Besotted by Rebecca Sharp

 

Eve

“Here, stand front and center,” I instructed Jules with a giggle, placing her directly in line behind her cousin, Laurel, who stood a few feet in front of us. The beautiful bride had her back turned, her white lace train fanning out behind her, waiting for the signal to toss the bouquet.

“You’re going to catch this,” I added with a grin and a wink. “You’re next.”

The gorgeous brunette who I’d been working side-by-side with at the local coffee shop in town, Roasters, threw her head back and laughed before informing me, “Mick proposed yesterday. I think that means I’m out of the running for the bouquet.”

“The bouquet just confirms it,” I teased, and took my place by her side.

We’d all been there yesterday. Laurel and Eli’s rehearsal had been a cover-up for Mick’s proposal—and it was one of the most romantic things I’d ever seen.

We’d all watched Jules, Laurel’s maid of honor, walk down the candle-lit aisle at sunset. At the last moment, Mick had switched places with the groom and dropped down onto one knee. So today, she’d walked down the aisle as his fiancée instead of just his girlfriend.

And, even though I couldn’t be happier for my friend, I wasn’t going to let her out of this bouquet toss.

“I think you’d be eager to get rid of any competition for the flowers,” she returned, arching her brow.

I sighed. The fact that I was a hopeless romantic was as obvious as a coffee stain on a white wedding dress.

“I don’t want to rush my Prince Charming,” I told her, jokingly. “He seems to be taking his grand old time to get here, I’d hate to interrupt what I’m sure are copious grand, romantic gestures he’s planning for when he enters my life.” I sighed. “Either that, or he got washed away in a mudslide.”

We both laughed, and any further conversation was drowned out by the DJ’s voice booming through the space, gearing everyone up for the toss.

While the DJ spoke, my attention slid to the sides of the dance floor that had been cleared at the far end of Larry’s Lookout, a local restaurant owned by good friends of ours, Ash and Taylor. Normally, the Lookout was an alcohol-free establishment in honor of Laurel’s grandfather, Larry, but tonight, they’d made an exception for her reception. It was probably the one and only time there would be an event like this held here. Because of Larry and how he’d helped the owners, they couldn’t—wouldn’t—say no to Laurel.

Happy faces lined the large windows that overlooked the cliffs of Big Sur, the Pacific Ocean, and the setting sun that glimmered red and orange along the horizon.

As I perused the crowd, my gaze stopped on Mick Madison whose eyes were locked possessively and lovingly on Jules. It wasn’t hard to be stopped by the sight of him, the man was huge; Laurel didn’t call him the Friendly Giant for nothing.

But he wasn’t really what snagged my attention.

Instead, it was the almost-identical man next to him—the man I’d walked down the aisle with earlier.

Miles Madison.

Not quite as large but a thousand times more devastating stood Mick’s twin. Dressed in the same navy suit that all the groomsmen wore, it was striking how different he could look from his brother—and how much his presence affected me.

They were both big Texas boys, and the fact they worked their own construction business made their muscles that much more well-earned. Thick and perpetually tanned, they’d moved to Carmel over a year ago like two southern gods looking to expand their mortal reach.

Mick’s suit looked like it had been wrapped around his bulk. But Miles? His suit hadn’t been wrapped. It had been cut along the hard and harsh planes of his body, carved like steel armor to hide the chainmail underneath.

Armor to protect him from what, I had no idea. Maybe from himself.

Compared to his brother’s clean-shaven face and neatly trimmed dirty blond hair, Miles’ locks looked permanently like the dark color of wet sand, with a few light streaks from working out in the sun. He kept his hair longer—long enough that it was pulled back and neatly tied behind his head for tonight. He looked like the southern, sun-kissed version of Jason Momoa but with fewer tattoos. Instead, Miles seemed to carry scars, invisible on his skin but unmistakable in his demeanor.

Everyone knew the Madison twins—two sides of the same coin. Mick was the chivalrous gentleman, and Miles the troublemaking recluse.

Reserved. Reticent. He was never an outright ass—at least not to me or any other woman. (I wouldn’t speak for how the boys treated each other.) But he could be quiet to the point of coldness. Short to the edge of snide. And sometimes, careless, mostly with himself, to the point of callousness.

Still, the swarm of butterflies that moved into my stomach the day he came to town, had yet to leave. In fact, they had yet to awake to any prodding except Miles Madison’s presence.

