Page 23 of Off the Grid

The text from Isabella that buzzes my phone says as much: Actions speak louder than words, Moretti.

I walked over here with a personal pep talk that my friends are right. That I need to live more and dwell on the past less. Well, that’s not exactly what they said—but they don’t know the whole truth about why I am how I am. Only two people do: myself and the one other person I’ve avoided like the plague.

“You think we can both win our respective fights?” he asks, his smile toying with the corners of his lips.

“I do.”

“And how do you figure to do that?”

I don’t have time to summon courage like I normally would. Gia and Isabella bearing down on me is sufficient motivation to push me out of my comfort zone and into the goddamn fire.

“Like this.” I step up and press my lips to his.

I think we’re both shocked by the action, but it takes a split second for his surprise to wear off and his body to respond.

And oh, how he responds.

His hands slide up my back and one fists in my hair as his lips command mine. As his tongue slips between my lips, tasting slightly of the lager he’s drinking, and teases mine. He emits the softest of groans, yet I can hear it at the same time I feel it rumble against my chest.

But one thing outweighs all those things by far—it’s the way my body reacts. The sharp but sweet ache that burns bright. The chills that chase over my skin. The way I crave more of his kiss and the feel of his hands on my skin.

A feeling I haven’t felt in years.

A feeling I thought I’d never feel again.

A feeling that proves to me I’m not broken.

The kiss lasts but seconds as we’re in a roomful of people, and the sole purpose was to prove a point and make our friends wave their white flags.

But when we part, when we step back and our eyes meet, it’s obvious he’s as staggered by my kissing him as I am over the way the touch of his lips made me feel.

I stare at him.

Astounded.

Dumbfounded.

My lips tingling and body feeling like I’ll shock anything I touch.

I can’t remember the last time that happened.

I take another step back, unable to process the peculiar look on his face because I’m too busy feeling.

“That’s one way to convince them,” he says as he scrubs a hand over his jaw. His smile widens. There’s a sheepish quality to it that softens the arrogance in the best way. “You good? I mean, I know I’m feeling good and all, but whew, that was one for the ages.”

The cocksure grin.

The pale gray eyes.

The bob of his Adam’s apple.

“I’m good. Yeah.” I shake my head and try to rid it of the buzzing in my ears. That’s when I notice Isabella and Gia standing a few tables down, jaws lax and eyes wide with surprise etched in the lines of their faces. “I, uh . . .” Why are my lips still tingling? “Hope that helps you win.”

“That should more than do it.” One of his friends shouts something across the bar—I don’t quite catch it—but it makes him turn his head and hold a finger up to them. “I, uh—I’ve got to get going. We have . . . plans. For later.”

“Yeah. Right.” Thank God. I need to find my bearings.

“Thanks for helping me out.”