind jumps around from thought to thought as Max and I down more whiskey. Dude totally kissed me a few minutes ago. On the lips. It hadn’t been anything crazy, but his masculine mouth was on mine, warm breath feathering over my lips as he pulled away. Then for several beats, his hazel eyes had looked deeply into mine… until I couldn’t hold his stare any longer and had looked away.

I can’t wrap my head around it or what I’m supposed to think. I study him over the top of my red Solo cup. He’s an interesting guy. Confident. Funny. And very, very openly gay. All of that points to why he didn’t have a problem laying one on me at midnight.

It’d surprised me, no doubt about it. I exhale sharply. Shocked, is more like it. I think he was joking around or something—that, or he was more drunk than I’d first thought. There’d been no sign, no warning. We’d all been standing there celebrating with our champagne. I’d downed what was in my flute, and a split second had passed before he’d roughly grabbed my shirt and yanked me toward him, planting his lips on mine. The touch of our lips had probably lasted no more than two seconds. Whether he’d been fucking around or just plain trashed, he’d done it. I glance at him as I take another sip of the whiskey we’re enjoying, feeling utterly confused.

I’m chalking it up to the drinks and the excitement of the celebration going on at the time. And I’m going to do my best now to pretend it didn’t happen and put it behind us.

But I don’t. I keep right on thinking about him. He’s obviously an okay guy if he’s Daphne’s friend. As we continue to drink, my thoughts drift to her.

She’s a sweetheart. Beautiful and smart, too. And for a brief moment several weeks back, I thought maybe I’d like to get with her.

That was after she’d kissed me, and no guy I know ignores a sweet thing like that. I’d enjoyed the hell out of our lip-lock and had even gone as far as asking my brother if he had her number. In fact, if Micah hadn’t already thrown down his possessive-as-hell claim on her, things may have gone very differently. Except, I guess I didn’t have a very clear picture of what was going on in her head.

What transpired that night between me and Daphne had been one of the most surprising moments of my life. That is, up until what happened between me and the guy sitting next to me.

I don’t know why it has me all twisted up. I need to catalog it as one of the more interesting drunken experiences I’ve ever had and put it out of my head.

But for some reason… it’s not as easy as that.

My focus jerks back to Max as he slides his cup back over to me. “Let’s go again.”

I raise my brows. “You got it.” I side-eye him from under my lashes. Far be it from me to deny my new whiskey buddy the goods. Tipping up the bottle, I give him a good two-fingers worth. It’s entirely possible I’m corrupting the poor guy right now. I’m pretty observant and can’t remember the last time I saw him drink at a party. Of course, it’s not all my fault. I know he’d been drinking with the girls earlier. And then we’d had the whiskey after dancing… and then champagne… and now more whiskey. Fuck, we’ll be lucky if we aren’t both sicker than dogs tomorrow. And maybe I won’t have to worry about remembering any of this at all.

---