As though feeling my stare, Miles’ gaze whipped and locked on mine, causing my breath to catch and those clumsy butterflies to flip and land with an oomph. And, just as quickly as it hit me, those tumultuous eyes were gone.

I shifted my weight onto my other hip.

Off and on, I’d caught glimpses of him all night. His face fading from happiness to grim as soon as he wasn’t paying attention to it.

I wondered if he ever softened. I wondered what it would taste like to lick along the tight seam of his lips, wondered what it would taste like if they just relaxed for a moment—for a kiss.

Heat pooled between my legs—a familiar circumstance when I thought about the gorgeous but guarded man for too long.

And one that happened more frequently than it should.

“One… two… THREE!” I jumped, snapping back to my current situation just in time to see Laurel’s bouquet of lilacs and white roses sail smoothly through the air and head straight for me.

Oh no.

I gasped, squeezing my eyes shut. My arms instinctively reached in front of me to protect my face and returned with the flowers secured in their grip.

Oh mercy.

The scent of the fresh flowers was almost as suffocating as the presumption that came along with them. Sputtering the petals that worked their way inside my lips, I gulped and peeled my eyes open.

Even with my glasses askew, I felt everyone’s eyes on me. Excited. Expectant.

Adjusting my glasses so I could actually see, it brought into focus Laurel and Jules, along with Jules’ neighbor, Gwen, and a few other girls from town as they crowded me in excitement.

Before the swarm, I searched out his gaze. And it hit me harder than the flowers against my chest. Hot. Curious. Disinterested. And then he was gone.

“I knew you were going to get it!” Jules exclaimed, laughter bubbling from her lips.

“You moved so it came directly at me!” I returned, trying to calm my racing heart.

She shook her head. “I told you. Your happily ever after is coming for you.”

I wanted to believe her. I wanted so badly to believe her.

But I was afraid I wouldn’t know my Prince Charming when he got here because my butterflies were too busy wanting a man who wasn’t interested.

“I need to sit down,” I told her, letting her lead me off the floor as the music started up again.

I pressed my hand against the fitted waist of my bridesmaid dress. I was trapped.

I’d fled from the back patio just as Gavin Ross, Carmel’s most prominent attorney, was about to ask me to dance again. My destination had been the ladies’ room however, when I caught sight of Dex Covington, one of the owners of Covington Security, Carmel’s local security firm, as he stood chatting with his brother, Ace, at the end of the bar next to the bathrooms, I decided against that direction as well because I knew he’d repeat his request for a second dance, too.

They were both very nice, very honorable, and very good-looking men. And I’m sure they would make some woman very happy someday. But I was not that woman and today was not that day.

I wished it was. I wished I felt something for them.But I didn’t feel that feelingfor them—the one that had the power to spin my butterflies into bursting fireworks that would heat my whole body with a fire that couldn’t be put out.

So, I’d returned to my seat next to Jules and Gwen, and let their conversation flow around me. And then I felt them, the army of flutters in my stomach that sent a cascade of electric tingles up my spine.

Looking over, I caught Miles’ gaze again. I didn’t know if it was the setting or the champagne, but since the moment he’d taken my arm to walk me down the aisle earlier, his eyes had been trailing me, playing catch and release. Especially as I danced with our friends.

“You should ask him to dance,” Jules said with a twinkle in her eyes.

I blinked, wide-eyed at her. “What do you mean? Who?”

“Oh, please, Eve. Everyone knows you and Miles have this like a pile of dynamite between the two of you, and we’re all just waiting to see who’s going to be the one to light the match,” Gwen clarified before Jules could get a word in.

Jules would have told me the same thing, but Gwen was the one who always managed to make the point in a way that was inarguable. Maybe it was her buoyant energy or almost a decade as a nurse, but she could always manage to tell you an uncomfortable, unwelcome truth, and somehow make you comfortable with it.

I felt my cheeks burning. “I don’t know about that.”

My two friends looked to each other and then back to me, like denial was some sort of admittance of guilt or something.

“I know he has a rough exterior,” Jules said with a bit more calm to her voice, having spent the most time with the man in question—her future brother-in-law—out of all of us. “But I think he just needs someone soft to convince him to let go of all that angry armor.”

I gulped.

“We all think you should put the rest of us out of our misery and just flirt and dance and kiss and see where things go,” Gwen encouraged. “You are amazing, Eve. He would be so lucky—too lucky—to be able to snag you.”

“I don’t think he’s interested,” I blurted out.

They were some of my best friends, but honestly, with my candor, I probably would’ve admitted that to the priest had he been sitting here.

