“Ireland,” she warned, slowly shaking her head as the red dress pooled at her feet.
“We’ll be quiet.” I stood back, tracing the outline of the tree with the tips of my fingers, stroking the trunk along her spine, sliding under the waistband of her panties.
“You know we can’t be quiet,” she said, shooting me an icy glare in the mirror.
“First time for everything. And if ya can’t, I’ll have to put somethin’ in your mouth, won’t I?”
She turned around, looping her arms around my neck. “Well, I never do complain about that …”
And just as I was about to lower my lips to hers, her eyes flitted to the side, and caught sight of something at the always-open window. Her smile started at her lips and traveled upward to crinkle the corners of her eyes.
“It’s snowing?”
She nodded, toying gently with the hair at the back of my neck. “Yep.”
We scrambled for our pants, her tank top, my sweatshirt, and I grabbed the blanket from the bed, and we hurried to the door and up the outdoor steps. I laid the blanket on the ground, dropped to my knees, and pulled her down to me. She found a comfortable spot against my chest, and I folded us up in our cocoon. Not to sprout our wings, to transform into more acceptable versions of ourselves, but to just be who we are. Wrapped up in the perfectly imperfect beauty of us.
“You made this happen,” I laughed, looking up at the fluffy flakes, drifting from the sky and sticking to my lashes. “You just had to make it snow on our wedding night.”
“I can’t control the weather, you idiot.”
“If you can control me, you can control anything.”
“Yeah.” She smiled against my chest. “That might be true. But you love it.”
“I do,” I said, threading my fingers into her hair. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Ireland.” And she sighed.
We laid there on the dead-brown grass, listening to the gentle hush of snowfall. The world was quiet, a sample of the silent Holy night heading our way in just a few days. I smiled, feeling content with my life. Happy. I was happy. I had been happy for an entire year, and I could only assume that my life would only get better.
“What are you thinkin’?”
“I’m thinking that we should open a joint bank account, and I’ll handle the bills.”
A thirty-one-year-old married man shouldn’t be under his parents’ consented control, and I laughed. “That’s a good idea.”
“I’m also thinking you should check your pocket.”
“Or we could do something else instead,” I said with a grin at the sky, reaching to grope her through the thin material of her tank top.
“I’m serious, Ryan,” she whined, and rolled over to straddle me.
I looked up to her with confusion, gripping her waist in my hands. “This might be a problem. My pants are still on, and so are yours.”
Then, she reached into my sweatshirt pocket and pulled something out. “Look at this first.” With a smirk, she dropped it on my chest, and I released my hold on her to take a peek.
“What’s thi—” I picked it up, knowing immediately what it was, and I sat up, pushing my chest against hers. My brows furrowed in deep concentration, holding the pregnancy test in my hand. I couldn’t remember what the stupid box had said; two lines for positive, or was it one? I looked up to her for answers, and she rolled her eyes playfully.
“Really, Ireland? Would I be making a show of it if it weren’t positive?”
“Get the hell out.”
She pressed her hands to my cheeks, smiling with her icy, crystal eyes. “We reproduced, babe.”
“Holy shite.” I seemed to deflate with my exhale, but inhaling … My heart—my feckin’ heart—couldn’t possibly get any fuller. I gnawed at my lower lip, but it was a grin that couldn’t be fought. I looked to her and said, “We’re gonna screw that kid up.”
“Nah,” she said, tugging at my beard, pulling me toward her lips. “They’re going to be fine. I mean, we are.”
And I had to smile wider at that, had to pull her to me in the flurry, to consummate our marriage, knowing that any baby of ours would be perfect. Never a disappointment.
Our type of crazy.
Fine.
Not done reading yet? Don’t worry—there’s more Ryan & Snow where that came from.
CLICK HERE for a bonus epilogue (and keep reading for a look into the next Kinney Brothers book).
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A NOTE FROM ME TO YOU |
So, Dearie, what do you think? Is there a type of crazy for everybody?
Have you found yours?
