The Best Friend Zone

It’s straight-up obsession.

Sure, I know how insane that sounds, but the reality is even more ludicrously sexy.

Kissing Quinn is nothing like I’d ever imagined it would be.

I expected it to be tender, uncertain, and sticky sweet.

And even if all those things are there, little hints I feel every time his lips take over just a little more, every time his tongue chases mine, every time his hand slides across my face, sealing this white-hot bliss…

I can’t begin to describe how dominant, how intense, how all-consuming he kisses.

The man doesn’t ask.

He takes.

He rules.

And now—now and forever—there’s not even a shred of doubt in my brain as I give up, give in, and give out.

God.

The only sane thought I can still cling to is how bad I want to keep kissing him.

So I press harder against his chest, loving being so close, inhaling his masculine scent. I pour the last decade of yearning for this very moment into living it.

Quinn’s lips become my world.

It’s like the rest of reality melts away.

Nothing exists in our slick, hot, panting moment except us.

To call him an excellent kisser would be a hilarious understatement, but I love how tight he’s holding me, letting his free hand roam down my back, just to the edge of my butt.

Oh, wow.

I don’t want to stop, but it’s too much. Eventually, I have to catch my breath.

Jerking backward, I sputter, gasping for air.

Real smooth.

If he’s laughing, he doesn’t show it in the slightest.

Quinn lays his forehead against mine, breathing just as hard as I am.

“Tory, I—”

The second I’ve caught my breath, I capture his lips, preventing him from saying more, because honestly? I’m afraid of what he might say.

Scary words like we shouldn’t.

Believe me, I already know, but ask me if I’m going to stop.

Not when it feels too right. Too perfect. Too addicting.

I jump when the Ferris wheel finally stops and he pulls his lips off mine with a startled look. I don’t open my eyes, just lean my head against his chest, relishing the afterglow of a make-out session so hot I feel like he’s been inside me.

“Better keep your eyes closed,” he whispers.

“Why?” I ask, even while nodding.

“We’re perched on the top of the Ferris wheel,” he answers, a smirk bending his lips. “The very top, high over the rodeo. They’re starting to unload the other cars.”

Crap.

Gasping, I lean harder against him for support, staring into his wild green eyes so I don’t have to look down. It’s not just the long way to the ground that gets me.

Quinn’s kisses have already left me feeling like I’m on top of the world. Something no other man’s kiss ever accomplished—especially Jean-Paul’s.

Oof.

Inwardly, I flinch.

Why would I think about him right now? There’s nothing remotely comparable between my ex and Quinn Faulkner.

They’re as different as night and day.

Maybe that’s why my brain goes there, because they’re such stark opposites, drawing contrasts it shouldn’t.

Well, I know one thing—Jean-Paul Delong wouldn’t be caught dead kissing me on a rodeo Ferris wheel.

Though I can’t imagine Quinn attending a ballet, which makes me sigh.

Hey, if Mr. Perfect doesn’t exist, I know who comes dangerously close. And he’s drinking me in right now with those demanding emerald eyes.

They still look hungry, even after ravishing me for the entire ride with his lips.

A wicked pulse aches between my legs, and I’m afraid to wonder where this goes next. Do we wind up back at his place in a race to see who tears whose clothes off faster?

Do we even dare?

“You still okay, Tory?” he asks.

“I’m fine. Sorry, it’s just the heights.”

I wish it was just the freaking phobia.

“Hang tight. We’re almost to the ground,” he tells me, pushing his fingers between mine.

I sit up and blink my eyes, willing myself to look out the little window.

We’re still a few carts from being released, but high enough to make my stomach flip.

His gentle hold on my hand tightens the instant I nearly break his freaking fingers off.

“S-sorry,” I whisper, trying to make myself relax.

“Do high places always bother you this much or just some?” he asks.

“Not always. Not all of them. Just…really, really high ones like this. If it’s more than thirty feet up, I embrace my inner baby.” I tense. “I saw it out of the corner of my eye, looks like you can see the whole town from up here.”

“You’re too funny.” He smiles. “So up here it’s too much but not hanging off gates over a deep ditch with an evil goat ramming your butt?”

My cheeks burn when he mentions the butt ramming.

Go ahead and laugh.

“That was different!” I hiss, pulsing my fingers in his. “It was far enough to jump, I just couldn’t because of my knee.”

“Whatever, Peach,” he says, a wry grin widening on his face. “You’re braver than you let on.”

Oh, hello, awkward blush.