Tonic

by Staci Hart

  She looked at me like I was a slab of naked, tattooed, kitten-holding meat. “My God. That might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  I chuckled as I set the cat down and slipped back under the covers. He pranced over to her and wound up in a fluffy ball against her chest.

  “I can’t believe you got me a cat,” she said, smiling.

  I propped my head on my hand. “Believe it.”

  “You can’t just get me a cat every time we fight, you know?”

  I shrugged. “Says you.”

  She laughed. “I’ll be the crazy cat lady, shaking out cat food on the fire escape.”

  “You’re only crazy if you live alone and have lots of cats. That’s a scientific fact.”

  “Well, I can’t live with Kira and Roxy forever, so eventually it’ll become a truth.”

  “Well, maybe you won’t ever be alone. Maybe you’ll find forever with someone else.”

  She smiled at me, the soft, rosy flush of her cheeks filling my heart with a warmth I couldn’t put into words. “Oh, you think?”

  And I smiled back, leaning in to steal a kiss. “Princess, I don’t think. I know.”

  EPILOGUE

  Joel

  ANNIKA LAY STRETCHED OUT IN front of me, her naked back under my fingers. Her skin was unmarred, smooth and pale, not a freckle on her entire body. I’d know — I’d spent the last nine months getting to know every inch of her.

  The machine in my hand buzzed, the needles bouncing faster than the naked eye could follow. She’d been in my chair for hours and endured the pain like it didn’t faze her. And of course she would. She was stronger than anyone I’d ever known.

  “Almost done, babe,” I said gently, and she nodded as I finished shading the ice around her heart.

  I’d come up with the idea just after we’d gotten back together, and when I drew it up, I was sure she’d never go for it. For someone who had no visible tattoos, letting me tattoo her back down to her tailbone seemed a stretch. But when I showed her, she pressed her fingers to her lips and said yes. I hoped it wasn’t the only yes I’d ever get from her when it came to the impossible.

  I’d planned on painting it, if she’d refused — her naked back, skin split open to reveal her heart of ice. But inside, it glowed with fire that burned the ice away, sending it down her back in rivulets. I’d covered her old ice tattoo with silhouetted wildflowers that sprang up into watercolor in the same blues, reds, and oranges of her fiery heart.

  I turned off my machine, though my hand still tingled, making it feel like it was vibrating as I wiped the extra ink and blood from the art. I stretched and pulled at her skin, turning my head to inspect it for mistakes. But it was perfect, and so was she.

  The cameras around us kept rolling as she sat, and I showed her the piece in the mirror. Part of me wanted to step between her and the camera to hide her body, the body only I had the pleasure of seeing so bare, even with the sticky bra on, but the look on her face when she saw her back made everyone else in the room disappear. Her eyes were wide and wet, her breath short as she looked it over, telling me I’d done well. I’d done right by her.

  “Joel …” she breathed.

  I smiled, my heart expanding in my chest with pride and emotion. I couldn’t speak.

  She was still looking in the mirror, her eyes scanning the piece. “It’s … God. It’s beautiful. It’s perfect.”

  I stood and hugged her, pulling her into my chest, my fingers in her hair. There were no cameras, not other people, just us in that moment, and I kissed her temple as she wrapped her arms around my waist.

  “You okay?” I asked, and she nestled into my chest.

  “Yeah. I can’t believe it’s over. I can’t believe how it looks.”

  I chuckled. “You doubted me?”

  She pulled away to look up at me, smiling. “Never for a second. It was just more than I imagined.”

  I pressed a smiling kiss to her lips and let her go to finish up. I rubbed the salve all over her raw skin, then taped a plastic covering over it to protect it for a few hours. She pulled on a loose tank afterward, and Laney smiled at us.

  “Cut.” The cameras lowered — all except one — and everyone chatted. The whole Tonic crew was there to watch us film the second season’s finale and the wrap party.

