Maybe Once, Maybe Twice(57)



I closed my eyes, feeling Garrett’s thumb on the curve of my neck, my spine landing against a cool wall, his sculpted body pressed hard against my heaving chest. One hand slid up my rib cage, over the side of my breast, settling on the right side of my face, as his other hand cupped my left cheek. I swallowed hard, my face in his hands, my eyes opening to find his breathless gaze scanning me like a realized dream. And all at once, his hungry open mouth collided with mine, two scorching-hot, tequila-soaked tongues lighting matches all over my body.

My chest engulfed the mirrorball above us—slippery, shining, bliss reflected everywhere. His body trembled against mine, sent me quivering in the same places the dream of Garrett had always sent me. It was like living inside my favorite line of my favorite song—a fantasy come to life. I gripped my hand in his wavy blond hair, my lips drowning on his, as his strong arm lifted my weight, my feet barely touching the ground, his hips pinning my swelling body between him and the wall. I felt him hard against my pelvic bone, and I clenched my hand rough around the back of his damp shirt, tugging him tighter against my limbs, bringing a wet, pulsing heat between my legs. His teeth softly tugged at my bottom lip, and he kissed me up my jawline, up to my ear, with the warmth of his tongue on my earlobe sending my eyes up to the ceiling with a moan. My chin came back down, just as he arched his head back to take me in. Garrett’s large, firm body pressing me against this wall was all that was keeping my legs from buckling.

Eyes locked on his, adrenaline splintering my veins, I gripped my hand over his erection. Garrett swallowed hard, his chest thumping in front of my eyes, his stunned eyes watching as my hand moved upward, over his belt loop, sliding inside the opening of his shirt, my fingers tracing the sweaty lines of his ripped abs, my palm landing firmly over his chest. I kept my hand there, steady—my touch moving his insides like a racehorse. My eyes widened in the glory of it all, as his primal gaze blazed onto mine.

“I want to take you home, right now,” he said, in a voice so low and husky that I almost dropped to the floor.

My humming lips parted in the air, eyes on him until the words found my throat.

“Mine’s closer.”





30

THIRTY-FIVE




THE ENGAGEMENT PARTY FROM HELL roared on as the glasses of rosé buzzed behind my eyes. Summer had excused herself due to a fashion emergency—one of her brand’s A-list model ambassadors had decided he was equipped to solve the Middle East crisis on Instagram, and he wasn’t. I leaned coolly against a high-top table, pretending to send and receive important texts on my phone, while actually doom-scrolling Twitter. My eyes darted to a pop-up tent yards away from the dance floor, as Garrett’s laugh pierced through the air. His parents had hired a famous illusionist to come and perform magic tricks for the crowd—because an entire band at a winery wasn’t enough. I chewed on my lower lip, watching Garrett pull two cards from the magician’s hand. Garrett slammed his palm on his chest, stumbling back, head shaking, in total awe.

Suddenly, from the speakers, I heard, “Can Maggie Vine come to the stage please?”

Below the stage, Cecily giddily waved me over with one hand, while holding an acoustic guitar out to me in her other hand. My eyes turned big and round, and I shook my head toward the stage, plastering a “thanks, but no thanks” smile on my cheeks. Cecily cut through the scattered crowd, darting toward me like a bullet, grabbed my arm, and tugged me toward the stage.

“Cecily, look, I’ve had a lot to drink and I really don’t want to.”

“Please?”

I stared into her perfect blue pleading eyes and her pink pouty lips.

I stuck my tongue down your fiancé’s throat. The least I can do is sing you a song.

I swallowed my lack of pride, grabbed the guitar, and hopped onstage. I made it a point to slowly tune the already-in-tune guitar, taking the time to figure out which song to play. My chest tightened as I watched Garrett approach Cecily, with his alarmed eyes locking on mine. His brows were pressed together, and the usual smile on his face was gone.

I could hear my heartbeat in my eardrums as he stared up at me. I wanted so badly to let my song “Let’s Lie” leave my mouth, but I wasn’t brave enough, for so many reasons. A handful of years ago, I wrote that song while sucking in tears, a song that would haunt me later. Just once, I had let the song go in front of an audience that didn’t include the man it was meant for. Later, I recorded it in a professional studio. I had never been able to listen to it ever again after that recording session—and it wasn’t just the emotional pining behind the lyrics. Every time I ached for Garrett, I could hear the blooming melody of “Let’s Lie” in my head. But it always grew into something evil like a chemical reaction to a cocktail of pain, so I willed one of my best songs away like one would a dark nightmare.

I looked down to the dance floor where Cecily clung to Garrett’s broad shoulder like a monkey to a tree branch. All eyes were peering up at me, impatiently waiting. I had to sing something. Garrett shifted nervously, wrapping his arm around Cecily and resting his chin on the top of her head with eyes narrowing on mine.

It was the crushing jealousy that did it. It was looking down on Garrett, watching him go all-in on the wrong woman. It allowed my mouth to open on a live microphone and go back to the moment we shared a stage, years and years ago—the moment his lips were inches from mine, when our futures were hopeful, when his smile lit up my entire being. I pierced my eyes into his, and out it poured.

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