For Keeps. For Always. HALEY JENNER (literature books to read .TXT) 📖

I bend over in giggles, unable to stop the hysterical laughter bubbling from my lips.

23

BROOKS

“I went through your messages,” Grace accuses, but I barely hear her as my eyes ache to search the space for Henley.

I can’t feel her in the room, the weight of her stare or the race in her heart when our eyes meet.

“You were involved,” Grace continues.

“Hm.”

“Brooks,” she bites out loud enough to make me pay attention.

“Yes. We were involved,” I admit distractedly, physically moving Grace, spinning her to give my eyes access to the whole room.

“More than once,” she pushes, shunning my hands from her body.

I shrug. “I don’t know what you’d call it, Grace.” I sigh. “You don’t just fall out of love with someone.”

“You love her?” She pushes my shoulder, and unprepared, I stumble back.

My eyes close in irritation. My anger spiking at the way her temper flares.

“She’s my best friend,” I grit through clenched teeth.

Her fists ball at her side. “I have best friends, Brooks, but trust me when I tell you that I don’t want to fuck them!” she all but shrieks, shocking the couple standing close enough to hear her tantrum.

I smile at them awkwardly, walking her a step or two away.

“I sure as shit don’t send them videos of my fucking cock.”

I frown. “That shit was private. Who the hell do you think you are going through my messages? My private messages.”

If she saw those pictures, she saw the ones Henley sent me back. The videos, the intimate words we’ve shared.

Her head shakes in dismay. “You’re lecturing me right now? After you and Henley were wrapped around one another like you were the ones who exchanged nuptials here and not Addy and Andrew.”

I scrub a hand down my face with a sigh. “It was nothing like that. In fact, I told her now doesn’t work for me.”

“Now?” she questions on a psychotic laugh. “Now doesn’t work for you.”

Wrong thing to say.

Fuck, I should not be having this conversation while drunk.

I feel bad. Truly, I do. She has every right to be mad. “Grace.” I sigh.

“Save it.” She shoves my phone back at my chest, then storms away without another word.

I don’t even watch her leave. I know I’m an asshole. The worst fucking kind.

My legs move in long strides, the material of my pants stretching with every elongated step. I move toward the main door in search of the one person I shouldn’t be obsessing over right now. Like fate herself has intervened, Henley stumbles past me the moment I breach the exit, a sway to her walk that says she’s had as much to drink as I have.

She’s so fucking beautiful. So much that it hurts my chest. Her thick brown hair sits high atop her head, her long ponytail falling down her naked back. The scattering of freckles that I love on her face decorate her shoulders now too. The countless hours of chasing the sun are catching up to her. Her body is still tiny. Her back swaying into a perky ass that the silk of her dress clings to. She doesn’t wear a bra, her tits bouncing with every step, her nipples greeting everyone they pass, standing upright and ready.

“Henley,” I call after her, moving my feet to follow her.

Glancing over her shoulder, she closes her eyes in defeat. “Not now, Brooks.”

“Are you okay?” I jog to catch up with her.

“Fucking dandy. Where’s Grace?”

I should feel guilty, but I don’t. “I’m more concerned about you.”

Her feet stop at the threshold of the elevator, her hand braced along the door to keep it open as an elderly couple steps out. She forces a smile, waiting until they’re out of earshot before speaking again. “That’s the wrong fucking answer, Brooks.”

I don’t hesitate to step into the elevator with her. “This one’s taken.” I stop another woman from moving in as well.

Doors closed, I turn to the woman who haunts my heart.

“Where’s Alex?”

She shakes her head, refusing to meet my eyes. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Doing what?”

Her head stops moving. “This!” she yells. “Whatever the hell this is. Not again.”

I hate the way her voice cracks, but I don’t know what to say. I can’t reassure her. I can’t tell her this isn’t wrong. I can’t even tell her what this is. I’m as lost as she is. Searching for a semblance of light in the cavernous hell of my mind.

Irritated by my silence, she pushes my chest. “Nothing to say now?” she cries.

Her brown eyes shine in the bright light of the elevator with unshed tears afraid to spill.

“Nothing?” she repeats, her small fists balled at my chest, pushing and shoving.

Grabbing her wrists, I feel choked by my own uncertainties.

“I hate that his lips have touched yours,” I whisper, giving in to the devil inside me that’s telling me I need her. “I hate that his lips have erased any touch of mine.”

Her jaw wires shut, the intensity in the gesture hollowing out her face. “Stop it.”

With a quick yank, I pull her against my body, tasting the sharp exhale of air as it dances across my face.

“I want to kiss you. I want my lips to stain yours,” I threaten. “I want him to have to taste me, knowing that your lips have never tasted as good as they do with me all over them.”

The line of her throat bobs heavily. The thick flutter of her pulse like a butterfly just beneath her skin.

“Tell me you don’t feel the same way,” I demand, listening to her heavy swallow that echoes between us. “Tell me,” I grit against her lips when she remains silent.

“I hate her,” she spits, eyes trained on my lips. “I hate that she has more right to touch you than I do. I hate the way your hand rests against her lower back, touching her, guiding her.”

“Like this.” Pressing my palm against her lower back, I pull her flush against my body.

“Yes,” she breathes reluctantly.

Our lips hover over one another’s, both too scared to take that fall into the unspeakable.

We’re drunk. There’s no