Even with a slight limp, the way Honey walks is intoxicating enough. No need to add moonshine to the mix.
But it’s Saturday. Maybe one drink won’t be so bad.
“Here you go,” Honey says, handing me a glass half-filled with something in a light amber color. She settles down close to me with her own glass, her body twisted my way, both legs tucked underneath her.
I bring the drink to my mouth, the strong odor of alcohol and peach hitting me before my lips even hit the glass.
It’s…strong. I should have known from the word “moonshine.”
By the second sip it’s not so bad.
“Look at you, takin’ to it like a natural. We’ll make a Georgia boy outta you yet.”
That explains the accent.
Honey’s lips twist with disdain. “I know at least a few men who would be coughing or sputtering right about now.”
I eye her over the rim, instantly knowing that she’s talking about whoever it was that dumped her. “Francis?”
“Yes, Francis.” A wry smile appears on her lips, but I’m more struck by the sad look in her eyes. “I found out today that it’s official. He’s dumped me and proposed to her in less than two weeks. And on this of all weekends, to boot!”
I blink and wrinkle my brow wondering what she means by that last bit. Instead, I sip my moonshine for a long moment, unsure of what to say.
What kind of asshole gets engaged to someone else right after dumping her?
“So much for trying to make him jealous I suppose,” I say with an uncertain smile.
She hiccups a laugh and takes a sip of what’s left in her glass. Her brow wrinkles over the rim and she pulls away swallowing quickly.
“Wait a second, is that why you came over? To take me up on my suggestion?”
“No,” I insist. “That’s not what I meant by that.”
I’d have to be a perfect asshole to suggest such a thing now.
All the more since I’m not even sure I want—
“Nonsense,” Honey says. “There’s no reason you should be deprived of your true love just because I’ve lost mine. If anything, I’m even more encouraged to help you out. At least someone should be hopeful this holiday. Who knows, maybe it will be enough to help me get over my own broken heart.”
I take a long sip of moonshine as I stare at Honey, wondering what it must be like to have a woman like her long for you, even after acting like such a shithead. I feel my blood boil, wanting to punch the man despite knowing nothing about him…and having no vested interest in Honey.
Or so I tell myself.
“You deserve better than him, Honey,” I say, surprising myself.
I’m not the sensitive type, at least not in such a showy way. It must be the moonshine, or maybe the way she looks in that robe. They’ve conspired to lower my defenses.
Normally, I get uncomfortable when people start getting personal.
The last thing I feel now is uncomfortable.
If anything, I feel a bit too relaxed in Honey’s company. It’s like she has this magical way of drawing something out of you, helping you get out of your own damn way.
The sensible part of my brain knows she’s all wrong for me.
So why does the illogical part seem to be winning the battle of wills?
It’s Emily I should be focused on.
Eyes on the prize—a motto that has served me well in life.
Like most sensible options, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so strongly about Emily as I do about Honey right in this moment; which makes sense. Honey is the most glaring kind of distraction, everything Emily isn’t. Like a flashy sports car, tearing your attention away from the reliable sedan you know you should buy.
Or more like a red cape in front of a bull, considering how violently I want her, and not just in a physical way.
Being this close to her as she reveals more than a mere neighbor should be privy to, I just want…her.
Staring at Honey with that sad look in those big brown eyes, the subtle frown on her full lips, I just want to…
Chapter Sixteen Honey
I sense the kiss before it happens.
Jesse’s dark eyes, a fine moonshine glaze to them. The way his muscles visibly tense underneath that shirt of his. The twitch in his hard jaw as he swallows hard. The way he gradually leans in.
I meet him halfway, finishing what he’s started before he can come to his senses, which he’s so dang prone to do.
It’s glorious.
The truth is, I never imagined what it might be like to kiss Jesse, even as I admired the look of him over the past year. Maybe because he always seemed so emotionally stunted and standoffish.
What kind of lover could he possibly be?
Well, he’s certainly not holding back now.
His lips move with the grace of a professional dancer, and an urgency that could set off nuclear alerts just from the sheer force of it. My free hand rests against his jaw, his stubble scratching my fingertips as he works it.
He draws in closer, enough for me to realize he’s definitely in control. Without missing a beat, he blindly sets his glass down on the coffee table. He grabs mine and does the same.
The moonshine has certainly served its purpose.
Note to self: thank Uncle Dickey next time I’m in Georgia.
I’m pressed against the back of the couch. Jesse’s hand comes up to my cheek, sliding down and around to the nape of my neck, his palm cupping it possessively. His other arm circles me, sliding in between where my back is pressed against the couch so he can draw me in closer.
If the visual evidence of how hard he works his body wasn’t obvious through the fitted t-shirt, I certainly feel it now as my breasts are pressed into his firm chest. I can even feel the ripples of his abs against my stomach. All the while, he doesn’t let up, his lips possessing mine with
