Page 100 of The Last Special Thing

Amelia responded to Art the next day, ahead of Maddison’s party. She ran her fingers across the options hanging in her closet, wanting to look devastatingly good. She wanted him to know exactly what he was losing due to all his bad choices and how they had affected her.

Amelia

Headed to town now. Can you meet?

Art

Yes!!!! Gotta get Sky from work some vodka since she doesn’t have a fake. Meet me at the liquor store?

Amelia

Yes

Twenty minutes later, she pulled the BMW to the curb. Art sauntered out with a handle of Skyy vodka, and she was relieved he wasn’t exiting at a running pace. He opened the door and leaned over for a kiss before settling in. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a pack of Reese's, handing it to her.

“Got you these.” He smiled.

“Bought or stole?” she asked, taking them. A pack of Reeses wasn’t enough to warrant a run if he paid for the vodka.

“Does it matter?” He gave a nervous chuckle.

He was criminally thoughtful, and she had trouble untangling the two.

He connected his phone. “I’ve been playing this on repeat, waiting for when I saw you.”

Blink-182’s “I Miss You” drifted through the speakers.

“I miss you, and I’m so sorrrrry,” he drawled in a serenade.

Her lips involuntarily twitched upward. She didn’t know how the hell to have these sweet moments with him now when she would be breaking his heart later.

He rested his hand on her thigh, and a warmth crept up her body. She’d been sure that she would break up with him when she saw him. But, he softened her at every corner: the candy, the singing, the heat of his touch.

“I missed you so much.” His eyes were clear and apologetic, but it wouldn’t last.

It never did.

She was a mess of emotions. Replaying the dinner with her parents and the crushing weight of their repulsion of her choices. Then there was Weston. It felt fucking cruel to be the one digging the dagger into someone’s heart. Now, Weston was gone, and while she thought she would be relieved, she was hollow. He deserved it, but he was also right. Art was bad for her.

“You look beautiful.” Art‘s voice seeped in.

“Thank you.” The words came out small as her nerves faltered.

He tapped his fingers on her thigh aimlessly, the drummer tick impossible to suppress.

“Should we go somewhere to talk?” he suggested.

She could do it. Rip off the band-aid. Pulling up to a dead end on a street near the beach, she turned off the car. The horizon was empty, the faint sound of waves in the distance.

Her heart thumped. She was exhausted by excuses and empty promises. Dark hair framed his face and those turquoise blue eyes; he was still the most beautiful thing she’d ever had.

His fingers stopped tapping, and he held her gaze. He reached over the center console, his fingers crawling up her skirt. She didn’t stop him, all her nerves lost as he studied her reaction. He leaned closer, and the burning desire fogged her mind. As his fingers touched her underwear, desperate longing rippled throughout her.

It happened quickly. Too quick to do anything but give in. The passion was a glow stick snapping. It cracked wide open, and once it glowed, there was no way to turn it off. Her love and desire for him drowned out logic.

She crossed over the center console. On Art’s lap, straddling him, her fingers pushed through his long, dark hair, and his breath against her skin, raising millions of goosebumps. He shifted underneath her to unzip his pants, and she pulled off her black lace panties, tossing them to the floor.

He grabbed her hips, pulling her onto him. He let out a deep breath and brushed a loose curl back. She kissed him hard. Full of passion and anger and all the other emotions she could never hold on to. His energy shifted from sweet to an electric force. All the air had been sucked out of the car. It was the two of them. Art and Amelia. The way she craved.