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“Aye, well, that’s eighteen years of memories down the drain. Now all I’ll remember about you is that you had an unhealthy obsession with glow-in-the-dark dicks.”
“I’ll take that. It’s a more interesting legacy than being the swotty know-it-all.”
“Right, except . . . you’ve always been so much more than that to me. I was actually going to do a heartfelt toast, but after all your chat about lightsabers, it wouldn’t really fit the mood.”
“Oh, go on,” she encourages. “Tell me how brilliant I am.”
“All right. To my best friend and the smartest person I know. You’ll be amazing in Glasgow, but just remember, we’ll be waiting for you with open arms in Bannock whenever you want to come back for a visit.”
She tilts her head. “Hmm . . . not bad, but I preferred mine.”
“Well, I’m not drinking to your partners’ sabers being forever bright, so we’re going with my toast.”
She lets out an exaggerated huff. “Fine!” She takes a sip and immediately coughs, pulling a face. “Jesus! It burns.”
“You can’t say that. It’s unpatriotic.” Snatching the flask back, I take a swig and wince. “But fuck, that really does burn.”
“Ha! See?”
“Aye, well, they say it grows on you. We export this around the world—there must be a reason for it.” I take another cautious sip.
“Where did you get that stuff anyway?”
“We’re eighteen, Iona—old enough to buy alcohol. But . . . okay, I filled up the flask in the snug when no one else was about. But then Maw walked in and I had to hide it behind my back, although I reckon she knew what I was up to. She asked me where I was going, and when I said I was off to the loch with you, she smiled like she thought . . .”
I slide my hands into my pockets and rock back on my heels. “Well, like she thought you and I were going to get up to something. She does stuff like that every now and again, and it’s weird. We’ve always been friends, so I don’t know why lately she’s started thinking there’s something more between us.”
At first Iona doesn’t respond, and the gentle lapping of the water fills the silence. Then, almost shyly, she says, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course. This might be your last chance, so whatever it is, spit it out.”
“Why . . . have you never made a move?”
Shit, I’m not sure what I was expecting her to ask, but it wasn’t that. Both of us have dated here and there, but no relationship has ever lasted more than a few weeks. I can’t speak for Iona, but for me, that’s because there’s no lass I want to spend time with more than her.
“Is it because you never wanted to?” she prompts.
I steal a glance at her, admiring the way the moonlight makes her skin glow, the way her blonde waves cascade down her back. My gaze traces the curves of her body, every inch unmistakably woman. Thighs, hips . . . tits. I don’t know that I should be looking, her being my best mate, but they’re impossible to ignore.
I meet her sky-blue eyes, which I’ve always found the most captivating part of her, framed prettily by her glasses. “It’s not that I’ve never wanted to kiss you, Iona. But . . . how many couples who start dating in their teens actually stay together? Not a lot, right? If we went there, and things didn’t work out, I don’t know how easy it’d be to fall back into our friendship.” And I can’t bear the thought of losing you, I add in my head. “Plus, with our families being so close, that complicates things, doesn’t it? It’s not just our friendship at stake.”
I pause, swallowing hard. “But I’ve wanted to kiss you. Of course I have.”
She falls quiet for a while, considering my words. Then she says, “Well, seeing as I’m leaving tomorrow, this is a bit of a now-or-never moment, don’t you think? I see what you’re saying, but . . . I think I’d regret living opposite you for eighteen years, hanging out with you pretty much every day, and never once kissing you. Before I go, I’d like to try it, if you would. Would you?”
Butterflies flutter in my stomach. “Just checking, but is this the drink talking?”
She scoffs. “I had one sip, Lewis. It’s not the drink.”
“Oh. Right. Well . . .”
My heart thumping, I reach out and still the swing, then I lean in to Iona, inhaling the sweet scent of her strawberry shampoo. A shiver ripples through me as our breaths mingle. The kiss begins sweet and slow, but then Iona parts her lips slightly, and I seize the invitation. Our tongues meet, and I’m overwhelmed by her taste, the hint of whisky mingling with something uniquely her.
She runs her fingers through my hair and nibbles on my lower lip, and a new intensity floods through me. Fuck, I’m growing hard. Is that . . . okay? Panic mixes with the pleasure.
At least on the swing she won’t notice, but no sooner do I think that than she hops down and pushes me back against the tree. Shit, she must be able to feel my erection now—our bodies are flush together. But she doesn’t recoil or question it. She keeps kissing me.
Screw it, this is heaven—why should I hold back? I let go of my worries and surrender to the moment, one hand moving to her waist, the other cradling her cheek. She moans softly, which sends a thrill through me. I’ve been dreaming of this for years, but the reality is better than I ever imagined.
