But Cohen laughs it off like the unobservant man he is. “Gen? Nah. It’s just a crush. It’ll be fine. Besides, Marigold already did some Rose and Water Love Spell and promises this day is going to go off without a hitch.”
“Must be so then,” I say, swatting at his bum as he holds the door open for me.
He grabs me by the waist as I pass and tugs me into him. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, woman,” he growls into my ear.
This chemistry…this magic….this love…it’s been six months, and it hasn’t gotten old. Cohen works long hours at the accounting firm, and I sometimes feel like I need to hoard the moments we have together, especially on the weekends when I stay here.
It’s not like I don’t love school. I’m acing my classes, and the dorms are actually amazing. I wound up on a floor with so many smart, funny people who are becoming real friends.
My dad and I write letters back and forth. He’s not doing as well as we hoped, but he opted to extend the program instead of signing himself out after the mandatory time he agreed to, so I try not to be pessimistic about what will happen when he finally finishes and joins the real world again.
Mom and Rowan came out to visit me a few times. They even provided the refreshments for my dorm’s Spring Fling, where they also got to meet Cohen, all suited up and so gorgeous, even my tightwad sister drooled a little. It’s way more awkward than I’d like, but it’s baby steps. And I can do that.
But, as full as every other aspect of my life is, my heart bucks and strains in my chest waiting for the weekends when I go home. To the house Cohen and I are making ours.
It didn’t stop with the teal rug. He converted the spare room into an office for the two of us to use, and we spent hours arguing over paint chips and flooring. I bought new decorations for the kitchen, all beachy and gorgeous. And he surprised me by doing the extra bathroom in Angels red. He kind of spoiled that one with Angels toilet paper, telling me the only way he could stand having an Angels fan in his house was if he could wipe his ass with them, but I still love the overall gesture. And him, despite his crappy taste in sporting teams.
“Doll, you all ready? Wanna lock up while I get the gift loaded?” he asks, kissing my neck.
“Sure.” I take my key out of my clutch while I watch him wrestle with the enormous Hine Moana statue he found when he and Deo took that trip to New Zealand. She’s the Maori goddess of the ocean, and Cohen used his crazy connections to get her shipped over for Deo and Whit’s wedding gift.
“Got her in!” he finally crows after struggling with the wooden statue for twenty minutes. He points to the excessive knot of bungee cords and rope he used to get the trunk closed with a confidence I hope is grounded in reality.
“They’ll love her,” I say, not pulling away when Cohen tugs me closer and kisses me, first sweetly, then with a need that makes my muscles loose and my blood burn.
“I love you,” he whispers, his lips pressed to my ear.
“I love you,” I answer. “Cohen, we need to go, or we’ll be late.” I’m begging him a little, because I know how easy it would be for me to just give in and never leave his arms.
But, tempting as that is, we both love Deo and Whit too much to mess with their day, so he lets me go after a few more kisses, and we drive to the site.
The wedding and reception is being set up outside Deo’s mother’s herbal shop, right on the ocean. There are baskets and bunches and piles of flowers absolutely everywhere, brought from all over the West Coast by Marigold’s amazing friends, who all seem to have organic green thumbs. The air smells gently sweet and salty clean. Lanterns swish in the breeze, ready to be lit when the sun sets and we all dance the night away on the dance floor brought in especially for this day. A traditionally decorated, white tiered cake is on a large table, and I smirk, knowing it’s likely laced with a little something extra. A band of scruffy, friendly hippies in flowy clothes sets up their instruments as Marigold rushes over to us.
“You’re here!” She grabs my face, then Cohen’s, pressing kisses on our foreheads. Marigold gives me an apologetic look. “I hate to steal him away, but Deo is having a nervous breakdown.”
Cohen’s dark eyes pop in surprise. “Deo? Deo is nervous?”
He shoots me a look laced with pure panic, and I grab his face in my hands. “Go to him! Of course. You give the most amazing pep talks. You can do this.”