I hope you enjoyed your stay with the “freaks” of River Canyon. The black-haired duo, thriving on the cold and chaos. I hope you were able to look beyond the tattoos and the metal, beyond the tough exterior, and into the unconventional mushiness of Ryan’s thoughts.
I hope you’re looking forward to your next trip into this little town, where everything means everything.
Until then, keep reading for an excerpt from Last Chance to Fall, Sean Kinney’s story (coming May 2018) …
LAST CHANCE
TO FALL
(COMING MAY 29, 2018)
It was five minutes to closing time when Jack the big spender stepped out of the elevator and walked onto my floor.
I sat at the computer, scruffy chin in hand as I scrolled through my phone. Just biding my time before the big hand landed on the six, and I heard the dinging of the elevator from just across the aisle.
Narrowing my eyes, I put the phone down to see a leggy blonde stepping out. She had a backpack slung over one shoulder, a braid cascading down one side of her chest, and she headed right toward me at the same speed as it took for my heart to stop.
In all of my thirty-one years of living, I don’t think I had ever seen someone more jaw-droppingly gorgeous.
“I’m here to pick up for Jack,” she said, her voice held tight.
“You’re Jack?” I asked, untying my tongue. “Do you have I.D.?”
She blinked a few times, opened her mouth and closed it. She was searching for her explanation. I had seen the look too many times, after all those nights Ryan would wander in from being out all night.
“Yeah, I … Uh …” Her eyes closed, and she sighed. “No, I’m not Jack. Jack doesn’t even know I’m here. God,” she groaned before looking at me again. “You know, I had this whole thing planned out before I got here, but I just can’t do it.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. “Well, ehm … If you could just get permission from Jack to—”
The blonde shook her head, a few stray hairs falling against her ear. I had to resist the temptation to tuck them away, to brush my fingertips against her cheek, like a feckin’ creep.
“Jack’s my boyfriend. Well, actually, he’s my ex-boyfriend. We just broke up yesterday. I caught him and his secretary, because that’s not the most overdone cliché on the fucking planet, excuse my French. They were fucking in our bed, in our house, and so today, I did the most crazy I’ve ever done and shoved the fucking thing through the window and set it on fire. So, now I need a new mattress before I move to a new place, and—”
Her jaw dropped moments before she clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh my God,” she groaned, muffled behind her fingers. “I’m so sorry. I’m rambling, and I’m sounding crazy. I know you guys close in a couple minutes, and I’m sure you just want to go home and the last thing you want to do is hear the sob story from some crazy bitch who bought a ten-thousand-dollar mattress with her ex-boyfriend’s stolen credit card.”
It was taking my brain a few seconds too long to process everything she had said, but I had listened intently. Marveled by her glossy pink lips and the speed of the words passing between them. I finally exhaled, unaware that I had even been holding my breath, and I laid my hands flat on the counter as I slowly stood up
.
“Listen,” I began, finding myself out of breath from just listening to her. “Ya sound like you’ve had a terrible weekend, and I’d love to help you out, but if you’re makin’ the purchase without him knowin’, I can’t with a clear conscience allow the sale to go through. That’s essentially stealing, and he could get you on fraud.”
Her hands dropped and her arms hung limply at her sides. The excitable speed-talker had drained away, leaving behind this other woman, clearly broken and beaten without a bed to lay herself on. Her eyes glistened and she sniffed loudly, using her long fingers to wipe a tear away before it could even leave its watery trail along her cheekbone.
“I’m really sorry,” I threw in for good measure, hating myself for being so careful with a book of rules to follow. For playing a part in her tears.
“No, it’s not your fault,” she said with a shaky voice. “I can’t believe I pushed the fucking thing out the window and threw a match on it. I don’t do shit like that, you know? I don’t play with matches, like … ever. I mean, for crying out loud, I don’t even burn candles! I use an electric wax burner, and it sits on a little plate on my kitchen counter without anything being—” Her lips stopped moving again, hung on the sentence, and she shook her head. “No, wait. It’s not my kitchen counter anymore. It’s his. Not even ours—his.”