  Season one had ended with a bang. We worked Annika into the show, and Laney softballed the editing for all of our sake. When they approached us for season two, we’d almost refused. But we’d gone all in with Hal and Liz — which was bizarre in its own right — and with that control over our fate and Laney on our side, we decided to go for it.

  The ridiculous amount of money they offered us didn’t hurt either. Because the show took off. We were a household name, and it wasn’t the absolute worst thing in the world.

  Annika had moved in months before — we filmed an entire moving-in episode. Surreal. — and we’d merged our lives. Merged our hearts. And I didn’t ever want to be without her again.

  Laney caught my eye and gave me a slight nod.

  I reached for Annika’s hand and pulled her back to the chair, adjusting it so she could sit. Her eyes were full of questions, though her lips still smiled sweetly at me. She’d changed so much and somehow not at all. But that hardness was gone, letting what was inside of her go free. And that made her all that much more beautiful.

  I held her hands in mine as everyone hushed. And I looked into her eyes and took a breath, ready for what would come, hell or high water.

  “I never thought I’d fall in love. Didn’t think it was for me, figured it was me who was broken. But then you walked into my shop and proved me wrong. You proved me wrong about everything, about who I thought I was, about what I thought I wanted. Because in the end, I only wanted you. The girl who pushed me, who wanted me, who loved me despite my many shortcomings. And it didn’t take me very long at all to realize I didn’t want to be without you. Not ever. I love you, Annika.”

  She smiled, her cheeks flushed and eyes shining with tears. “I love you too, Joel.”

  And then I reached into my pocket as I dropped to one knee, and her eyes flew wide, her fingers pressed to her lips, and the whole room gasped, even though almost all of them knew what had been coming. I opened the velvet box where a simple ring lay, two bands criss-crossing back and forth on each other, covered in small diamonds that made it shine and shimmer when the light hit it like sunshine on snow.

  “Marry me,” I said quietly, simply, and her eyes jumped from the ring to my face, her hand falling away to reveal her smile, and she reached for me, cupping my face, as she said the word I’d longed to hear.

  “Yes.”

  It was shaky and sweet, and she pressed her lips to mine, wrapping her arms around my neck to the whoops and cheers of the crew. And I stood, cupping her face, kissing her to seal the promise.

  I held her for a long moment, though not long enough, kissing her, whispering to her. And then I pulled away and slipped the ring on her finger with shaking hands before kissing her again. As much as I’d hated the idea of doing this with everyone around, in the end, it had felt completely right. The show brought us together, and they should all be part of our forever.

  We walked around, hugging and receiving congratulations from everyone. PAs came back from the break room with flutes of champagne, and we toasted and laughed. And she was tucked into my side for all of it. But I could feel all the things she wanted to say, and I wanted to hear them, anxious for the moment when we could be alone.

  But before that, we made our way up to the control room and to the green room where we filmed the engagement interview with Laney, answering questions and laughing and holding hands. And the second we were finished, we flew out the door and down a flight of stairs, into our apartment.

  I’d hoped she’d say yes, and had planned for all of this, from wine next to the bed to rose petals everywhere. And she walked into our room, shaking her head.

  “You did all this?”

&n
bsp; I nodded, smirking.

  She turned to me, laying a hand on my chest as she popped up on her tiptoes. “You’re just an old romantic, aren’t you?”

  I wrapped a hand around her waist, mindful of her tattoo. “We’re both gooier than we let on, aren’t we?”

  She kissed me. “That we are. I think we bring out the goo in each other.”

  I chuckled, touching her face. “You said yes.”

  “Of course I said yes. How could I ever be with anyone else? You’ve ruined me for all other men, Joel Anderson.”

  “Good. Because you’re mine, and I’m yours. I’ll give you my name, my heart, my soul. Anything you want, so long as you return the favor.”

  “I will. I already have. You’re it for me.” She paused for a second, watching me with her big, blue eyes. “Are you scared?”

  I shook my head and thumbed her bottom lip. “Not even a little. I never thought … I didn’t know it could be like this. I didn’t know love until you, and now that I have you, I want you forever.”