“You know how he is, Jules. It’s not just the cold shell,” I added more quietly.

Over the last couple of months, Miles had been breaking out of that shell—and not in a good way. There were numerous times I’d come into Roasters for my shift and Jules would tell me how Mick had to go pick up his brother from the bar again for doing something belligerent. The only time he seemed to escape that fate was when he ended up going home with one girl after another.

“I know that there’s more that’s hurting him, and I think he could use someone with a good heart to turn him around,” she encouraged with a small smile; Jules always looked for the best in everyone. It was a trait we shared and bonded over.

I sighed. That wasn’t the plan.

I wasn’t supposed to save Prince Charming. My head tipped to the side. Or was I?

“Evie, there is no question that he likes you,” Gwen broke in, wagging her finger at me. “I’ve seen people be given life-saving medication who don’t look at it like Miles looks at you.” She groaned. “Okay, bad example. But regardless. The man wants you.”

My heart began to hammer to the rapid beat of hope.

“I don’t know,” I murmured, adjusting my glasses and flicking my eyes over to the topic of our conversation. I chewed on my lip. “I’m attracted to him. I’ll admit to that. But I don’t know if it’s a good idea…”

“It’s a wedding. Things like this are always a good idea at a wedding.” Gwen grinned deviously at me. “Now, go over there and put what he wants right in front of him, in his very nicely shaped arms.” She winked at me, flashing her megawatt smile. “I promise, it’s the twenty-first century, the princess can ask the prince to dance in modern fairytales.”

I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Well, you have a point about that…”

Not quite believing what they’d talked my shy self into, I stood and set down my glass of champagne, wondering if those delicious little bubbles played any part in my agreement to put myself out there and chase the butterflies in my stomach—and their demands.

As soon as I began to walk toward him, Miles’ attention whipped to me. His gaze melted down my body, and I swore I could pinpoint the subtle shift in his irises as they followed the sway of my hips.

Later, I could tell myself it was the deadly combination of good friends and champagne that had me heading toward a man who might not really be interested in me.

Rather that than admit I desperately wanted to know what it would feel like to be held in his arms.

“Miles.” His name came out with my unsteady breath as I linked my hands in front of me.

“Eve,” he greeted me with a shadow of a smile.

My stare burrowed into his. It wasn’t often I got to stand so close to him, close enough to confirm the oomph in my stomach I’d tried for some time to construe as anything else.

But it definitely wasn’t anything else. Spoiler alert: it was all because of him.

“You alright?” he asked when I didn’t say anything else.

He pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against, like he’d been trying to fade into the background of the reception, and his mouth thinned into a firm line.

I nodded, adjusting my glasses that hadn’t moved when I realized I’d been standing there staring. “Yeah, sorry. Too much champagne.”

“I see…”

I licked my lips and caught the twitch of his jaw as he noticed. “I actually came over to see if you wanted to dance?”

His face might be a stone mask most of the time, but he wasn’t able to hide the surprise at my question.

“With you?”

Oh, God. This was a bad idea.

Still, there was no turning back now.

I nodded. “Yes. With me, I mean.”

His eyes narrowed, looking over every inch of my face as he took a step closer. For a second, the way his head was angled and how close he stood, I thought he might kiss me, and it felt like the whole world stopped and tipped on its axis, bringing him as close as possible to me without the kiss actually happening.

“And if I agreed to only one dance, would you still want it?” he rasped, his voice like salted silk over my skin.

“Yes…” I answered slowly, recognizing that he said the word dance but made it seem like he was talking about something else entirely.

There was a flash of white—a rare glimpse of teeth that I knew formed the perfect smile when set free—before his hand was on my back and he was leading me onto the floor.

I’d been the one to ask for the dance, but now it felt like I’d just said yes to so much more.

My mouth opened to say something, to blurt out some attempt at a question, but the words were sucked down deep into my lungs as his arms came around me, and the butterflies in my stomach spun themselves into knots when he pulled me close.

I was fairly tall. Not as tall as my older siblings who were somewhere in the room, but I was knocking on five-foot-seven. Still, Miles stood at least half a foot taller than me, his eyes locked on mine.

He didn’t try to keep his distance here. The hard planes of his chest were pressed firmly against mine, leaving no space—and no room for questions between us.

I would’ve thought I imagined his low growl, except I felt the vibration from the noise rumble against my breasts that felt swollen and confined against the lace bust of my dress. My nipples rubbed against the fabric with each sway and shot sparks down to my stomach, setting those knotted butterflies on fire.

