Page 121 of The Wright Man

She must've caught a whiff too, because she wrinkled her nose and said, "I would hug you, but you're sweaty and smell like a monkey's ass."

I grinned, slow and wicked. "You don't wanna give your best friend a hug on one of the happiest days of his life?"

"Hell no." She took a step back, waving me off. "Get your sweaty ass away from me, Leek. I'm wearing white."

"Bring it in, Angel." I opened my arms, taking a step toward her like the threat I fully intended to be.

She narrowed her eyes. "I swear to God I'll kick you in the balls like I did when we were seven."

"Been there. Survived it."

She yelped when I lunged, but it was already too late.

I grabbed her, locking my arms around her and pulling her in tight, ignoring her squirming and half-assed protests. She squealed, groaned, cursed me under her breath, but I held her tighter. Nuzzled my sweaty face into the crook of her neck like an asshole on purpose, grinning like a kid.

"Ugh, you fucking caveman!" she groaned, squirming harder. "I just washed my hair!"

"You'll live."

She slapped my back, and I didn't flinch. She smelled like vanilla and sunshine and home, and my brain was spinning with every second she didn't pull away for real.

She pushed at my chest, still laughing. "I hate you. I actually hate you."

"Nah," I murmured against her ear, "you love me."

She did. I felt it in the way her fingers curled around my bicep instead of pushing. The way her head dropped to my shoulder like it belonged there.

We laughed like kids—until we didn't.

Somewhere in between the teasing and the memories, something changed.

We weren't laughing anymore.

Her forehead was pressed to mine, our breathing syncing like muscle memory. Her hands rested on my arms now instead of pushing, and the pads of her fingers made slow, idle strokes against my skin like she didn't even realize she was doing it.

And suddenly, I was aware of everything.

The soft rise of her chest pressed against mine. The curves I hadn't let myself look at too long before but couldn't ignore now. Her breath, warm on my cheek. The bangles on her arms, cool against my slick skin. The slight tremble in her fingertips.

The fact that her nipples were hard beneath that flimsy-ass tank top and that her hips fit perfectly in the space between my hands like they were made to live there.

Fuck. Me.

Her eyes found mine. Wide. Curious. Burning.

She didn't look away. She looked... hungry.

She trailed one hand down my bicep, then back up again, her gaze dragging slowly down my chest, to my abs, to where our bodies were still pressed together. Her breath hitched.

Her gaze dropped to my mouth. Lingered for a second too long.

And that's all it took.

I bricked up in an instant. Unapologetically. Didn't even bother to hide it. There was nothing I could do to downplay it anyway—every part of me was screaming for her. Begging me to press just an inch closer. Just to taste. Just to see.

Her eyes flicked to my crotch—just for a second—and the flush that painted her skin made my jaw clench.

"Angel..." I whispered. It came out low and thick and all wrong. Too full of things I shouldn't feel for her. Too raw to hide.