The True Love Experiment

“Jude wouldn’t have the slightest idea what to do with me.”

“Sweet, none of these poor sods have the slightest idea what to do with you, and that includes the bloke who’s already had a shot at it.”

She laughs at this. “But you do.”

“Course I do.” I grab the champagne back and take a long, draining pull of it. “Take you as you are by day and fuck you till you’re wrecked by night.” I pass the back of my hand over my mouth and reach over to set the empty bottle down on the nightstand.

Beside me, Fizzy’s gone silent. It’s my turn for a double take; her eyes are soft, lips slack. “What’s with you? Did I get that wrong?”

“No.”

She looks like she wants to devour me, and I laugh. “I can’t be the first to see through all the hilarity and impassioned lectures, Fizzy. You’d enjoy a man who understands that you just want a hot best friend who makes you laugh and come in equal measure. Honestly, it’s not that hard.”

She falls onto her back again, staring up at the ceiling.

“What?” I loom over her. “Is that offensive? Have I disrespected your hidden depths?”

“Enjoy,” she says.

“What’s that?”

She turns her eyes to me. “You said enjoy. ‘You’d enjoy a man.’ Not want or need or even deserve.” She turns her attention back to the ceiling and smiles. “You’re right. I’d really fucking enjoy a man like that. I just love that phrasing.”

“Why do you think you’re so complicated?”

“Because everyone else does.”

I shake my head, rolling to my side to face her and propping my head on a hand. “Not me. You’re a Rubik’s Cube with four blocks.”

She laughs, reaching across her body to smack my chest. “Hey.”

“A maze with a straight line through the middle. It’s just that most men are quite stupid.”

I can tell she wants to be mad but the delight in her eyes burns bright. She reaches up, brushing my hair off my forehead. “Careful,” she says.

“Careful what?” Her lips are soft and wet, her neck bare and stretching endlessly, soft for my mouth. I can see her pulse beating just beneath her jaw and want to press my face there and absorb the feeling of her fire thrumming under my touch. “You gonna rough me up for being straight with you that you’re just a big, messy softie?”

She drags her fingers along my temple and down my jaw. “Are you trying to make me want you?”

“I think that’s the problem,” I say, adjusting my head in my hand. “I don’t really have to try.”

Fizzy smiles distractedly. “Because you’re so sexy?”

“Obviously.”

She rolls back to her side, tracing her thumb along my bottom lip, and not even an oncoming train could get me to evade her touch. I can see in her eyes, too, that she understood my true meaning. I don’t have to try with her because everything between us is too easy. Too obvious. Too good. The idea that she’d end up with a Jude or even a Nick seems laughable now.

But so is the idea that she’d end up with me.

Trying to clear the fog of alcohol and desire, I pull away from her touch. Her eyes refocus and she blinks away from my lips.

“Uh-oh,” she whispers. “The spell is broken.”

“Nah, it’s late. I’m sure you’ve got more wedding celebrations early tomorrow. I should head home.”

Fizzy frowns. “Let’s put on a movie or something. You’ve been drinking.”

“I’ll cab it.” I move to climb from bed, but she cups a hand over my forearm, stilling me.

“Connor. You should stay here. I can behave myself. I promise.”

I laugh. “You’re not the only one who needs to behave, sweet. Historically I just have more self-control. I don’t think I do tonight.”

She sucks in a sharp breath and exhales it shakily. “I’ll have it for us, then. I know we can’t fool around.”

“For about a hundred reasons,” I say. “The most obvious one being the show. A second, equally important one being that for you it can be just sex, and for me it’s something more sincere. I don’t want one without the other, and unfortunately, sincerity seems to be off the table.”

“Does it?” she asks quietly.

I stare at her, at her thoughtful pout and lashes fanned on her cheeks as she closes her eyes and exhales again. “What does that mean?” I ask.

“I don’t think this is just about my sexual reawakening.”

“No?”

She shakes her head. “I think I have capital F feelings for you.”

My wine and champagne buzz comes slamming back into my skull, making my thoughts blur, my blood thicken. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“That right?” I ask.

Fizzy nods. “On the beach, when I talked about the way I felt reconnected to the part of me I missed?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s you. The person my heroines choose is always the person who makes them feel like the best version of themselves. You make me feel that way.”

“But that doesn’t have to be romantic, Fizzy,” I tell her, throat tight. “I do want to be your friend when all of this is said and done.”

“What if I wanted you to be my best friend? The kind who also kisses me?” she quietly asks.

Maybe the champagne has disengaged my filter, but otherwise I’ve never felt more sober. This all suddenly feels inevitable. I can’t even remember wanting to resist her. “You’d only have to ask.”

Her gaze drops to my lips, and her mouth goes soft and hungry. “Kiss me.”

With her hand cupping my face, she gently guides me to press my mouth to the full sweetness of hers for a single, lingering touch. I pull away.

“More,” she whines sweetly, and her smile turns wicked. “With tongue.”

I laugh at this. “Is that a good idea?”

“No, it’s a terrible idea, but that’s my brand.” Fizzy stretches, dragging her lips up the column of my neck. “Holy shit you taste good.” Her teeth graze the straining muscle there, and she scoots closer, pressing into me. “I want you, Connor, all the time.”

Fire sears through my bloodstream and an ache pierces my groin. Surrendering, I let my hand do what it wants—gliding up that warm, honeyed thigh, over the curve of her hip, under the hem of those unbelievably soft sleep shorts to find even softer skin just beneath. The kind of sex we could have in here makes my imagination dissolve into white noise.

“How’s this for a plan,” she says, gently biting my neck. “What happens in this room stays in this room.”

“I feel like I’ve heard this before.” My voice is thick with desire. My fingers find the lush curve of her ass.

“We start with kissing,” she continues, using her leg to coax one of mine forward. She rocks into me, clamping my thigh between hers. “If it feels good, we maybe take some clothes off. If you don’t want to have sex with me, that’s fine.” Pulling back, Fizzy smiles up at me. “You can just eat my pussy and head home, and everyone is happy.”

Laughter rises up out of me and I couldn’t resist her even if I was shackled to the wall by my wrists and ankles. I am so fucked for this woman. So I do the only thing I can imagine: I give in, turning my face down to hers, and let the night dissolve between us.





thirty-five FIZZY




I used to think first kisses were the most powerful of all the kisses. That first, hyperaware contact with such uniquely soft, responsive skin. The discovery of someone else’s sounds and tastes and desire. The ultimate reveal: Is there real passion there?

But I was wrong. First kisses are great, but the one hundredth, the one thousandth kisses are better. There’s familiarity and comfort, satiating a need but with enough knowledge to know how to tease and play. Whoever invented kissing is my favorite historical figure ever.

“I want to kiss you for the rest of the weekend,” I mumble into his mouth.