Flawless (Chestnut Springs, #1)

by Elsie Silver

“And Eaton, that girl is my daughter. My princess. So, mind your goddamn manners, keep your hands to yourself, and stay the hell out of trouble, yeah?”

Summer: Heading out there now. Dad: Be safe. Don’t let that asshole in your pants. Summer: I’m really more of a skirt gal. Dad: -_-

Even though this outfit slays.

We don’t look at each other as we walk, but he touches my shoulder gently and gestures me across his body. He moves me to the opposite side of him before taking up position by the road.

There’s even a fucking maraschino cherry on top—plump and bright. And as I stare at it, I’m reminded of Summer’s mouth.

These cherries are going to be the death of me. Somehow, my brain has connected them to the lipstick Summer wears, and the color isn’t even that similar. But it’s going there anyway.

But it’s Summer that really gets me. She’s sitting there looking perfectly put together, perfectly smug. Legs crossed in the most lady-like way with the chocolate milk martini I sent back in her hand. She holds it up to me in a silent “cheers” and then plucks the cherry off the top and wraps her lips around it.

The pain slowly easing when her touch moves to the front of my shoulder, gently pressing down, deepening the stretch.

And just like that, I think I have my first gym crush.

“You’re pure magic up there. Of course, you will. Now put your cream on and go to bed.” My chest warms as she reaches for the knob, and suddenly I don’t want her to leave at all. I want to hear all about how I look to her. It’s fucking lame.

“I’m finding I don’t really care what people think where you’re concerned.”

But sometimes being responsible is exhausting, especially in the face of someone as irresistible as Rhett Eaton. It’s me who pushes my tongue into his mouth. It’s me who steps even closer, feeling his hand slide down to my ass as he crushes me against the steely bulge in his pants. It’s me who moans when he presses it against me even harder. The knowledge that I do that to him makes me wild. It seems unlikely. We seem unlikely.

And yet I’d have to be an idiot to deny there’s a connection here. The bickering. The jokes. The goddamn teenaged crush.

“Did you plan our wedding while you were cooped up in the hospital? What about our wedding night? I’d love to hear about that.” I glance down at his crotch with a smirk. Secretly getting off on seeing the bulge there. “Bet you would.” His pinky finger wraps around mine tenderly before he moves his hand to the small of my back, guiding me safely across the road and making my chest flutter. He’s joking. But I did imagine a wedding night with him. A long time ago.

“Having you think I’m out fucking everything that moves when I’ve looked at nothing and no one since the first day I laid eyes on

you. I stepped into that godforsaken boardroom, and you practically demanded I become obsessed with you.”

“Now, tell me honestly, Summer. If this were your last moment on earth, what would you want me to do?”

I don’t even need to think about it. I know what I want from him. “Ruin me.” “Good. I’m about fucking done being a gentleman with you. And the only thing I’m ruining you for is anyone else.”

All I can taste is whipped cream and cherries, and all I can smell is her.

I sleep more comfortably than I have in, well, ever. Summer fits against me like she was made for me. I don’t even mind her cold-ass feet.

I give him a curious look as he watches me from the edge of the bed, and then I turn back to see what he’s written. He’s connected the freckles to say Mine. And God, in this moment, I feel like that might be true.

But all I hear is the pounding of my heart and the sweet sighing noise Summer makes when my tongue dances with hers. We stand here. In plain view. Kissing. In the middle of a makeshift dance floor. No doubt raising some eyebrows. Making a statement. Doing what we want rather than what we should.

“Princess, you look like you were made for me.” Her voice is hushed when she responds. But I catch it all the same. “I feel like I was made for you.”

I’m hit with a realization that sends me reeling. Summer wasn’t just made for me. She’s it for me.

You need to figure out what you love and make that your life too.”

The only word in my head when that screen door slams behind him is Summer.

“Tell me what to do, Summer. Tell me, and I’ll do it. Was I unclear before? Because I want to be crystal clear now. I love you. I

loved you the moment you walked into that boardroom

Because today I’m going to Vegas. Because in my last moments, I’d want to be with Rhett. I’d want him to know I love him too. Every stupid, impulsive, broken bone in his body.

My eye catches on a flash of white, and the world around me goes fuzzy. Summer’s here. She’s wearing a white linen dress and sticks out like a sore fucking thumb. My sore fucking thumb. I blink. I blink again. Like she might not be real. Why would she come all the way here to watch me do something she clearly doesn’t think I should do?

I stare at her, and I think she stares back. Across the dirt ring. Across the crowd. We lock eyes and get lost in each other. She offers me a small thumbs up, one that makes my chest ache at the memory of being on the road with her. All I can do is stare back. I’m always fucking staring at her. I want to spend the rest of my life staring at her. Then she mouths, I love you.

My jaw clamps down and something snaps inside me. That fear hits me like a tidal wave, and I yank my hand out, reaching for the fencing to pull myself up. The fame. The buckle. None of it matters. Not one bit. All I want is to hear those words from her lips. I don’t want to spend my last moments on a bull. I want to spend them hearing her whisper that in my ear. And then I’m off, swinging a leg over the fence. “Eaton! What you doing?” one of the coaches calls out to me as I drop onto the landing and toss my helmet, reaching for my favorite brown hat instead. “I’m done.”

Choosing each other. Finding each other. Showing up for each other. And everything about the moment is flawless.

The only thing more satisfying would be being able to call Summer my wife.

And then I start writing. Connecting the dots on her back the way I often do with the pad of my finger when we lay together. Her back is like the night sky, full of constellations. She and I really are binary stars, stuck in each other’s orbit, drawn together by forces we can’t see or understand—but that we can feel.

She laughs and holds her hand up to gaze at her ring. Looking so fucking happy. And seeing her happy? Seeing her happy is everything. And I’m happy too, because I get to be stuck in her orbit for the rest of my life.