Family Ties - Debi V. Smith Page 0,119

magazines and making decisions,” he says, taking the magazine from me and adding it to the stack.

He walks me to my front door and cradles my face in his hands. “Thank you for tonight.” He moves in for a long, gentle kiss, winding his arms around my neck and bringing me closer.

I circle my arms around his waist as the front door flies open. We break off the kiss and turn towards the doorway, startled.

Arissa grabs my arm. “She’s mine now, Waters,” she says, tearing me away from Jason and yanking me inside.

“I’ll pick you up from work tomorrow,” he says.

I’m barely able to nod in response before Arissa closes the door. She drags me up the stairs behind her.

“Riss! What are you doing?” I ask.

“It’s my turn!” she answers without explanation.

“Manhandling me through the house isn’t necessary.”

“Sorry.” She releases me and closes her bedroom door behind us. “I’m just excited.” She stops in her tracks, staring at me. “What is with you? You’re glowing.”

“I’m a bride. Brides are supposed to glow.”

Her mouth forms an O. “You! You finally had sex with Jason!” She raises her voice.

“Shhh! Keep it down!” I whisper.

“You did, didn’t you?” she asks, her volume unchanged. Her eyes glimmer and a smile spreads across her face.

I plop down on her bed. “Yes.” A smile creeps across my face too.

“I knew it!”

“Riss!”

She sits on her bed cross-legged, facing me. “Well?”

A light rap comes from her door.

“Come in,” she calls.

Rose pokes her head in. “You’re getting too loud. Your dad’s trying to sleep.”

I hook my thumb at Arissa. “Her fault.”

Arissa’s jaw drops, “Thanks for throwing me under the bus.”

“I had to know how it feels just once.” I let out a giggle.

A pillow whacks me in the face and stops my laugh. I snatch it from her and hit her back.

“How’s Jason?” Mom asks, before a full-on pillow fight ensues.

“He’s okay.”

Arissa shoves me with a wide grin and arched eyebrow.

“Ugh. Fine,” I say in mock exasperation. My gaze flickers to Mom. “We finally had sex tonight.”

A smile is pressed on her face as she closes the door.

“How was it?” Arissa asks.

I drop my head back as I search for the words. “The best thing since the adoption,” I answer.

She grins. “That’s all?”

“It’s not like I lost my virginity. Simon took that long ago, so this is different.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, deflated. “I was just excited for you and Jason. And that we might be able to talk more about sex now.”

“You’ve talked to me about it before.”

“But you and Jason weren’t sexually active, so I didn’t always talk about what I wanted.”

I lie back on her bed and place my hands on my stomach.

“Where are you two going tomorrow?” she asks.

“To the jeweler to get the ring resized.”

I tell her the decisions we made about looking for an apartment and the wedding date. I dig out the magazines we went through and show her the dog eared pages.

“Can I look at the ones you’ve already looked through?”

“Sure. Oh, he wants to go dress shopping with us.”

“What?”

“He says he wants to see me in every dress I try on.”

She rolls her eyes. “Pervert.”

“Desire isn’t such a bad thing.” I giggle. “Besides, I see so much less of him now, it’ll be nice to spend whatever time we can together.”

“We’ll make him hold our purses and carry our bags.” She laughs.

We talk for a few minutes and then I call Hunter from my room. “What’s shakin’?” he asks.

I grin. “Sex with Jason.”

“Get out of here!”

“Seriously.”

“I’m happy for you, chica. You deserve all the happiness in the world.”

“Thanks. We’re discussing a spring wedding.” I pause for a deep breath. “And I’m moving to L.A.”

He’s silent, but his uneven breathing comes through the phone.

“Hunter?”

“Yeah, I heard you.” His voice is soft. “Sorry. It just hit me hard, even though I knew it might happen.”

My heart weighs down with sadness. I know I made the right decision, but right now I feel like I made the wrong one. “We won’t lose touch. You’re one of the only friends I have in this world.”

“The same goes for you.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

“Can I help with something?” I ask, joining him in the kitchen.

“Nope. I can’t call it ‘slaving over the stove’ if you help me.”

I lean against the counter and watch him turn the burner on under a large skillet. He opens the fridge and takes out eggs, bacon, parsley, and a block of hard cheese.

“Breakfast for dinner?”

“Nope.” He snickers and turns on the burner under a

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