Heat pulsed through my body and oxygen grew distinctly harder and harder to come by.

I didn’t know how he could hold me this close without it shutting down half of his senses like it was doing to mine.

“Are you having a good time?” I asked dumbly, like I couldn’t tell he’d rather not be dancing at the moment.

He exhaled slowly, and I caught the faintly sweet and subtle whiff of good whiskey on his breath. Mingled with the scent of him—fresh wood and ocean breeze.

“It’s a wedding,” he replied, as though it implied an answer.

“I don’t believe you.” I sucked in a breath, wishing the words would go back inside my lungs with it.

They didn’t

And it got his attention. His eyes dropped like golden stones to mine, daring me to repeat myself.

“You just… seem preoccupied.” My shrug was a mistake because it rubbed the tips of my breasts against him once more, and I had to bite my lip to hold back my moan.

This had to be the champagne.

I caught the almost imperceptible flicker of his jaw underneath his beard, and when I saw that, I realized I was close enough to see the scar that ran down his cheek all the way to the edge of his jaw. Most of it was covered by his beard, the coarse hair serving a purpose.

Then the corners of his lips lifted in a small smile, and it felt like the sun peeking through the darkest of clouds. I bit into my cheek. I’d never gotten a look at his lips this close before. They were full—fuller than his brother’s when he let them out of the tight line they were normally kept in, and it made me want to lick them even more. And nibble.

Definitely nibble on them.

His words cut through my imaginings.

“Weddings aren’t my thing,” he informed me as we swayed through another turn.

“Oh? Why not?” I hid my wince.

Sometimes, I spoke before I really thought—a consequence of having two older siblings who I was always trying to get a word in with.

“Because nothing lasts forever.”

I stumbled over my dress, the only thing stopping me from tumbling to the ground and ripping the chiffon fabric in the process was Miles’ strong arms pulling me tighter against him.

And thinking… breathing… got even harder.

The John Mayer song faded in the background as my heart thumped in my chest. Even though this was the most I’d probably spoken to Miles since he moved here, it still felt like a weight had crushed a hope I refused to admit I held.

He didn’t believe in forever, and forever was the only thing I was looking for.

“You alright?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

Even though I was steady again, his hold didn’t lessen. His hands were mitts on my waist, my skin burning underneath his touch.

The way his thumbs moved in small circles at that spot just in front of my hipbone was driving me crazy. I wanted that movement, I just wanted it lower, rubbing over the part of me between my thighs that ached when he was around.

I could feel every thick, muscled plane of his chest, the rhythmic rise and fall as it pushed into mine. Through the thin chiffon, I swore even the perfectly proportioned squares of his abdominal muscles imprinted into my stomach. And lower…

Fire flooded my cheeks.

As we moved around our small spot on the dance floor, I could feel the hard length of him begin to thicken against his pants.

“Yeah, sorry.”

His eyes narrowed on me, and he remarked, “You’re shorter than when we walked down the aisle.”

I groaned and without much pressure at all, confessed, “I changed my heels for my Keds. I’m not good in heels, which is surprising considering how much yoga and balance work I do, but for some reason—”

“You have sneakers on?” he cut me off.

I nodded sheepishly. “Don’t tell Laurel.”

Not that she would really care, but I didn’t want to advertise. Even Taylor, who ran the Lookout with her husband, Ash, was still in her heels while holding their new baby.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” he murmured with a chuckle that cut short as soon as my tongue darted out to lick my lips.

The hardness between us grew.

Air felt thick and heavy as it settled unsteadily in my lungs. It was hot in here. Not hot yoga hot. This was beyond that. This was too hot.

“Eve?” I heard him rasp as our movements came to almost a complete halt.

“I think I just need some air,” I said weakly, about to turn and make an embarrassing escape when I felt one of his arms slide possessively around my waist.

“I’ve got you,” he said firmly, and he held me tight as he led me toward the back door.

I tried to focus on keeping a smile on my face—and not the wall of hot male that was pressed against me—as we moved through the crowd toward the door that led out back behind the restaurant.

The back patio of the Lookout was draped with twinkle lights. Small tables and chairs were set up so guests could relax under the quiet of the stars. But I kept walking right past all of that, down the steps and onto the grass where the ceremony had taken place earlier. Here, the music and the people were only a distant hum, and the lights a glimmer in the background.