Her fingertips pressed against one temple, as though her head were all of a sudden killing her. Maybe she wished it would, with the heartbreak emanating from her like an aura. I could see it: glowing a moody shade of blue, haloing around her perfectly styled hair, encasing her slender body. She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing harder on the temple, and I knew I had to say something. I had to remedy the situation in the only way I could, and I dropped back into my chair, tapping along the screen.
“Okay, so you’re gonna need a pretty big truck.”
Her eyes snapped open. “What?”
“To transport the mattress,” I clarified. “You’ll need a truck. You ordered a California King, so it’s big.”
“W-what are you doing?” she stammered, blinking rapidly and playing with the end of her braid.
“Selling you a mattress.” I looked up from the screen.
“B-but why?” Her voice trembled, her hands smoothing over the strap of her backpack.
“Because …” And I had started the sentence with every intention of continuing it, but what explanation did I have? That I felt sorry for her? That I wanted to make sure she had a bed to sleep on? That I wanted to kill her boyfriend but couldn’t, so this was the next best thing?
“You could get in trouble,” she said quietly. She pulled her plump bottom lip between her teeth, biting gently. A line deepened between her brows. She was worried. “What if I just, um, put it on my own credit card?”
I looked up at her, arching a brow. “It’s none of my business—none of it is, really—but can you even afford this? You know it’s a ten-thousand-dollar mattress, and that’s the sale price.”
Closing her eyes again, she shook her head. “No, I really can’t. Maybe, um … Fuck,” she mumbled, fingers pressed to her temple, “why did I burn the fucking bed?”
“People do crazy things when their heart’s been broken,” I said gently. “My brother got his heart broken once and slept with a girl he feckin’ hated.” And why I told her that, I couldn’t say. I scarcely talked to strangers, outside of customers, and I certainly didn’t divulge the personal business of my family to someone I just met.
The blonde nodded, hands clenching around the backpack strap. “Hey, they say getting over someone is best when getting underneath someone else.” She said it too matter-of-factly for it to be an implication of anything, but the words sent a lightning bolt of blood right to my groin.
After clearing my throat and licking my lips, I said, “That’s all well and good, but he found out two months later that he had gotten her pregnant.” Her brows raised with curiosity, and I shrugged. “He married the girl and was stuck for ten years.”
“It happens sometimes,” she nodded thoughtfully.
I smiled and replied, “Yeah, and sometimes people set their mattresses on fire.”
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS |
Let’s see if I can get through this without forgetting anybody …
My family & friends: It always goes without saying that you will be listed first. You put up with my crap. All of those hours spent tuning you out for the sake of my imaginary friends. I’d like to say I’m sorry for that, but let’s be real here … I’m not. But thank you for accepting it for what it is.
Danny: There’s a lot to thank you for, mostly for being you and my type of unconventional. But right now, I want to thank you for this cover, because Jesus Christ, it is the embodiment of everything this book is, and you didn’t even read it. Color me impressed! Thank you for that, and for everything else.
Jess: I am thankful for YouTube because it brought me you and this partnership we’ve developed. You are amazing and valuable beyond words. I love that you are my friend. I love that you love my books. I also love that you love that red pen, because you’re really good at using it.
Jodi: I never like to single any one person out, because then I risk sounding like an ass for forgetting someone crucial, but right now … I’m singling you out. Because you, my friend, are a blessing. A miracle. A feckin’ unicorn. Much of where I am right now, in this moment, is partially because of you, and I cannot thank you enough for that. Also, this blurb is incredible, and you’ve got that job until the world ends.
Jon McLaughlin: I’m thanking you for having the best music to write to, and for being cool on Twitter.
My Dear Readers, old and new: I love you most of all. Thank you for reading. Thank you for encouraging me. Thank you for randomly bombarding me with pictures of Matt Bomer.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR |
Kelsey Kingsley lives in New York with her family and a cat named Ethel.
She believes that there is nothing better than a good doughnut and a cup of tea, and that there is a song for everything.
OTHER BOOKS from KELSEY KINGSLEY |
Holly Freakin’ Hughes
One Night to Fall (Kinney Brothers #1)
To Fall for Winter Page 14