  And her smile could have moved mountains. “I’m yours.”

  Acknowledgements

  As always, I need to think my husband Jeff first. Thank you for always supporting me, for always stepping up, for being the one part of life that’s always easy and fun. You’re my hero, my ultimate, the reason why I write romance.

  To Kandi Steiner — And here we thought it would be harder to write a book on the same schedule. You’ve pushed me, motivated me, loved me, supported me through writing this story, even when it was hard and things were ugly. I only hope I was able to do the same. I love you forever. #SteinHarts

  To Becca Mysoor — Even though you weren’t a part of this book every day (THANKS A LOT, TRIP TO ASIA), your love and support has always been food for my soul, and this was no exception. Thank you for always having my back, and for making sure I’ve got panties on and that my lipstick is on point. I love you, boo.

  To Brittainy Cherry — For always being there when I needed a friend. For always knowing just what to say, just what I needed to hear, even when I didn’t know it. Thank you for your heart. Thank you for your soul. Thank you for your friendship.

  To Karla Sorensen — For being my ramble partner, my voice message queen, my cheerleader and cloned brain. I couldn’t have done this without your daily support.

  To Tina Lynne — Thank you for kicking my story in the teeth when it needed it. Thank you for your honesty and for your organization and for your spreadsheets and reminders and Googling fingers.

  To Amy Daws — For holding my hand and always telling me straight. Thank you, Dawsome.

  To my betas:

  Lex Martin — thanks for letting me blow up your vagina with my words.

  Monique Boone — with the most thoughtful feedback, and for all the time you spent talking through this story with me.

  Melissa Lynn — for always being my non-romance voice of reason.

  Miranda Arnold — for always making me laugh in your comments, and for giving me such useful feedback.

  Brandy Mello — please tell me you’re in for life, because your notes were brilliant.

  Jenni Moen — please finish your book so I can beta read for you. PLEASE! *Cracks whip*

  Ilsa Madden-Mills — for sending me the most helpful, adorable, blush-worthy voice messages. Praise from you is equivalent to it raining diamonds.

  Zoe Lee and Matt Maenpaa — thank you for reading under duress and sending me your notes (also under duress)

  To Sahar Bagheri and Meghan Quinn — thank you for reading the final version to make sure I didn’t walk out into the world with my dress tucked into my undies.

  Special thanks to Jenn Watson of Social Butterfly for petting my hair and feeding me chocolates, and to Lauren Perry of Perrywinkle Photography for once again SLAYING my photoshoot.

  And to Rebecca Slemons and Ellie McLove — thanks for making my words all shiny and pretty.

  And YOU, readers. Thank YOU. You’re the reason for all of this, and I’m forever grateful for each and every one of you.

  A Love Letter To Whiskey

  MY BEST FRIEND KANDI STEINER just released her book, A Love Letter To Whiskey, and if you loved this book, I know you’ll love hers too. Her’s her first chapter, just to prove it.

  Chapter One

  First Taste

  The first time I tasted Whiskey, I fell flat on my face.

  Literally.

  I was drunk from the very first sip, and I guess that should have been my sign to stay away.

  Jenna and I were running the trail around the lake near her house, sweat dripping into our eyes from the intense South Florida heat. It was early September, but in South Florida, it might as well have been July. There was no "boots and scarves" season, unless you counted the approximately six weeks in January and February where the temperature dropped below eighty degrees.

  As it was, we were battling ninety-plus degrees, me trying to be a show off and prove I could keep up with Jenna's cheerleading training program. She had finally made the varsity squad, and with that privilege came ridiculous standards she had to uphold. I hated running — absolutely loathed it. I would much rather have been on my surfboard that day. But fortunately for Jenna, she had a competitive best friend who never turned down a challenge. So when she asked me to train with her, I'd agreed eagerly, even knowing I'd have screaming ribs and calves by the end of the day.

  I saw him first.