I dragged in long, deep breaths of the cool summer-night air like we’d been dancing underwater.

“Better?”

I rubbed my thighs together, the low rumble of his voice feeling like he’d reached right down and rubbed between them.

“Yes. Thank you.” It was better out here because there was more space, and the need I felt for him wasn’t crammed in a space that was too small to hold it.

But when I turned, I realized how close he still stood to me. Apparently, he thought I needed space from everyone and everything but him.

I pushed up on the bridge of my glasses and rambled again, “Sometimes, when I’m in cramped spaces and I’m standing, I get really hot and light-headed and pass out.” I held up a hand, assuring him, “I’m fine—better now. It just takes a minute.”

His head tipped to the side as he regarded me. Like in slow motion, both of his hands rose in my periphery to cup the sides of my face.

He’d never touched me skin-to-skin before. And if it wasn’t his hands holding me tall, I would’ve crumbled to the ground.

But that wasn’t it.

That wasn’t the end of the torture.

I inhaled a slow, steady leak of oxygen as his fingers gripped the sides of my glasses and gently pulled them from my face.

As soon as the lenses were gone, so was the remains of my clarity—both sight and mind.

“So beautiful, Eve,” he whispered.

Even up this close, I couldn’t make out the fine lines of his face, my eyes were that bad. But I could see enough to get a sense of the way his lips moved and how the shadows of his eyes deepened.

“T-Thank you,” I murmured, wishing I could’ve watched him say the words, although I doubted it would’ve made any greater impact than the words already had.

“But I can’t see anything.” My voice quivered. It was unsettling to not be able to see. Unfortunately, it wasn’t nearly as unsettling as being so close to him.

I pulled my lower lip between my teeth, trying to give my mind something clear to focus on.

My heart rammed against the front of my chest, my lip popping free when his thumb began to rub over the hostage flesh. Back and forth. Soft and steady. The pad of his thumb rubbed tenderly over where my teeth had pressed into my flesh, massaging away any trace.

Like he was kindling a flame.

“Don’t need you to see me,” he said with a low, strained voice. “Only need you to feel me when I kiss you.”

My gasp was like a crack of lightning through the air. Silent but momentous all the same.

There were long seconds. Seconds when I could have said something, done something, called someone—protested in some way—had I not wanted him to kiss me.

But I did.

I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted his kiss more than anything.

I wanted to taste the lips I’d fantasized about. I wanted to see if his kiss would make better the desperate heat that pooled in the bottom of my belly. And the not-so-closeted romantic in me believed what every Disney movie had ever taught… that one kiss could break the spell, could break the curse, and change his mind about the idea of forever.

Because true love’s kiss had that power.

And when his lips finally touched mine, I knew I’d been right to believe in such a thing for so long—the magic of a kiss.

It started with the firm pressure of his lips against mine. Like the prelude to a symphony, the darkening of the skies before a storm, the foreshocks before an earthquake… nothing so powerful, so great, ever started at its peak. It laid a foundation, one that foretold of the utter devastation my body would experience at the behest of his.

His tongue swiped over the seam of my lips like a sign of permission that set mine free. Cautious, but determined, my own darted out to meet his, dueling with desire before searching for his lips.

Much to my surprise, they were so unbelievably soft compared to the hard line they were always pulled in. It was a small thing, but it felt like I’d been let in on a secret he didn’t want many to know, that there was a delicious tenderness lying beneath the hard exterior designed to protect it.

My arms twined around his neck as my body draped against his.

I felt my glasses pinned between his fingers and my back while his other hand drifted down to sink into the swell of my ass through my dress, pulling my hips firmly against his.

The ache between my thighs intensified, and I acted before I thought; my body took over and rolled my hips against his. There was no mistaking the hardness of his erection that I ground against—no mistaking how much he wanted me in return.

And a thrill of power coursed down my spine.

Maybe in my story, the princess did find the prince.

I whimpered as the kiss that started soft drifted easily into demanding. Of course, I’d felt desired before, but never like this. Never from him. It made every cell buzz with too much lustful energy to be contained.

His hand on my ass dragged up and buried in my hair, angling my head so his tongue had access to every corner of my mouth—every inch that he had no other goal but to devour.

“Miles…” I murmured, my head swimming in pleasure.

This was it.

This was what love started as—something too big to be contained.

“Come home with me,” he rasped against my skin and the words triggered the one thing inside me that was stronger than my desire for him…that was what I wanted for my future.

