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Gemma snorted. She seriously needed to ease off the champagne if she was on the precipice of composing sonnets about a pretty stranger’s eyes. No amount of inebriation excused shitty clichés, even if she kept them to herself.
I like it when you talk nerdy. Is that something you do often?” Because Gemma could really get behind that. And on top of it. All over it. Unf.
“You want me to get down on one knee? Propose?” Gemma leaned close, lips brushing the shell of Tansy’s ear. “Say yes now, and later, I’ll spend as much time on my knees as you want.”
She was a total fucking goner. Whatever magic Tansy was made of, Gemma wanted to drown in it, revel in the honeyed heat burning her up from the inside out. It was better than the finest bourbon she’d ever had the pleasure of sipping.
“The point is that you don’t know a lug nut from your left nut and therefore have no business wielding power tools, my friend.”
“And where is your father this evening?” Victor asked. Tansy cleared her throat. “Lakeview Cemetery.”
In the center of the room, Bitsie, Sterling, and Victor were engaged in a shouting match, the gist of which Gemma struggled to catch, hearing words bandied about like disgrace and daughter and—oh, it was about her, how nice.
A part of her, no matter how childish and naive, would always crave her father’s validation, his approval. His affection. A part of her would always be disappointed.
To not have that blueprint was probably just as hard. Harder, maybe. Craving something you didn’t have a name for, like living life in black and white until the day you realized there was a whole spectrum of color out there.
“The things I want to do to you, the power you could wield over me, Tansy. You have no idea. I’d worship you, if you’d let me.”
No one had ever made her feel this . . . alive, all too aware of each breath she took, cognizant of where Gemma’s skin touched hers, as if branded by her touch, belonging.
Tansy laughed, and the sound did the craziest thing to Gemma’s chest, somehow freeing some knots even as it tied her up in new ones.
So that’s what that odd but not altogether awful fluttering filling Gemma’s stomach was. Butterflies. It was nice to have a name to put to the feeling so she didn’t have to go around calling it indigestion.
She wanted to leave a mark at the vulnerable spot where Tansy’s throat met the arch of her collarbone to match the one beneath her ear. Another, along the crease of skin where the soft swell of her upper thigh met her hip. To press her mouth against Tansy’s skin and taste salt and feel the fluttering of Tansy’s pulse, hummingbird quick against her lips.
No, no. Gemma was just having a small epiphany. Or aneurysm. One of the two.
Get to the getaway car!” “This is so exciting!” Teddy laughed. “I feel like I’m living in a Taylor Swift song!”
“Watch. I want you to see yourself.” She wanted, needed, Tansy to see herself the way she did. As utterly, undeniably irresistible. As beautiful, precious, priceless.
“Mm. Normally I think gin drinks taste a little like I’d imagine going down on a Christmas tree would taste, but wow, we are delicious.”
So this was what it felt like, being killed with kindness. A slow, sweet asphyxiation, like all the air in the room had suddenly vanished and all Gemma could do was stand here and endure it.
As for feeling like you’ve failed, well, failure is an inescapable part of life. But failing doesn’t make you a failure.
‘The truth is like a lion. You don’t have to defend it. Let it loose. It will defend itself.’
“You can call me whatever you want, as long as I get to call myself yours.”
