Page 164 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions
Checking on things, checking on his sister, checking on Roderick, checking on the guests—the vendors—the food, the decorations. Arranging, managing, joking, flirting, dancing between worlds with his silver tongue at play.
If the sun were a person, it would be Alex. So full of light. Friendly. Exuberant. Enthusiastic.
I would’ve been envious of his social skills if I wasn’t so busy being in awe of him.
There wasn’t a single conversation he didn’t leave without making the person he was talking to smile at least once. When I was beside him, people smiled at me too—like I was an extension of his light, not a shadow following him around. He was charismatic and funny and genuinely so damn good atevery single thing he did.
And yet, for some reason…every free moment we found, instead of basking in the attention he’d received, Alex’s eyes found mine.
He sought me out like he was drowning.
Like I was a life preserver.
The only thing keeping him afloat.
His smiles would soften, his walls collapsing.
The walks between parties were full of comfortable, wonderful silence. With me tucked against him, his face at my neck, and his deep, needy lungfuls of my scent.
Recharging.
I orbited him and he orbited right back.
More than once, on our trips between the lake and the bridesmaids’ cabin, we stole away into the woods. At first, I’d worried about animals, but Alex had assured me we’d be fine. Why I believed him? I had no idea.
But I did.
I trusted him to keep us safe.
Even in the dark—where anything could happen and you wouldn’t see it coming.
Even in the woods I’d always hated—but couldn’t anymore.
Not when thinking about trees reminded me of possessive kisses, all tongue, and teeth, andneed. As the night wore on, Alex’s hands became greedier, handsier. His groping rougher, more pointed. Sometimes slipping inside my clothing to squeeze and grope my “tits”—and once, memorably, down the back of my pants where he could scrape his fingers over my hole, gentle and insistent, while he asked me how long it would take to get my pussy wet for him.
It was a game we both loved.
And every time he referred to my body like that—as pussy, or cunt, or other equally entertaining nicknames—it sent a thrill up my spine.
More exploration.
Feeling each other out.
Discovering, mutually, how delightful intimacy could be when truly authentic.
It was three in the morning by the time everything had wound down and we’d cleaned the bachelor party at the lake up. Drunk as they were, the party-goers had still managed to help clear the area of any trash. Now, they were gone, stolen off to take a turn at Juniper’s spa before the cleanup crew Alex had hired arrived in the morning to take it all away.
Which meant…Alex and I were alone. The stars danced above—reminding me of our picnic and the things that had transpired during it—as Alex and I transported the last bags of trash to the dumpster at the back of the boathouse. It was difficult to look at it without feeling the phantom slither of ropes around my wrists.
Everywhere I looked, I was reminded of Alex.
The path where we’d kissed, the tree we’d made out against. The boulder he’d groped my ass next to. The boathouse—for obvious, obvious reasons. Fizzles of heat buzzed through me at the reminder of what exactly had transpired in there.
It was heady—and overwhelming—and frankly fuckingamazing.
“You tired, Duchess?” Alex asked. His beefy arms flexed as he yanked the lid for the dumpster open like it was easy. I knew for a fact that thing was heavy as hell. I tried not to swoon as his biceps bulged and the friendship bracelet dangled on his otherwise bare wrist, and wasn’t certain I managed. Clearing my throat, I tossed my bag in first. Alex arched a brow at me, amused. He was still wet from his dip in the lake—as he’d been the one who’d dragged all the loungers to shore.
“George?” Alex said, easily keeping the lid open as he threw his own bag in. “I know I’m pretty, but I asked you a question.”
