“Good.” The side of her mouth tips up. “Make up for lost time.” Against one of my thrusts, she clenches.
I swear, this woman was made for me.
She locks eyes with me, and though I’m already on the brink of falling apart, the sight of her close sends a hot need through me. “You say it to me,” she whispers. “Tell me I’m yours.”
Running my fingers through her hair again, I hold her firm while I hammer in and out of her. “You’re my girl.”
“Yes,” she says as she comes, her face breaking into pure euphoria.
Her panting my name as she climaxes pushes me over a wave of release. She bites my shoulder, and I thrust into her three more blissful times, finding a home inside her.
We take a minute to come back to our bodies and minds. She’s just Daisy, my Daisy, and this is how it should always be. I’m left slick with sweat and breathing into her neck. She smells like the desert after rain, like afternoons spent laughing, like everything I never knew I was missing. And for the first time in a long time, maybe in forever, I’m where I’m supposed to be and with the person I’m supposed to be with.
Thirty minutes after the first visitors walk in, I find a moment to breathe. Opening night receptions have a chaotic energy that I live for. The excitement of the evening fizzes like the sparkling drinks from the bar.
The barn, which I’ve gotten used to seeing in its work-in-progress state, has people crammed inside and a line of patient arrivals snaking out the door. If cars continue to arrive, we might have to turn attendees away.
Daisy does a last-minute makeup check in the mirror by the bathrooms, and the tension in my shoulders releases. We needed eight years—longer, really—but we’re here, we’re together, and we’re each other’s. I think she’s why I’ve amassed a long string ofwe’re better off friendsgirlfriends. No one can compare.
Two familiar faces emerge from the crowd, and I have to do a double take.
“You’re kidding me,” I say, racing over to embrace my good friend, Aidan. We haven’t seen each other in almost a year. Although we keep up with regular texts these days, I can’t believe he’s here. “A short flight, huh?”
“Couldn’t miss this.” He slaps me on the back. “Hey, you remember June?”
“Of course.” I hug her, recalling when the two of them stayed at my apartment in Dublin. The first time I saw him with her—before they were even dating and she was just a tourist replacing a lost passport—he was totally gone for her.
“You didn’t fly out just for this?” I ask, piecing together how Aidan and June—who, last I knew, were somewhere in Southeast Asia—made it to this tiny town in the California desert.
“Couldn’t miss it,” June says, nudging my arm.
“We were already in Vegas for work,” Aidan says, his face serious, “but if we weren’t, we would have flown from anywhere for this.”
My mouth turns up. “Finally followed your bliss and joinedThunder from Down Under?”
“They want Aussies, not Irishmen.”
“Ah, then Cirque du Soleil?”
“He’s not nearly flexible enough for that,” June says, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
“A man can dream.” Aidan pulls June toward him, his arm resting easily on her shoulder. “We have a project with the tourism board.”
“Aidan’s the one who booked the job,” June says. “They saw his Instagram and reached out, and he’s documenting everything.”
“It was both of us,” he says, the tips of his ears turning pink. “June’s doing the copy. They want to highlight the surrounding nature and conservation areas, so we’re focusing on that.”
“You should meet Daisy.” I look back at the mirrors, but she’s gone. “Daze is all about sustainability and the natural beauty of a place.”
“TheDaisy?” Aidan asks.
I ignore his inquisitive, raised eyebrow. Years ago, when we were roommates during his postgrad studies, I made the mistake of drinking too many beers and divulged too much about this one girl I could never get out of my head. He let it go, but he obviously never forgot.
“Hey Mr. Dub.” One of my students walks up. He’s combed his hair back and put some gel in it, and behind him is a man with the same round face and bushy brows, checking something on his cell.
“Hi, Xander.” I look between him and my friends, tugged in opposite directions.
“We’ll leave you to it,” Aidan says as he links his hand in June’s.
