Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 54520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
“Because it wasn’t supposed to get out of hand like it did. It was just a little payback for my bike. But when you got hurt…” He shakes his head, jaw clenching. “I didn’t like it. Even if it was an accident, I still kicked my brother’s ass.”
Something shifts inside me, the sharp edge of that old wound softening at the sincerity in his voice.
When I think back to it, all the ambushes and pranks were usually softened in some way by him. Something I never really thought about until now.
“What was your deal with those dandelions, anyway?” he asks, slipping back into that familiar ease.
My head tilts at the question. “What do you mean?”
He shrugs but he goes on to explain. “All summer long, that fluffy white shit would float into our yard, and every time I looked up, there you were, plucking them from the ground for your pretend weddings. You could’ve picked any wildflower, but you went with weeds.” His words drift into a chuckle, as if the memory still humors him.
I try to return his smile, but it’s weak. “To you they were weeds, to me they were every wish my heart ever whispered.” The confession slips free, soft, and unguarded. “They gave me hope when so many things felt hopeless.”
That amusement slowly fades from his face. “Is that how you felt back then? Hopeless?”
There’s no judgment in his tone, only curiosity.
Maybe it’s the whiskey, or maybe it’s because he’s the only one who’s ever cared enough to ask, but I find myself answering with the truth. “Sometimes…yeah.”
I shrug like it’s no big deal, when really, it was everything. At least back then.
“Did any of them come true?” he asks after a moment.
The irony of that question is almost amusing. “Considering I’m sitting here with you instead of my sister’s wedding—where she’s marrying my ex, who also happens to be cheating on her—what do you think?”
He cracks a grin, tipping his glass in mock salute. “Touché.”
We share a small laugh, despite there being nothing funny about it, the moment fading just as a middle-aged woman steps up to the mic. Her voice is surprisingly strong as she sings Gabby Barrett’s “He’s One of the Good Ones.”
Couples drift onto the dance floor, drawn in by the song. Old loves and new sway in time to the music, as if it were written for them alone. I catch myself moving too, rocking gently in my seat, carried by the melody.
Next thing I know, Linc is out of the booth, wearing that sexy grin, his hand extended in offering. “I’m not the last man on earth, but I did knock out Finchy boy. That’s gotta be worth at least one dance, right?”
Warmth blooms in my chest, my mouth curving at the memory of the jab I threw at him weeks ago.
“Yeah, Masters.” The words come soft as I slide my hand into his. “That earns you at least one dance.”
He guides me onto the floor, pulling me in close, as if he’s done it hundred times before. Every solid line of him presses against me as we fall into an easy rhythm. He moves with such effortless confidence I can’t help but be impressed.
“Gotta admit, Slimer, you’re good on your feet.”
Playful arrogance sharpens his features. “If you think this is good, you should see what I can do when you’re on your back.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks before I hide it with an eye roll. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
He grins, having no shame. “It was the perfect opportunity. Couldn’t let it go to waste.”
Of course not.
I shake my head, biting back a smile, but I’m not fooling either of us, least of all him. He’s the only person who can make me smile and want to hit him at the same time, I swear.
“Imagine if our friends walked in to see this right now,” he adds, voice low and amused. “You. Me. Laughing and dancing.”
Their reaction would be pure comedy.
“They’d never believe it,” I agree. “Just this morning Ellie texted to make sure you were still alive.”
A husky laugh escapes him, the sound so rich it spills over the twang of karaoke. “Come on, it’s not always so hostile between us. We’ve had our moments.”
My brow arches. “Define these ‘moments.’”
His expression shifts now, cocky as ever. “There was that time you kissed me on Heart Mountain.”
I gasp, disbelief nearly choking me. “I didn’t kiss you, you kissed me.”
“Don’t think so, Goldilocks. That was all you. You had zero self-control that night.”
My eyes narrow, blood rising to a dangerous temperature, and for a split second, I genuinely consider inflicting bodily harm. Then his mouth curves into that maddening smirk, and I realize he’s screwing with me.
“I swear you have a death wish, Masters,” I mutter.
His chuckle grates like sandpaper but tapers off with his next words. “You ever think about that night?” he asks, his voice quiet and thoughtful now. “About what might’ve happened between us if you hadn’t left?”