Page 77 of Dreadful

The kiss is demanding, every promise we’ve never whispered slipping into that single, hungry press of our lips.

She tastes like hope, like something I’d bleed for. Happily and for the rest of my fucking life.

I pull back just enough to catch her eyes. “And I’m so in fucking love with you too.”

Her laughter is wildfire, and I swallow it with my tongue, rolling us until I’m above her, pinning her to the mattress like she’s not the one tethering me here.

Our mouths crash together again, desperate and messy, all heat and teeth and the kind of hunger I will never fucking walk away from.

TWENTY-SIX

BELLAMY

The second I spot the familiar sun-streaked hair, I’m moving. I wrap my arms around my sister and pull her into a hug so tight it steals the air from both our lungs.

“Okay,” Lola laughs, stumbling back a step under the force of it. “Hi to you too.”

I just hold on tighter, breathing in the familiar scent of coconut sunscreen and that fruity stuff she sprays in her hair.

“This is the longest we’ve gone without seeing one another in a long time.”

Despite talking and texting a few times over the last couple of weeks, the pit of anxiety in my stomach never shrank. But wrapping my arms around my little sister now eases it a little. I don’t know if it’ll ever fully go away.

Lola’s arms tighten around me in return. “I missed you.”

“I know.”

“Wow.” She pulls back just enough to look at me, a smirk playing on her lips. “Way to ruin the moment.”

I grin and loop my arm through hers, steering us toward the counter. The worn linoleum floor squeaks under our shoes. “Have you heard from Beck? I kind of hate that you have to be the go-between us right now.”

“I know,” she says, bumping her shoulder into mine gently. “But he’s fine. Having a blast actually.”

“Good.” That’s something, at least.

“Iced vanilla lattes,” the girl behind the counter calls, sliding two drinks out onto the pick-up counter.

I untangle myself from her and grab the coffees, presenting one to her with a little shimmy. “Ta-da.”

“Aw, you ordered me your favorite,” she sing-songs, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she gives me a look that’s all mirth.

“Oh, I’ll take it back then. It’ll be a two-coffee day for me.” I flash her a smirk and reach for the cup.

She clutches the iced latte close to her chest with a loud gasp. “And deprive me of my much-needed caffeine? I thought you loved me.”

My eyes roll so hard it’s almost a reflex. “And here I thought you loved me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Bells. Of course I do.” She brings the straw to her lips, her expression softening for just a second before she takes an obnoxiously long sip. A slow, deliberate swallow. Then she beams, holding the drink out like some kind of trophy. “That’s why I’m going to drink your basic-ass drink with a smile on my face. Mm. Delicious,” she declares, pitching her voice low and breathy like a bad commercial.

“You’re such a brat, you know.” I knock my shoulder into hers and start toward a booth in the back of the empty café.

“Oh, I know,” she says around the straw. “Actually, that is pretty fucking delicious.”

I arch a brow and slide into the bench seat, the vinyl squeaking under my thighs as I angle myself toward the door. The table wobbles when my knee hits it. “I told you. Besides, they don’t have your twelve-step drinks here.”

She slides in next to me with a low huff, her shoulder bumping mine as she gets settled. “One time, Bells. It was one time.”

I chuckle. She talked about that coffee for months after she had it. We spent one whole summer standing in line at different shops, buying bottles of syrup and little tins of powder, trying to recreate it in our kitchen until the counters were sticky and neither of us could remember what we were aiming for.