strands and hold him prisoner so I could live in this one moment where he desired me. My hands ached to slide my fingers under his jacket and shirt to trace the lines of his abs, and I wasn’t going to stop where his jeans began. Longing filled me, demanding to touch, to taste, to feel every single part of Nixon, but my hands were already full for a reason I couldn’t seem to remember.
“Zoe,” he growled against my mouth.
My knees weakened, my entire body humming with energy, and his grip shifted to my ass, gently lifting me from my feet with one arm, but it felt more supportive than passionate—as if he’d recognized exactly what he’d done to me. A soft whimper escaped my lips as I felt him hardening against my stomach from what I’d done to him.
He slowed and drew my lower lip between his teeth, gently raking the flesh before letting it slip free, ending the kiss with his mouth but somehow continuing it with his eyes as he looked down at me.
“Sorry, I couldn’t wait another second.” His voice was low and rough as his gaze darted to my lips again, like he was already planning a return trip.
“I’m glad you didn’t.” I meant it.
He slowly steadied me on my feet, and I blinked as the rest of the world came into focus. Oh God. Nixon had just kissed me in front of the entire town, and I’d liked it. “Liked” wasn’t even the right word. I’d been consumed by it—by him.
What was he thinking?
Scratch that. What was I thinking? I was supposed to be keeping him sober, not kissing him, let alone jumping him in the park.
And what was that sound?
I stepped away from Nixon, but he simply moved to my side, keeping his hand at my waist as the other adjusted the angle of the cup I was holding—and spilling, hence the sound. I’d sloshed out at least half of our cider onto the grass.
“This one’s yours,” I muttered.
“Thanks, Zo.” He pressed a kiss to my temple and took the cup from my hand. “Who’s your friend?”
My face whipped forward.
Peter stood in front of us with his mouth gaping open, and it clicked. The kiss. The baby. The adoring look. It was all for Peter’s sake. How much of our conversation had Nixon heard? Was I supposed to be thankful for Nixon’s intervention or pissed it hadn’t been real? Because I was both.
“Peter Whitcomb.” He stuck his hand out in a rush. “You’re not who I think you are…are you?”
“Peter.” Nixon shifted his cup and shook Peter’s hand before reclaiming my waist. “Depends on who you think I am.”
Peter’s gaze shifted between Nixon and me a few times, his eyes narrowing. “You’re Nixon Winters.”
“Yes.” Nixon offered him the media smile and tugged me closer to his side.
“And you’re with…” Peter looked outright befuddled as he stared at me.
My spine stiffened. Oh, fuck it.
I settled against Nixon, sliding my hand under his jacket and up his back as I sipped my cider, letting Peter draw his own conclusion.
“Well…yeah.” Nixon raised his eyebrows. “Why else would I be here?”
Peter’s eyes widened to nearly impossible proportions.
“There you are!” Laura appeared from the crowd, grabbing Peter’s arm and hugging it. “You sounded great, sweetie.” She flashed a fake smile at me and tilted her head. “Hey, Zoe…nice to see you.”
“Laura.” It was most definitely not nice to see her, but it was a far cry from the agony I’d felt when I’d bumped into her during a visit my freshman year. Sometimes small towns were just too small. “How’s the family?”
Nixon’s gaze darted to mine, darkening with question as he squeezed my waist once.
I nodded slightly, lifting my cup.
“We have two kids now. Girls. You know, married life.” She shrugged and sang it in that completely passive aggressive tone she’d apparently kept since high school.
“She would if she’d ever agree to marry me,” Nixon said with a sigh. “I swear I ask her at least once a week, but she keeps holding out.”
I nearly spit out my cider.
Nixon patted my back. “You okay, baby?”
I nodded, barely managing to swallow.
“Sweetie, Nixon here is the lead guitarist for Hush Note,” Peter told his wife.
She looked Nixon up and down like he wasn’t wearing any clothes, and my blood pressure spiked. “I knew I recognized you from somewhere. It’s harder with that hat on.”
“Did you hear me play?” Peter blurted, his eyes lighting up.