“I can’t… I don’t…” I shook my head, willing the words to come out clearly. “I don’t do casual, Miles. I don’t do one-night things or one-off dates,” I blurted out, needing to make this clear and wishing I could see his response. But he still had my glasses—he still left me blind when it came to really seeing him.

“I want you.” I let out a weak laugh. Like that wasn’t obvious, Eve. “The way you make me feel… I’ve wanted you for a long time, but I want you for more than one night.”

The way the energy changed around us was as subtle as a heart attack, and I felt the pain in my chest right about the time that breathing became a struggle.

As he pulled away from me, my arms dropped to my sides like they didn’t have the strength to hold themselves up.

“I don’t do forever.” The words lashed at me like a whip, stinging as he pressed my glasses into my grasp.

He wanted this part to be crystal clear.

“I-I know you said that,” I started, fumbling with my glasses before tugging them back onto my face.

I should’ve left them off. The harshness in his face had returned, and it wasn’t the shadows of the night that made his expression more ominous.

“But… I mean… don’t you feel it? Whatever the connection is between us? For months now, the looks, the butterflies.” I laughed nervously, hearing myself admit to things I really shouldn’t be only five seconds after our first kiss, but I was unable to stop the words before they tumbled from my mouth.

He had to know. He had to understand.

“I’m not asking you to marry me right now, of course not.” I gasped and clapped a hand over my mouth.

Oh my God, Eve. What are you doing!

This was going downhill fast. Like a metal sled coated with non-nutritive food varnish fast. And the embarrassment it was sending me head-first into would be of the caliber that belonged in a National Lampoon movie.

“I didn’t mean that. I’m not asking you to marry me at all. If you don’t want to that is.” Crash. Burn. “I’m saying all the wrong things. I just mean that I can’t do one night if it’s not going somewhere serious. Plus, forever has to start with one night, right?”

After all of that wreckage, my question remained hopeful. It still ended with a little bit of a lilt, held up by the butterflies that had invaded my stomach and made a home.

After a kiss like that, who could take forever off the table?

If a kiss like that wasn’t the curse-breaker that Disney advertised, then I’d rather suffer the curse, because if that kiss didn’t change my world, I wouldn’t survive the one that did.

His head ducked for a moment, and I noticed how one strand of hair had come free from the tie that held the rest. I gripped my fingers together to stop them from reaching out and tucking it behind his ear.

Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned marriage.

Okay, I definitely shouldn’t have mentioned marriage.

But I wanted him to know I was only interested in something serious. I didn’t want him to put a limit on something that felt like it could be limitless, if we let it.

His eyes returned to mine, no longer hard but with a carelessness that made me even more worried.

“Sorry, Evie. I only do one night.”

My body revolted. Torn between the endearment that made it feel warm and the subsequent truth that shattered it like ice.

“But… our kiss…” I stammered like a lovestruck idiot.

He shook his head with a small laugh, pulling out a flask from his pocket and unscrewing the top. “Just a kiss, doll.” He sighed heavily before taking a long swig. “I’m goin’ back in. I’ll send Jules out to check on you.”

The desire in my body turned to anger, especially when he tried to be caring in the middle of being so careless.

“Are you serious?” I blurted out, demanding an answer. “You tell me I’m beautiful. Then you kiss me. And just like that you walk away?”

His shrug was a perfect synchrony of nonchalance. “Didn’t realize you were stuck on being that kind of girl, Evie. My mistake.”

I bristled, crossing my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling the chill in the air.

“And what kind of girl is that?”

The hardness returned, glinting off the gold in his eyes. “The kind I’m not interested in anymore.”

He lifted his flask up to me in some sort of twisted salute and walked away.

I stared at the perfect picture of his retreating form, hating how my body still called for him to come back… hating how my body was willing to forego forever for one night in his arms.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to work.

One dance. One kiss. And they lived happily ever after.

Instead, Miles wanted only one night and a happily never more.

I stood tall, unwilling to crumble at the slight. I tried to make him out to be the villain—I tried to tell myself he was cruel. But he wasn’t. He’d given me his truth just as honestly as I’d given him mine.

And, like day and night, it was possible for both our truths to exist, just not together.

I hated how the fragile hope that had been building over the last many months—months of sharing the same friends, of seeing each other most days when he stopped in for coffee, of side glances and lingering looks, of a growing fire that refused to be doused—crumbled in an instant.

And under the weight of his reality, mine became crystal clear.

I was besotted with Miles Madison, and in return, he’d broken me.