  I was just a few steps ahead of Jenna, and I'd been staring down at my hot pink sneakers as they hit the concrete. When I looked up, he was about fifty feet away, and even from that distance I could tell I was in trouble. He seemed sort of average at first — brown hair, lean build, soaked white running shirt — but the closer he got, the more I realized just how edible he was. I noticed the shift in the muscles of his legs as he ran, the way his hair bounced slightly, how he pressed his lips together in concentration as he neared us.

  I looked over my shoulder, attempting to waggle my eyebrows at Jenna and give her the secret best friend code for "hot guy up ahead," but she had stopped to tie her shoes. And when I turned back around, it was too late.

  I smacked into him — hard — and fell to the pavement, rolling a bit to soften the fall. He cursed and I groaned, more from embarrassment than pain. I wish I could say I gracefully picked myself up, smiled radiantly, and asked him for his number, but the truth is I lost the ability to do anything the minute I looked up at him.

  It was an unfamiliar, warm ache that spread through my chest as I used my hand to shield the sun streaming in behind his silhouette, just how you'd expect the first sip of whiskey to feel. He was bent over, hand outstretched, saying something that wasn't registering because I had somehow managed to slip my hand into his and just that one touch had set my skin on fire.

  Handsome wasn't the right word to describe him, but it was all I kept thinking as I traced his features. His hair was a sort of mocha color, damp at the roots, falling onto his forehead just slightly. His eyes were wide — almost too round — and a mixture of gold, green, and the deepest brown. I didn't coin the nickname Whiskey until much later, but it was that moment that I saw it for the first time — those were whiskey eyes. The kind of eyes you get lost in. The kind that drink you in. He had the longest lashes and a firm, square jaw. It was so hard, the edges so clean that I would have sworn he was angry with me if it weren't for the smile on his face. He was still talking as my eyes fell over his broad chest before snapping back up to his sideways grin.

  "Oh my God, are you fucking blind?!" Jenna's voice snapped me from my haze as she shoved Whiskey out of the way and latched onto my hand, ripping me back to standing position. I'd barely caught my balance before she whipped around to continue her scolding. "How about you brush that long ass hair out of your eyes and watch where you're going, huh champ?"

  Oh no.

  I didn't even have time to call dibs, I couldn't even think the word, let alone say it, before it was too late. I watche
d it, in slow motion, as Whiskey fell for my best friend before I even had the chance to say a single word to him.

  Jenna was standing tall, arms crossed, one hip popped in her usual fashion as she waited for him to defend himself. This was her standard operating procedure — it was one of the reasons we got along. We were both what you'd call "spitfires", but Jenna had the distinct advantage of being cripplingly gorgeous on top of having an attitude. She flipped her long, wavy blonde ponytail behind her and cocked a brow.

  And then he did, too.

  His smile grew wider as he met her eyes, and it was the same look I'd watched fall over guy after countless guy. Jenna was a unicorn, and men were enamored by her. As they should have been — she had platinum blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, legs for days, and a personality to boot. Now, before you go thinking that I was the insecure best friend — I had it going on, too. I worked hard, I was talented — just not at the things traditional high school boys valued.

  But we'll get to that.

  "Hi," Whiskey finally said, extending his hand to Jenna this time. His eyes were warm, smile inviting — if I had to pick the right word for him, just one, I'd say charming. He just oozed charm. "I'm Jamie."

  "Well, Jamie, maybe you should make an appointment with the eye doctor before you run over another innocent jogger. And you owe Brecks an apology." She nodded to me then and I cringed at my name, wondering why she felt the need to spill it at all. She always called me B — everyone did — so why did she choose the moment I was face to face with the first boy to ever make my heart accelerate to use my full name?

  Jamie was still grinning, eying Jenna, trying to figure her out, but he turned to me after a moment with that same crooked smile. "I'm sorry, I should have been watching where I was going." He said the words with conviction, but lifted his brows on that last line because he and I both knew who wasn't paying attention to the trail, and he wasn't the guilty party.