But she doesn’t.

And then our lips touch, brush, mold together. She sinks into the kiss with the barest of moans, and I pull her nearer. I move my mouth over hers, and she tastes just the same—just like I remember—sweet summer cherries.

And I wait for that feeling that always comes—that undeniable pull that makes me want to touch her everywhere, all at once. I wait for that sensation of certainty, flawless perfection—that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, and the woman in my arms is all I could ever ask for.

The problem is . . . those feelings never come.

My heart doesn’t hammer in my chest, my hands don’t shake with the need to caress. There’s just . . . nothing. I mean, I’m in a dark room with my mouth pressed against a beautiful woman—so there’s something. But it’s not what it’s supposed to be—not powerful or mind-blowing, not tender or exciting.

It’s nothing like when I kiss . . .

Oh shit.

I’m reminded of the fairy tales I read to Presley when she was smaller. The ones where the kiss always broke the spell. Lifted the curse.

Opened the eyes.

We slowly pull away, and Jenny and I stare at one another.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” she asks.

“What?”

“Like tryin’ to squeeze a puzzle piece into the wrong slot . . . like there’s somethin’ missin’. You feel that now, don’t you?”

In a shocked whisper, I finally admit to myself—and her, “Yeah. That’s it—exactly.”

I put my hand on her shoulder. “Jenny, I—”

Suddenly she covers her mouth with her hand, her face morphing into a mask of regret and guilt. “Oh my God! What have I done?”

“Jenn—”

She stands up and paces, talking with quick, horrified words. “Oh my god ! I kissed you! Three days before my weddin’! Three days before I’m about to stand up in front of God and my family and promise myself to another man! A man who’s done nothin’ but love me, trust me, respect me! Oh my fuckin’ God!”

“Calm down! It’s all right. We don’t—”

She turns on me like a viper. “Don’t you tell me to calm down! JD’s always been intimidated by you. You were like—a legend to him. He always worried that I couldn’t love him like I loved you. He never thought he could measure up . . .”

I can’t stop the satisfied smirk from tugging at my lips. “Really?”

She points her finger and grits out, “Wipe that smile off your face or I’ll slap it off!”

My smile flees in terror.

“How am I gonna tell him? How am I supposed to explain without him feelin’—”

I stand up, blocking her way. “We’ll keep it between us. You don’t have to tell him shit.”

“Yes, I do!” she wails. “Secrets are poison. They eat away the soul of a relationship.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Jenn—you really need to stop hangin’ out with my brother.”

She points in my face again, backing me up toward the window. “This is all your fault! You tricked me!”

“I didn’t trick you!”

“My nana was right about you—you’re a Satan.” She picks up the first thing she can grab—the ball gag—and throws it at me. “Get thee back, Satan!” The blue dildo follows next. Then the handcuffs.

I put my arms up as sex toy projectiles hurtle toward me. The giant dildo bounces off my forehead.

Probably gonna leave a mark.

“You’re supposed to fling holy water!”

I turn and scramble out the window. Descending quickly, I make it about halfway down before my foot catches—and I fall the other half.

“Ooof!”

I land on my back—possibly rupturing a kidney.

As I breathe through the pain, I hear Jenny slam the window shut above me and I stare at the sky. It’s black as ink and white stars blink down on me—like a million mocking eyes.

I cover my face with my arm. Tonight did not go as planned. That’s been happening a lot lately.

But I realized something crucial. Absolutely life changing.

I am a man in love. Just not a man in love with Jenny Monroe.

My first thought after this realization is: fuck me.

The second is: Drew Evans is going to laugh his ass off.

• • •

I take my time getting back to my parents’ house, trying to process it all. My brother would tell me I should meditate, and for the first time since he went off the deep end, I consider that he could be onto something. Feelings rush through me, too quick to hold on to, like a twig going down a raging river.

I push the door to Sofia’s room open gently, making out her form in the dim moonlight streaming in from the open window. She’s on her side, the luminous skin of her bare back facing me.

Tenderness floods my chest, and a sweet, relieved feeling—like coming home. I force my mind to silence, push out the crazy confusion that’s swirling, stripping down to bare skin. Then I slide into bed, determined to focus on this moment. The simple here and now. Just her.

But before I touch her she turns over, surprising me.

“How’d it go with Jenny?” she asks.

I push damp hair back off her face. “It was . . . enlightening.”

“What do you mean?”

Truthfully? I have no idea. For so long, I thought Jenny Monroe was my endgame. It was a certainty, like the sun rising in the east. To realize that nothing about it is certain, and that I’m actually okay with that, is throwing me for a major goddamn loop.