"I heard some rumors you two were back together but come on." Brad laughed. "You're not really back together, are you? This is just nostalgia. Holiday fling type thing."
Grant's jaw clenched so hard it hurt. Riley's hand found his, squeezing, but Brad either didn't notice or didn't care.
"It's not a fling," Riley said evenly.
"Sure it's not." Brad leaned closer to her, and Grant saw red. "Look, I get it. You're home for Christmas, feeling sentimental, and good old dependable Grant is here like always. But we all know how this story ends, right?"
"Brad—" Riley started.
"You'll leave after New Year's. Head back to your fancy city job. And Grant stays here, same as always." Brad's smile turned mean. "Same old story. She leaves, you stay. Why are you two even pretending?"
That did it.
Grant didn't think. Didn't plan. He just slid into the booth on Riley's other side, pulled her away from Brad, and cupped her face in his hands.
"Grant—" she started, eyes wide.
He kissed her.
Not a gentle kiss. Not a casual kiss. A claiming, possessive,minekiss that left no room for doubt or questions or Brad's drunk rambling.
Riley made a small sound of surprise against his mouth, her hands coming up to his chest. For a second, Grant thought he'd miscalculated—gone too far, pushed too hard.
But then she melted into him. Her fingers fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer. She kissed him back with the same intensity, the same desperate want, and Grant's world narrowed to just this. Riley in his arms, her mouth on his, and everything else faded to nothing.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, the booth had gone quiet. Their friends were staring—Hannah's mouth hanging open, Mark grinning like an idiot, Emily and Jenna looking delighted.
Grant kept one hand on Riley's face and turned to Brad, whose drink was frozen halfway to his mouth.
"It's real, Brad," Grant said, his voice low and rough. "Any other questions?"
Brad opened his mouth, closed it, then shook his head and backed away, mumbling something under his breath as he retreated to the bar.
The booth erupted—whistles, cheers, Mark shouting something about "damn, Lawson!" Hannah and Emily looking absolutely thrilled.
But Grant barely heard them. He was too focused on Riley, whose eyes were wide and dazed, her lips swollen, her face flushed.
"That was—" she began.
"I know."
"You just?—"
"I know."
"In front of everyone."
"Yeah." Grant's hand was still on her waist, and he found he couldn't let go. "Was that okay?"
Riley's smile was slow and dangerous. "That was very okay."
The rest of the night passed in a haze Grant could barely track. He moved back to his original seat, but everything had shifted. Riley kept catching his eye across the table, her gaze heated and full of promise. Every time someone made a joke, his hand would find her knee under the table. Every time she laughed, he felt it in his chest.
Their friends gave them endless shit—good-natured ribbing about "finally" and "about time" and "we all knew it."
"That was quite a show," Jenna said, grinning. "Didn't know you had that in you, Lawson."
"Brad was being an ass," Mark said.
