CHAPTER ONE
Leighton
Present Day
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had never met Holden Thompson in a capacity other than an official one having to do with his job. Our civilian introduction is kind of a funny story. It involves a shot of whiskey and my first game of truth or dare. In this small town, my last name is synonymous with Moonshine, anything illegal, and now the accident that injured Trevor Trumbolt.
A year and a half ago though, right before Whitney Trumbolt and Ryan Kepler became an item, I’d stood up to my family and had gone to Birmingham for one semester of college. It was the first time I rebelled against them all. I said fuck my last name, my family, and their reputation. I was going to make my own way. Ultimately, I paid for it by being arrested for them. But the night I truly met Holden Thompson is forever ingrained in my brain.
“C’mon Leighton! You mean to tell me you’ve never done anything reckless?”
I swallow the drink of beer I sucked down hard. Reckless? My whole family is reckless, but me? I like to stay on the fringes, obey the law, and do my absolute best to be a good person. Growing up I was lucky if I was able to ride on a different seat on the school bus without someone telling my dad. He believed in keeping a tight leash on who many dubbed the Princess of Moonshine. I figure maybe a half-truth is better than an out-right lie. “Depends on what you mean by reckless.”
One of the other girls we’re sitting with does the shot in front of her, hands me one, and grins at me. “The next man to walk through that door,” she points to the entrance, “is gonna be kissed by you tonight.”
I’ve never played “truth or dare” or any of those games most girls played at sleepovers; truth is, I was never invited. Everyone was scared of my family. This is my shot, in some ways, to experience the pieces of life I’ve never been able to. If that means taking the shot of alcohol in front of me and kissing the next man who walks through that door – no matter how not my type he is, I’ll do it. Even if it’s only to say I’m part of this group.
Tipping my head back, I put the rim of the glass up to my lips and let the heat of the alcohol travel down my throat into my stomach. I can hold my liquor, it’d be an embarrassment to my family if I couldn’t, but even I’m starting to feel the effects of the amount we’ve been partaking in tonight. Hopping down from the bar top table we’ve been occupying, I lick my numb lips and wait to see who fate is going to put in my path.
The door opens and over the bass thumping in the background, I can hear a couple of guys talking to one another. The first one steps forward and my mouth hangs at the jaw. Holden Thompson, commander of The Moonshine Task Force stands in front of me.
I’ve always thought he was one of the hottest men I’ve ever seen in my life. And make no mistake about it – he’s a man. If I had to hazard a guess, he’s probably fifteen years my senior, but he’s never treated me like a little girl when he’s come to our house to question any of the family members who are in trouble. Last time he talked to me like I was almost an equal.
“Leighton?” Those plump, pink-red lips question, an eyebrow raised. That’s when I realize my eyes have gone right to his mouth. Truth be known, I’ve wondered what those lips feel like. They look soft, a softness I’ve never experienced before. The kisses I’ve had before were stolen and rough, leaving me wondering what everyone else went on raving about.
I realize I’ve been glued to the floor for a long time. He’s still got his eyebrow raised, wondering what I’m doing standing in front of him. I take my time walking closer to him, because more than anything, I want to remember this one reckless moment when it doesn’t matter who I am, who he is. No, walking isn’t the correct term. For the first time in my life, I strut; I want a man’s eyes on me, and I want him to appreciate what he’s seeing.
His hair is buzzed, not long like Trevor Trumbolt’s, or full like Ryan Kepler’s. Holden is his own man with his own set of likes and dislikes. His dark, brown eyes look at me, asking the same question his mouth did just a few seconds before. He’s wearing a gray tank top on this hot night; almost summer and sweat is already visible on his biceps. It makes the tattoos he has inked there stand out in stark relief against his tan skin. The lights of the bar reflect off the smooth ridges and planes of his body, casting shadows on parts I’d like to explore.
My hands shake as I shove them to his waist, gripping the cotton of the tank top he wears, dragging him to me. I take him by surprise, but he quickly recovers and takes me the same way. One of my hands leaves his stomach, traveling up to his neck, pulling him down to my level so my lips can capture his. He’s got to be at least six-two to my five-four.
They’re soft and hard at the same time, surprised and demanding as I melt against him, a five o-clock shadow rasping against my smooth face. The kiss I initiated, he takes control of as he digs a hand through my hair cupping the back of my head in his palm.
I don’t know for how long we stand there kissing, making out like teenagers, but I become aware of the hard length of him pressing against my stomach and the tips of my hard nipples rubbing against his chest. I tell myself I have to stop this, it wasn’t supposed to go this far. The dare was one little kiss, not a make-out session capable of landing us in lock up for public indecency.
Pulling back, he chases me, his lips following mine as I retreat. We’re breathing heavily, taking up space between each other’s lips. “I can’t do this,” I whisper.
“You already did,” he reminds me. “But if you have to run, know at some point I’ll chase you. Kisses like this don’t happen every day.”
My stomach clenches at his words, and I grip his waist again, steadying myself before I do just as he said. I shoot past him, run away from the way he’s made me feel, the passion he awakened, and the safety I felt in his arms. What was probably five minutes out of a whole lifetime has opened my eyes and kindled a fire I never even knew I had.
As I fumble with my phone, calling a cab, I wipe my lips, acutely aware that I can still taste him on my tongue and I can smell him on my clothes. Can still feel his lips imprinted on mine, my chin itches from the burn of his whiskers.
Something tells me this could be the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.
Pulling myself out of my memory, I look down at my left hand as I have a seat, lining up the ketchup bottles for The Café. Filling them isn’t necessarily my job, but it’s also not my job, and I’ll do anything to keep myself busy. In the late afternoon sun, the diamond engagement and wedding set catches the light, twinkling against the leather seat of the booth I’m sitting in.
At the time, I’d thought that was the biggest mistake I could ever make. Oh how wrong I was, I can’t help but laugh softly at myself. The kiss was the second biggest mistake I ever made, because in the end I married Holden, and Lord knows that’s going to end up completely breaking my heart.