My Ex and My Best Friend Planned My Reunion Roast. The Town Chat Roasted Them Instead. novel · Chapter 12 of 24

Chapter 12: Pine Point

Neither of us said a word until the gray truck turned onto Pine Point Road.

I sat with my coat in my lap and my hand flat on his thigh.

I felt the muscle go tight under my palm.

At the mailbox, the signal found my phone, and the chat spilled in one last time.

【Pete: Gray truck left the Legion at 10:07 with a passenger. I am not saying anything. I am just reporting.】

【Helen: Is that the same passenger from the dessert table?】

【Sue: Helen, please. Let them have the night.】

【Pete: Pool closes at midnight. I am putting everything on "no comment."】

Then the road dipped, the bars dropped, and the lines faded out.

The cabin sat dark under the pines.

He had left the porch light on, the one he fixed, and it made a small yellow room in the night.

Inside the kitchen door, a note was stuck to the fridge in Dolly's block capitals.

GONE TO MY GRANDDAUGHTER'S. CAT IS FINE. USE THE BACK BEDROOM, THE FRONT ONE CREAKS. RULE 8: DON'T TELL ME. -D.

Emmett read it over my shoulder.

I felt him breathe out a laugh against my hair.

"She planned this," he said.

"She's been planning it since Wednesday."

I turned around, and he was right there, a head taller than me, close enough that I had to tip my face up.

"It's Saturday," I said again.

"I heard you the first time."

"Then stop talking."

He kissed me.

It wasn't like the first time, with the storm and the lantern.

It was slow and sure and deep.

His hand spread at the back of my head, and the other one pressed flat on my spine, pulling me flush against him.

I made a noise into his mouth.

I wanted all of it, all at once, every ridge of the body I'd been watching for a week.

He walked me backward through the kitchen and down the short hall, never breaking the kiss.

My shoulders hit the frame of the back bedroom door.

I dragged his shirt out of his jeans and got my hands underneath it.

He was warm and hard, with hair on his stomach.

A long ridge of scar tissue climbed his ribs on the left side.

"What happened here?" I said, tracing it.

"Montana. Four summers ago."

"I like it."

I pulled his shirt up over his head and dropped it.

He was beautiful in a working, scraped-up way, wide through the chest and shoulders, with the burn shining up his arm.

He undid the buttons of my green dress one at a time with those big careful hands.

I felt every one of them on my skin.

When the last one gave, he pushed it off my shoulders, and it slid to the floor.

He looked at me for a long, hot second.

"Britta," he said, rough. "God."

He lifted me.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, and he carried me to the bed.

It was an iron-framed double with Gram's old quilt on it, and he set me down on the edge.

I unclipped my bra and threw it behind me.

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