Marigold and I watch him run to the house, and she puts an arm around my shoulders and kisses my temple. “You two were made for each other, you know that? I’m so thankful he found you.”
My heart is fluttering when she lets me go to chase the caterer down, and I’m left alone among a wonderful, loving chaos. I wave at a few familiar friends and Rodriguez family members, but I never see Gen. I wander to the bar and order a chilled white, when I hear a muffled sob.
Behind a low citrus tree, I catch sight of silky black hair and a tight black dress.
“Gen?” I walk through the roots and leaves carefully, and see Cohen’s sister wiping tears from her cheeks.
“Maren. God. So embarrassing.” She laughs wetly and lets out a rough sigh. “I’m such an ass. Please, ignore me.”
I hand her my wine glass. “Drink, sweetie. You’re not an ass. Not at all. And you look amazing.”
She tries to smile, but it’s weak. “Thank you.” She gulps the wine down in two sips. “I’m not crying because Deo is marrying Whit,” she says, her voice cracking over the words. “I’m crying because…because does it ever feel like you’re just messing up every day for years on end? Like, you’re the world’s biggest loser, and maybe it’s not a stage? Maybe it’s who you are?”
I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. “Genevieve, you have no clue how completely I understand that. But I promise you, you are not and this is just a stage, and one day, you’re going to be so damn happy and you’ll look back and wonder how you ever could have thought you wouldn’t be. Because happiness will be part of who you are.”
This time her smile is a tiny bit more real. “Thank you. I’m really happy you’re dating Cohen.” She holds up the glass. “Do you mind if I get a refill? I think you’re probably right, but today I might just need to be tipsy to believe it.”
“Go ahead. Be careful. You don’t want a hangover tomorrow,” I warn. She rubs my arm and throws me a half smile as he walks away, looking smoking hot and devastatingly sad.
The start of the music sends me scurrying out of the shade and to my seat, up in the front. I’m relieved to see Cohen standing with a pale, but ridiculously handsome, Deo at the altar.
The last guests sit, Gen among them, ignoring her mother’s scowl as she sips another over-full glass of wine. The violins swell and we all stand and turn.
I take a quick look at Deo first. His jaw swings open, and Cohen slaps a congratulatory hand on his back. Before anyone notices, he wipes his eyes and blinks hard, then smiles and mouths, “So beautiful,” to Whit.
Whit looks like an angel. She’s wearing a simple ivory sheath that glows against her peachy tan. A long veil with fancy bands of lace embroidery covers her dark hair. She doesn’t look right or left. Her eyes focus down the center, directly on Deo. Marigold’s husband, Rocko, stands to one side of her, and a beaming, balding man I assume is her dad stands on the other.
When she walks down the aisle, I notice the bouquet of flowers in her hands has a Purple Heart pinned to it, and I choke up when I realize it’s her brother’s. Deo and Cohen told me how crushed Whit was to plan the wedding knowing he wouldn’t be there to celebrate with her, and I catch her running her fingers over the medal before she wipes her eyes quickly.
The vows are simple and perfect, and they make more than a few guests, me among them, cry openly. Cohen catches my eye and smiles, and I know he’ll tease me later, but I don’t care. When the non-denominational holy woman tells Deo and Whit they can kiss, he tips her back and kisses her with such total passion and love, they get an immediate standing ovat
ion.
“This perfect girl is my wife!” he bellows when they stand back up. “How lucky am I?”
Everyone cheers back their support, and Whit shakes her head and slaps at him, her blush the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.
The party whirls around us, and it’s a while before I see Cohen, who’s being introduced to everyone and keeps getting pulled away every time he makes his way to me.
I finally feel his arms circle my waist and his lips press to my neck. “Come dance with me, sexy lady,” he coaxes.
I follow him onto the dance floor and sway in his arms. “This is such an awesome day.”
“I know it. I can’t wait till we have ours.”
We both stop dancing, and I stare while he laughs sheepishly. “C’mon, Maren. You know that’s what I want. I’ve got plans. You know I always have plans.” He shakes his head and stops talking, pulling me close instead.
