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TWELVE

“Another round?” the waitress at the hole-in-the-wall Mexican cantina interrupts.

Hannah has the thick blue margarita glass on her lips, ready for a sip. She pulls it back to check how much she has left. Despite her glass being nearly full, with a smile she says, “Yes, please.”

It’s been a perfect night. We’re finishing up our second round of margaritas and apparently going in for another. We’ve stuffed ourselves with tapas, tacos, chips, and guacamole, all while the ocean stretches out just across the street. Let’s be real, I’ve barely noticed the view, more drawn to the girl across from me with flushed cheeks and a smile glued on her face. I am so fucking content.

As the waitress heads toward the bar to place our order, Hannah resumes our conversation. “I’m telling you Chihuahuas are the most dangerous breed. People assume it’s the big scary ones, but nope! The little guys have small-man syndrome. They have a bite because they have no bark… Wait, that’s not how it goes.” She takes another sip of her drink. I can practically see the thought bubble forming. “Oh, all bark, no bite… But wait, that’s not right, because they do bite!” She giggles, waving it off.

I can’t help but laugh with her. Tipsy Hannah is adorable.

“Aw, you think I’m cute?”

Guess I said that out loud. I rein in my laughter and smile at her. “I believe I said adorable, and yes, you are.”

“I almost lived with a Pomeranian! You know I love dogs… but don’t Pomeranians seem like the most pretentious of the dog breeds? A model and a pretentious dog. No, thanks!”

Hannah rambles when she drinks. Usually, I’m good at following her thought process, but even I’m confused. “Huh?”

She shrugs and takes another sip, licking the salt from the rim of her drink. I zero in on her tongue as it glides across the glass. When it slips back between her lips, I quickly tear my gaze away and shift in my seat.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, I looked for places in Chicago. Turns out I can’t afford rent in the city. Not a big surprise that there are no apartments renting for zero dollars.” She grabs a chip, scoops up some salsa, and pops it into her mouth. “So, I looked for people wanting a roommate, but that was equally disheartening.”

“You were looking for a roommate? What am I, chopped liver? Need I remind you, I offered you an apartment for free.”

“Well, don’t you worry. There were no suitable prospects. There was a psychic looking to have sound baths… Do you know what a sound bath is? Never mind, doesn’t matter. Then there was the model. I’m not fashionable enough for her. Oh, and the creeper looking for a young female roommate. Gross.”

“What the hell, Hannah?! You’re not moving in with any of those people. If you really don’t want to cohabitate with me”—I give her an exaggerated frown—“I’ll rent you an apartment in my building. You can have your own space and still have the funds to launch your rescue.”

She looks at me with her mouth agape. “You’d do that for me?”

Without hesitation. “Of course I would. I’d do much more than that for you.”

“Thank you, Ry. I’m still thinking over the moving in with you offer.” She caresses my hand resting on the wooden tabletop, and I take the opportunity to intertwine our fingers, enjoying her touch.

Our connection is undeniable, at least to me. It’s friendship, but on fire. I want to talk to her and laugh with her, but I also want to rip her clothes off and hear her moan in my ear. I hope like hell she feels even a fraction of what I do. It’s getting harder and harder to hold back. Literally and figuratively.

As the third round of margaritas is placed on the table, our hands separate, and she lifts her glass to mine. “Cheers! Thank you for such a fun night. I needed this.”

I clink my glass against hers. “You know, if you moved in, we could have nights like this all the time.”

“I wouldn’t mind having more nights like this. Want to walk? I’m not ready for this night to end, but I think I’ve reached my margarita limit.” She pushes the still-full glass to the middle of the table.

I flag down the waitress and hand over my credit card to settle the bill. Hannah protests, but she knows there’s no way I’m letting her pay. “Save your money for all the dogs you’re going to rescue.”

“Touché.” A shy smile tugs at her lips as she leans back in her chair. “Thank you.”

“You already said that,” I tease.

“For everything. ”

She’s not just thanking me for dinner. It’s in the softness of her voice, the way she holds my gaze—like she’s sending me the words she’s not ready to speak through an invisible thread between us. It tugs at that spot deep in my chest, the one that always stirs when she’s near.

I could ask what she means. Press her for more. But instead, I just nod, reaching for her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Always,” I tell her. And I mean it.

We make our way through the crowded restaurant and step out onto the street, the beach stretching out across from us. Hannah grabs my hand and pulls me in that direction. I tighten my grip, not wanting to lose the connection between us. Her small hand in mine feels right.

The sun has long since dipped below the horizon, and the street lamps cast a soft glow along the sidewalk. As we drift further from the road, the moon takes over, offering just enough light to see where we’re going. We’re still a good distance from the water when Hannah plops down in the sand, tugging me down beside her, our hands still entwined.

“I’m sad you’re leaving tomorrow. This was such a nice break from reality,” she says.

“I’m going to miss you, but I’ll see you soon, right? This will be our reality, just without the beach and warm weather. We’ll brave the rest of the Chicago winter together.” I chuckle.

