Chapter Twenty-Eight

Julia

We didn't stop touching the whole walk back to Kit's Airstream trailer.

Not when we passed Natalie doing shots of mezcal with a few of the guys from the groom's party, or passed the mothers of the bride and groom locked in a warm embrace, sobbing about becoming a family. We didn't let our fingers disconnect when we opened doors or moved through tight corners on dimly lit paths or while I shot off a quick text to let Zoe know I was going off duty for the night.

Kit isn't out yet, but she isn't hiding either. Here, she doesn't have to explain her sexuality to the people who might observe us. No one here is invested in a past version of her that makes them feel comfortable. But that doesn't mean this is easy for her, and it doesn't make her openness any less comforting to me.

When we reach the gate to her accommodations, I tug her to a stop. She turns, still not releasing my hand, and at this angle the moonlight touches the top of her head like a halo.

"What's up?" she asks. "The other side of this gate is paradise."

"Are you saying your pussy is a wonderland?" I reply with a smirk, referencing the queer love Halsey anthem. She tugs me in, her grip on my hand pulling mine between us so it presses between her thighs. She's hot; I can feel it through the thin fabric of her dress.

"You're not having second thoughts?" I ask. I can't be distracted by her magical sex before asking at least one of the most important questions.

"I want this, Julia," she whispers, then kisses me. "I want you ." She moves her hips until my hand is firmly between her legs. "I've never been more certain of anything in my life."

She kisses me, all intoxicating, and as our mouths meld together, our breasts touch. I run my hand up her body to brush her nipple through the thin fabric of her dress. She clenches her thighs, using the hand I'd left there to apply pressure.

"Noted." I tug back. "But not out here."

Her eyes are dark with her dilated pupils. She fixes them on mine.

"I have an idea," she says, flipping the lock up on the gate and pulling me to the other side.

To paradise.

?"You better not be peeking," she scolds. I can hear glasses clinking as she walks back toward me from inside the trailer, then her motion pauses and there's some kind of shuffle before she commences her approach. I'm sitting on the outdoor bed curled underneath a heavy patterned blanket. She wanted to set the scene, to show me she wasn't just looking for some quickie thing in the bed of an Airstream trailer. She can provide foreplay. She isn't trying to rush us through this.

I hear her steps halt and then her breathing quiver a little before she says, "Okay, you can look."

She's brought out a bottle of wine, glasses, and a small charcuterie board, probably utilizing the overpriced hotel-supplied items in her fridge. She's removed her professional jacket and wrapped another dusty rose blanket around her shoulders.

"I'm guessing you're like me and you didn't get to eat at the thing," she says. "Not even one of those extra beef empanadas."

"The groomsmen eviscerated the excess."

"I'm deeply bummed out," she replies.

"You should be," I say, my mouth watering at the doughy memory. "I had one earlier and it was a pouch of pure heaven."

"And you couldn't save me one?" She fakes being offended, puffing out her lip in a pout, but she still approaches with her tray of goodies. She sets it on the bed, picking up a lighter she brought from inside and using it to light the firepit beside the bed. She grins, pleased, as soon as the flames catch. I watch her shadow against the dark copper fence line that surrounds the whole space. I guess if someone really wanted to see inside, they could, but they'd have to be willing to get branded a total perv in the process.

You couldn't accidentally peep; you'd have to mean it.

Kit sits on the other side of the tray, wrapping her blanket tighter around her shoulders and slipping her foot beneath her. I'm transfixed, watching her every move. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear, letting her row of earrings catch the light of the fire. The way she wets her lips before she untwists the wine cap. She's always been this way—soft and sensual. Graceful and sure.

She hands me a glass, raising hers toward mine.

"I feel like we should do a cheers." She looks nervous to suggest it. Like she expects me to shoot her down. My heart does a flip because I can't believe she wants to impress me. She never needed to do that, never had to try—just her existence was enough for me.

"To finding our way back," I say, tipping my glass toward hers. The glass doesn't quite touch.

"To each other," she adds. Clink. She sips and then gulps down some wine. "Okay, total transparency, I'm terrified."

"We don't have to do anything that scares you."

She grips my hand, squeezing. "That's just it." She gulps more wine. "I want to do what scares me."

"We're not sixteen anymore. We can just do things because we want to, not because we want a thrill."

"I'm not looking for an adrenaline rush," she says, and then with nervous, shaky hands she stacks a cracker with salami and cheese. "Maybe an endorphin rush." She fills her mouth with the cracker and I let out a laugh before joining her in the charcuterie. She's smiling when she speaks again. "I've been scared my whole life of acting on the things I really want."

"Like life life, or just sex life?" Confusion pings through me. She seems built for her career, actively trying to expand it, successful and happy.

"All of it," she says. "Can your life really be what you want if you are denying a truth about yourself?"

I reach across the charcuterie to touch the curve of her exposed knee with my hand.

I don't want her to think that just because this version of me looks perfect, polished, and pristine, that I'm not still the live wire desperate for connection that I always was.

"I don't have everything—" I cut myself off, rethinking. "Anything together, either." She's looking into my eyes and it's like she knows, without me even saying it out loud, just how out of control this control freak feels. She pops a grape into her mouth, chewing, wheels turning as she gears up to speak.

"It's like the whole left side of my body was numb—and I made it that way. I ignored it long enough that it just went dormant, and on the rare occasion when I did notice it, instead of nurturing it, I let it starve. Watched it wither. And now that I can feel its hunger again, all I want to do is feed it."

I set my glass on the platform by the bed.

She pops another grape between her teeth and bites. The juice dampens the corner of her mouth, glistening in the light. All I want to do is lick it off. All I'm hungry for now is her.

I fit my fingers around the handles of the tray. "This is in the way."

Her eyes lock with mine. This is really going to happen? they seem to ask.

I set the tray out of the way, taking the few seconds of privacy as my face is turned away from her freak-out. This is really about to happen. I am going to have sex with Kit Larson. Real, grown-up sex. This must be what people who get to sleep with celebrities feel like—bewildered glee mixed with apprehension that they'll screw something up and squander their chance.

When I turn around, the edges of her blanket shawl have slipped down to reveal her shoulders. Her skin absorbs moonlight like a sponge. Stars spray out in all directions behind her. The fire's flames flicker and dance, making a movie along the fence backdrop.

She's looking at me with so much love, expectation and longing all wrapped up in her beautiful face. I close the distance between us in a rush, crashing my lips into hers, ravenous and feral, a wild, untamed thing in search of a brand-new adventure. Tongue and teeth clash; my hands roam into her hair and get buried. My mouth searches her neck like it's the X on a treasure map. I want to taste the dip in her collarbone. I want to uncover her breasts and tantalize her nipples with my tongue. I want to make it goddamn clear that she is the most beautiful person to me.

Perfect in all imperfection.

Perfectly, wholly, my Twin Flame.