“I dare you.”
I breathed hard. “To what?”
“To love me back.” His mouth curved into a wicked, trembling smirk. “Let’s live our truth. Together.”
And for the first time in forever, I knew exactly who I was.
His.
Not who I’d been, not who I was trying to become—just who I was meant to be. I belonged to Darien Carter. I always had.
The crowd erupted somewhere behind us—cheers, applause, the pop of champagne—but all I heard was the steady drum of his heartbeat against mine, anchoring me to the moment I’d been waiting my whole damn life to live.
Up here, with the whole town buzzing underour feet, it hit me how easy it was to be honest with him. Like the higher we climbed, the less weight I carried.
I drew back just far enough to see his face, the city lights catching on his lashes, turning his eyes into something molten. His hands slid up my sides, warm and sure, afraid to break the spell but even more afraid not to touch me.
“Dare,” I whispered, breath shaking. “I love you.”
For a heartbeat, he froze—and then everything in him broke open at once. His mouth crashed into mine, fierce and hungry and grateful, a kiss that stole the air right out of my lungs. He kissed me like he’d been waiting years. As if every version of him—past, present, future—had been sprinting toward this exact second.
And I kissed him back with everything I had, knowing without a doubt that this was it.
This was home.
CHAPTER 42
DARE
I never thought I’d get another first time with him, but this feels close. We’re starting over, and finally doing it right.
“Okay, but in my defense,”I said, breath hitching as Tru slid his hand under my shirt for the second time in twelve miles, “your mouth should’ve been illegal while I was operating heavy machinery.”
For six years, I couldn’t touch him. Now I couldn’t stop.
Tru grinned devilishly in the passenger seat. His seatbelt hung limp beside him, one knee tucked under like he was trying to sit cross-legged in a sports car. “You’re the one who pulled over this time.”
“You were gagging on your smoothie and moaning about it,” I shot back. “What was I supposed to think?”
“That it was areally good smoothie,” he said,all innocence, then bit his lip in a way that told me he knewexactlywhat he was doing.
I pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Your name should be Trouble, not Truen.”
He leaned in until his mouth brushed my ear. “You love it.”
I had yanked the wheel onto the next exit so fast we both jolted after the sound he made. Ten minutes later, we were parked at a rest stop off I-85, windows fogged, limbs tangled, and I had no idea whose jacket I was sitting on, but I wasn’t about to move.
Tru laughed into my neck, straddling me awkwardly with one shoe still on and his jeans shoved down just enough to be a problem. “This is a terrible idea,” he said between kisses. “We’re absolutely ending up on some kind of watchlist.”
“Worth it,” I muttered, dragging my hands down his back. “God, you smell the same.”
That made him pause, his eyes catching mine like a tether. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “You too.”
The words wrapped around my heart, too honest for how unserious the moment was. But it was the truth. I was still catching up to the fact that he wasreally here. That we wereusagain.
Tru kissed me again, slower this time, and I swear I could’ve lived there—in that car, in that moment, in the curve of his mouth and the press of his chest. His palms splayed on my skin, memorizing me by touch.
I tugged his lower lip between my teeth. “How many times do you think we can get away with this before someone drives by with a dashcam?”