She looks over at me, her face partly hidden in shadows, but I can still make out her serious expression. “Yeah,” she begins, hesitating for a moment before continuing, “I have to tell you something.”

My stomach drops, and I can’t help but think of the worst-case scenarios. Is she going to tell me she’s getting back together with Knolls? Why is that my first thought? My mind circles with what-ifs—what if they reconnected, what if seeing him made her realize she wants to make it work, what if she’s not even coming back to Chicago? I brace for whatever she has to say. “Okay, what is it?”

“I’ve decided.” Another dramatic pause, before a smile overtakes her previous somber expression. “I’m moving in with you!”

“You scared the shit out of me.” My tense shoulders relax, and I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

Fuck , I didn’t think this night could get better. Before I can second-guess myself, I pull her closer, wrapping my arms around her waist and guiding her into my lap. She wraps her arms around my neck, holding me in a tight hug. My heart pounds rapidly, and her proximity has it pumping all the blood south. Luckily, Hannah is sitting closer to my knees than my groin, so she doesn’t notice.

Our laughter dies, leaving the sound of the ocean in the background. I feel her chest rise and fall against mine, the soft fan of her breath brushing my neck. A shiver runs down my spine, and I squeeze her tighter, hoping to mask it.

She pulls back just enough for our eyes to lock, our faces so close they almost touch. Before I know what I’m doing, I cradle her jaw, my thumb brushing over her cheeks. They’re warm under my touch, and whether the flush is from the alcohol or something else, I’m not sure. Besides my thumb’s lazy stroke, my body is so still it could be a statue, too scared to move and break the moment. One I want to linger in, yet desperately want to seize.

What would it feel like to kiss her? A thought I’ve had countless times over the years. Hundreds? Thousands? Millions? She answers my unspoken question before I can finish ruminating on the idea, closing the small gap between us until her lips are on mine.

Hannah fucking Clarke is kissing me.

I quickly recover from the initial shock, tilting my head for a better angle. My tongue licks across her lips, tasting the salty-sweet remnants of the margarita. When she opens for me and our tongues meet, I’m hit with the overwhelming urge to explore every inch of her. It’s not enough. I need more, craving her in a way that consumes me.

The sound of her breathy moan shatters any control I have left. My hands instinctively slide to the small of her back, pulling her body impossibly closer to mine. Every fantasy I’ve ever had about this moment, from the way her lips would feel to the heat of her body against mine, pales in comparison to the real thing. It feels like everything has fallen into place, as if, for once, the world is exactly as it should be.

Until she suddenly freezes, and when I realize I’ve dragged her right over my now rock-hard cock.

“Oh my God, what am I doing?” she whispers. She’s still on my lap but quickly scoots back, creating space between us. The look of distress on her face twists something inside me, and I hate that I’ve caused it.

I rub her upper arms, trying to soothe us both. “Hey, shh… What’s wrong?”

“I kissed you.” A confused furrow forms between her brows, and despite everything, it makes me smile. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Her words hit like a punch to the gut, wiping the smile from my face. “Why not?” I ask, trying to stay calm and not spook her further.

I can’t pretend to understand what she’s feeling. For years, I’ve imagined kissing her. For me, there’s no conflict or confusion.

“We’re friends.” She searches my face, though I’m not sure what she’s looking for.

“We are,” I agree.

“Friends don’t kiss.”

I want to tell her that we can be friends who kiss, that we can be more than that. We can be whatever the hell she wants us to be—just as long as I can kiss her again.

But if she’s freaking out over a kiss, I’m not sure she’s going to be receptive to more. I’ve been imagining it for years, but it may have only recently hit her radar. I can be patient.

“They can.” I force a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

“I don’t kiss my friends. I just got out of a relationship. I’m supposed to be focusing on being independent, not kissing my best friend. What have I done?” she says, more to herself than to me, burying her face in her hands.

I want to erase the panic from her face, to make everything okay again. It kills me to know that I contributed to her feeling so overwhelmed. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t have to mean anything. I know you're still figuring out your plans for the future, and the last thing I want to do is add more stress. I won’t make it weird, I promise.”

“Why are you apologizing? I kissed you.”

“I kissed you back, and I liked it.” I’m not sure admitting that last part was the right move, but there’s no denying it’s true. I look down at where my shorts are still tented.

Her gaze follows mine before she shakes her head, but it apparently doesn’t have the desired effect of clearing it. Her eyebrows knit together. “Me too.” Her whispered words make hope bloom in my chest. “But can we just pretend it didn’t happen? At least for right now? I need to focus on moving, getting my life together, and my career.”

I’m not sure why she can’t do all that and kiss me. But she’s clearly struggling with this, and I’m going to support her as she works through it.

She moves herself fully off me and back onto the sand. It physically pains me, both the loss of contact and the thought of never kissing her again. “Sure. What kiss?” I joke, but her expression remains tense, worry etched across her face.

“I can’t lose you,” she says with a wobbly voice.

I drape my arm over her shoulder and place a kiss on the crown of her head. “You could never lose me.”

You can’t lose something that’s a part of you.

She’s so woven into me there’s no getting her out.