Am I crazy to hope that she’s as attracted to me as I am to her? That she’s thought about it—fantasized about it—like I have?

I lean my forehead against hers but keep my eyes open so I can watch her as we dance. When the music transitions into Christina Perri’s “A Thousand Years,” Teagan leans her head against my chest and sighs.

“You like this song?” I ask quietly.

She pulls away enough to look up and meet my eyes. “I just love love. Love is my favorite.” She giggle-snorts so loud that half a dozen people turn to stare, and I stare too. Teagan’s beautiful, but it’s always been her quick humor and open personality that have drawn me to her. I don’t care if this is fake. I’m going to enjoy every minute of this night.

I lose track of the drinks we have, the dances we share, and the women she politely sends away when they try to cut in. I imprint these moments on my mind—Teagan’s smiles, the brush of her hands across my back, the way she leans her head against my shoulder when the music turns slow.

When the party’s wrapping up and the guests are trickling out, she says, “I’m glad I wasn’t planning to drive.”

“Come with me for a minute?”

She studies my face for a beat. Is she thinking the same thing I am—as desperate to give into this chemistry as I am? She swallows hard, then nods.

I lead her out of the banquet room, down the hall, and into the vacant office by my brother’s. I press her against the wall. “I’m not ready for tonight to end.” My voice comes out husky, all the desire I feel tangled into those few words. I could blame the alcohol, but this buzz in my veins is more about her nearness than the beer I consumed.

“Me neither,” she says, her gaze dropping to my mouth. I don’t need any more invitation.

I kiss her.

Teagan

This isn’t the kiss from the stage—it’s not a kiss that’s gentle or asking permission. This kiss is hard. Demanding. Insistent. It’s the kind of kiss a girl dreams about, where desire is written in every nip of the teeth and slant of the mouth, where the chemistry is so potent that it has a taste of its own.

Keeping me pinned between the wall and his hard body, Carter strokes a hand down my arm and positions a thigh between mine. “You look so damn beautiful tonight.”

I pull back and stare into his dark eyes. My whole body is buzzing. I’m tipsy from irresponsible amounts of vodka, sure, but I’m drunk on him—his touches, his smiles, his whispered jokes in my ear, his body pressed to mine. “You think so?”

Insecurity nagged at me all through dinner. I watched those women staring at him and kept thinking he should have let one of them bid on him. His brothers might give him shit for his revolving door of women, but Carter deserves a little fun. And a lot of happiness. One little kiss onstage had me wishing he could find both with me—despite our friendship, despite my own rules for pushing him away any time his flirting turned too intense.