I move with him. “I’m very happy to hear you have plans,” I whisper. We’re stunningly, happily silent for a few more beats before I ask, “What was Deo so upset about?”
He pulls away and tips my face up under my chin, so we’re looking into each other’s eyes. “He was scared he wasn’t going to be good enough for her. He was scared he rushed her.”
“That’s crazy talk,” I protest. “They’re amazing together.”
“I know it. I told him that,” he says, kissing me softly. “But I know how he feels. You know I worry I’m not enough for you sometimes. You’re damn amazing, woman.”
I ball my hands in his suit jacket. “Stop that right now. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
He kisses me harder, then pulls back, his eyes dark. “So, Deo started this tradition at his mom’s wedding.”
“Yeah?” I like the way his mouth curves, like he’s going to suggest something naughty.
“He and Whit snuck away and had sex. And look how amazing things have gone for them.” His fingers bite through the red silk of my dress.
“Well, you know it’s bad luck to break traditions, Cohen.” I tug at his scarlet tie. “Shall we go and find someplace private?”
He dips me low and his smile is pure love. “I love you so damn much.”
To the depths. And deeper, I think.
But I’ll tell him that. Soon. As soon as we carry on the Becketts’ wedding tradition.
Coming soon in the LENGTHS series….Genevieve Rodriguez is less than thrilled when her older brother’s best friend, Deo, runs off and marries Whit, the girl who doesn’t even deserve him. At least that’s what Gen believes. And so what if everyone thinks it’s just a stupid crush? She’s had a thing for Deo for as far back as she can remember.
Freshly heartbroken and downright annoyed, Genevieve is also one ‘D’ away from getting kicked out of school. In other words, life could be better for the rowdy, youngest Rodriquez sibling. Her only hope of passing physics is her quiet, nerdy tutor, Adam.
Adam isn’t her type at all. He’s too quiet, too polite, and he’d rather stare at lab charts than bother to notice the bustier top so sexy, it turned the head of every guy in a five-mile radius.
When Adam tells Genevieve that he won’t be back after winter break because his visa is about to expire, the words drop out of her spontaneous, heartbroken mouth before she has the time to think… “Marry me.”
Thinking it’s a joke, Adam gives Genevieve a firm no. But when the joke turns into something more, all bets are off and all limits are broken. Adam may not notice a perfect bustier, but he can’t resist a good argument. And Genevieve has been arguing to get exactly what she wants her entire life.
LIMITS
by Steph Campbell and Liz Reinhardt
Coming Summer 2013
ABOUT THE AUTHOR’S
Liz grew up on the East Coast, and Steph on the West Coast—and somehow they both ended up making their homes with their husbands and children in small, Southern towns.
Liz loves Raisinettes, even if they aren’t really candy, the Oxford comma, movies that are hilarious or feature zombies, any and all books, but especially romance (the smarter and hotter, the better), the sound of her daughter’s incessantly wise and entertaining chatter, and watching her husband work on cars in the driveway.
You can read her blog at elizabethreinhardt.blogspot.com, like her on Facebook, or email her at [email protected].
Steph has one husband, four children, and a serious nail polish obsession. When she isn’t reading, writing or wiping someone’s nose, you can usually find her baking something.
You can find Steph on Facebook, @stephcampbell_ on Twitter, stephcampbell.blogspot.com or [email protected]
More books by Liz Reinhardt & Steph Campbell:LENGTHS
A TOAST TO THE GOOD TIMES
Books by Liz Reinhardt:
DOUBLE CLUTCH
JUNK MILES
SLOW TWITCH
INHERIT
FORGIVING TRINITY
FALL GUY
PERFECTLY UNMATCHED
Books by Steph Campbell:
DELICATE
GROUNDING QUINN
BEAUTIFUL THINGS NEVER LAST
MY HEART FOR YOURS (with Jolene Perry)
Depths Page 21
