Page 99 of The Confidant
It ended up being harder than I remembered—probably mostly due to the fact that my fingers were trembling with nerves over touching her silky hair like this again. But I managed to get the first half done without having to backtrack more than once, so that was good.
“That feels nice,” Scarlett said, glancing back at me with hooded eyes after I’d combed my finger against her scalp to pick up a new section.
“H-hopefully it looks okay, too,” I tried to say lightly, hoping she wouldn’t sense the way my pulse scrambled from the heat of her look before resuming a steady but faster beat.
“I’m sure it’s great,” she said.
I finished the braid, wrapping the black elastic around the end. And just as I was relaxing back against my seat, the trail merged with the main road that would lead us through a long tunnel.
“Here we go,” Carter called back to us as he turned on the headlights. A second later, Ava squealed as we were plunged into the tunnel’s darkness that I knew would last about a quarter of a mile.
As we traveled down the dark tunnel with only the lights from the ATVs in front and behind us beaming on the walls, I closed my eyes and let myself pretend it was just Scarlett and me in here.
Scarlett leaned back against me, and I allowed myself to slip my arms around her waist again and breathe in the light perfume on her neck.
She smelled so good today. Like something citrusy and fresh.
We rode like that for a few moments until she re-situated herself on my lap, turning sideways so her shoulder and hips pressed against my torso, her cheek resting against my brow.
I instinctively nuzzled her neck with my face, and she drew in a shallow breath.
Followed by another shallow breath.
Was she having a hard time breathing, too?
I let my fingers curl into the softness of her hips, and when she drew in another shallow breath like she was trying not to pant, I was reminded of another time we’d gone to the falls and had trouble breathing.
It had been a Saturday afternoon in early April. We’d gone to the waterfall for a picnic and a hike, but instead of going on the hike that we’d planned after lunch, I ended up pulling her behind the waterfall for a kiss.
It was only supposed to last for a few seconds—just to experience a moment she’d read about in a book once. But as soon as I pressed her against the cave wall and had her soft curves against my hard edges, time immediately disappeared.
Her lips had tasted like chocolate strawberries that afternoon, her auburn hair unbelievably silky when I’d tangled my fingers in its softness.
We had spent a lot of time kissing those few weeks that we’d dated—so much that I’d wondered if I’d ever be able to fill the insatiable craving I had for her. But after crushing on my best friend for so long, it was understandable. I had years of longing to make up for.
I never had a chance to discover whether the chemistry would have leveled out if we’d been able to continue dating. But I had a feeling that moments like that would have still happened a lot.
Because even now, a year later, our chemistry was still very much there.
Maybe even stronger, since we knew exactly how explosive it could be and fighting it was just that much harder.
Man, I needed to kiss her again.
I couldn’t just accept that I’d never get to have stolen moments like this with Scarlett again, could I? Or that the differences in our beliefs would stop us from being together.
We made sense in literally every other way.
We were perfect for each other—knew everything there was to know about a future mate.
All the little things.
Everyone always told me that I should marry my best friend since friendship was a huge thing in any long-term relationship.
And I wanted to.
I knew we were only eighteen and probably too young to think seriously about something like that. But I also knew that if she would let me, I’d marry Scarlett in a heartbeat.
Because I knew her and loved everything about her.
