Once Upon a Sure Thing (Heartbreakers #2)(33)

God bless snow.

God bless music.

God bless wild abandon.

I feel it with him, the crazy rush of sensations, the heavy throb of desire. Digging my fingers into his clothed flesh, I bring him as close as I can. I need all the friction to tip me over the edge.

I’m dying for it. I’m chasing it. I rock harder, faster. Senselessly.

“Yes, baby. Let go. Just fucking let go for me. Want you to come. Need you to come,” he urges in my ear, and I gasp, bite my lip, and let go, sparks and electricity flaring everywhere as I reach the crest.

I grab his face as my orgasm escalates. I need his lips to cover up my moans. I kiss him urgently, hiding my cries of pleasure.

When my orgasm ebbs, he’s gritting his teeth, breathing out hard. “Just. Trying. Not. To. Explode.”

I laugh. “I can take care of that for you.” I open my mouth wide, letting him know what I’d like to do with him.

He growls, as he drags a finger over my bottom lip. “Do not tempt me. We definitely can’t do that. But I want that so badly that now I’m going to think of my brothers.”

I blink in confusion. “Wha?”

He pushes up from me, waving a hand in front of his crotch. “Instant boner eraser.”

I crack up. “Brothers are good for that. By the way, we never worked on our next song.”

He shrugs. “Win some, lose some. We’ll work on it tomorrow. Our fans are eager for more of our . . . Hot Stuff.” He gives me a wink. “That was pretty hot.”

“It was,” I say, and then, because we’re playing with fire, I add, “Our music gets me in the mood for sure.”

“It’ll be our little secret that we’re turned on by our tunes.”

That’s what this will be. A secret we gave in to one snowy December night, because we believed in wine, and Sinatra, and the mad lure of quiet, calm New York to make us feel like the world had winked off.

But a little later, I’m curled up in Miller’s arms on the couch, and he’s cuddling me, and this doesn’t feel like giving in to a secret. This feels like giving in to the years.

That’s the problem.

The big problem.





Chapter 18





Miller



“You’re a good pillow,” she murmurs, as she snuggles into the crook of my arm.

“Use me, then,” I tell her, but she needs no invitation. She’s already there. Her eyes are falling closed, her breath turning steady and slow.

I sigh happily—too happily for my own good, as I stare at the window while white flakes drift down. Ally was right about falling snow. It’s a spell that lets you believe a moment won’t end. That tricks you into thinking it can last all night long.

I don’t want this moment to end. I want it to unspool into tomorrow and the next day too. Now, after midnight, the soft white flakes hypnotize me, convincing me that this thing could work.

This wonderful, fantastic, dangerous thing.

Her and me, wrapped up in each other’s arms, like the sun won’t rise in the morning and shine a light on all the ways we could crack.

But it will, and we will.

Because I can count. I can add up the numbers and conclude I'm not a guy who knows how to make a relationship work. Yes, I've had girlfriends, and yes, I’m absolutely a serial monogamist. But I’m not the type who goes the distance. I don’t know how. Maybe because I’ve never been with someone who makes me want to try, and Ally can’t be my test case. The risks are too great. I can already feel how much it would hurt to try and fail.

There’s more at play.

There’s Jackson. I can’t screw up his chance for a scholarship by getting involved with my bandmate then—inevitably—messing things up with her, imploding the project and leaving him with no documentary. Then there’s Chloe, and Ally’s wishes for her.

I tear my gaze away from the snow and bring it back to the woman cuddled against me, her soft brown hair with its pretty lavender strands resting against her cheek.

I should go, leave this night behind us. Close the book on this brief tryst like we planned to. But the thought of leaving is like a serrated knife in my gut. I don’t want to lose this connection.

Maybe I’ll stay a little longer.

I tug her closer and run my nose along her neck, inhaling her coconut scent. Thief that I am, I steal a midnight kiss, brushing my lips over her soft skin.

Sometimes, something hits you all at once. Something that’s been in front of you all along slams into you hard. I’d be a fool if I said this feeling was unexpected. I’d be a liar if I claimed I never thought this would happen.

The truth is, I was wildly attracted to Ally the night we met. Poised to ask her out, I was shot down with her “do you want to be friends” comment. I’d been ready, so damn ready to ask for more. After only a few hours of talking to her at the arcade that evening, I knew I didn’t want to take her home for only one night. I wanted to romance her with dinners, with bowling, with more arcade games, and with walks in the park.

It wasn’t insta-love. But it was insta-like.

She was the kind of woman I imagined could break the spell of my bachelor ways. She dropped the hammer on that quickly, crushing the possibility.

So, friends it was, and I never imagined our connection would turn this deep, this tangled up, like those skeins of yarn in her knitting bag. Somehow, six years later, we’ve become so thoroughly wrapped up in each other’s lives that I can’t imagine how we’d separate. She’s one of the longest relationships I’ve ever had. That’s the issue. I don’t want to stare down a time when there’s no Ally in my life.