“Good,” she whispers back, wicked grin in her voice.
Flashes go off around us again. I don’t care.
Let them take their pictures. Let the world watch.
This is ours.
Mac's sober—doctor’s orders with her meds—but she doesn’t need alcohol to be high tonight. She’s radiant, electric, alive. And I’m right there with her, one hand still on her hip, the other sliding up her spine to anchor her to me.
The song shifts. Slower. Deeper. Sexier.
She moves with it like the music lives in her bones.
And I lose myself.
Right here.
On this dance floor in the woods, under lights and smoke and stars, with Alice in my arms and her heart beating wild against mine.
She turns in my arms, wraps hers around my neck, and pulls me in like she’s about to tell me a secret.
But she doesn’t speak.
She kisses me.
Hard.
Right here, in the middle of the crowd, in the pulsing haze of lights and music and heat. Her lips crash against mine with everything she is—fierce and free and entirely mine. I don’t even try to hold back the groan that rips from my chest as I grip her tighter, losing myself in the taste of her, the feel of her body pressed full-length against mine.
Her breath shudders out when we break for air, lips still brushing, and then she whispers it—soft, sure, and straight into my soul.
“I love you.”
Three words.
And I swear they undo every wound I ever carried.
My heart stumbles in my chest as I rest my forehead to hers, eyes closed, breathing her in like she’s oxygen.
I slide my hand into hers—lacing our fingers tight—and say nothing. I don’t need to. Not right now. Instead, I tug her gently through the crowd, our steps slow and tangled and full of heat, until we make it back to the booth set up just for us.
The boys are already there—half-sunk into couches, drinks in hand, laughter spilling out over the music.
Chace raises a brow behind his mobster shades. “Well look who finally stopped dry humping on the dance floor.”
Trey lifts his fake parrot like a glass. “About time. My poor bird was getting secondhand arousal.”
Sam just grins like the devil, holding up a beer in greeting. “Y’all good now?”
I slide in beside Mac, keeping her close, our hands still tangled tight.
Yeah. We’re good.
Better than good.
We’re real.
The booth hums with laughter, music, and the sharp scent of whiskey and cold night air. Lights from the stage flicker across our table like a strobe heartbeat, casting everyone in flashes of color and shadow. It’s time to let loose. Reverb in the Pines: Halloween Night.
