Page 34 of The Snuggle Is Real

Sure, I’ve lied by omission because I’ve never told her how I feel about her, but that’s different. I can’t lie to a direct question.

"Top drawer of my desk," I say. "In Nashville."

"Why?" she whispers.

“You know why,” I say, gruffly, because she does.

I can see it in her eyes.

“I do.”

Somewhere far away, I'm aware of my mother. Of my brothers. Of Great-Aunt Opal and her purple hat. Of the reason we're supposed to be doing this at all.

The wedding. The pact. The rules.

None of it feels like it's in this room.

"Malcolm," Emily says, her voice soft, barely above a whisper.

Is it a warning? Not to do this. Not to change our dynamic and possibly ruin our friendship. Or is it a question? A plea? I don't even know.

"Em,” I say, gruffly.

I lean in. She goes up on tiptoe, meets me there.

Then I kiss her.

It isn't like last night by the bonfire, quick and easy and meant for an audience.

This is slow. Deliberate. When her fingers curl into the lapel of my jacket and I make a low sound in the back of my throat and pull her closer, sliding my hand into her soft hair.

I’ve been denying myself this moment for fifteen fucking years and it’s worth every minute of the wait.

The guitar keeps playing but I stop hearing it.

There's only Emily. Her silken hair, the soft press of her chest against mine. Her hands tremble ever so slightly as they wrap around my neck. The taste of bourbon and orange peel is on her lips. I’m struck by the certainty that nobody in the history of this or any town has ever kissed anyone like this just for show.

When we finally break apart, Emily is breathing like she just ran a mile and my pants are too damn tight. I drop my forehead to hers.

Neither of us says a word.

The song ends.

"Marry her," Great-Aunt Opal bellows from the table.

And for the first time in fifteen years, I don’t want Emily to be my best friend.

I want her to be my lover.

Chapter Nine

Emily

“Do you want to get out of here?” Malcolm asks.

His eyes are dark with desire and his hand has been descending lower and lower on the small of my back until it’s now resting on the curve of my ass. We’re pressed up against each other, breath mingling, body heat colliding, my fingers on Malcolm’s tie like it’s the only thing holding me up.

The tie and him.