Put a Ring On It by Beth Kendrick Page A

bottle, then passed it back. “eHarmony can suck it.”
    â€œOkay, so we have
one
thing in common. But where do we go from here?”
    â€œIs this a rhetorical question? We’re naked, in bed, and rehydrating. To quote the little bronze plate by the front door, ‘Don’t Play Koi.’”
    Brighton laughed and spilled a droplet of Gatorade on the pillowcase. “Oops. No, I mean, what happens in the cold light of day tomorrow? We can’t keep the whole drive-through chapel and mind-blowing-sex thing going indefinitely.”
    â€œWhy not? If you want to spend the rest of the summer jetting around the world and drinking champagne, we can make that happen.”
    She pondered the prospect for a moment. It sounded like adream come true—for someone else. “What about you? Don’t you have to work?”
    â€œDon’t worry about me. Focus on making your screw-up summer worthy of its name.”
    She sat up and kissed him, heedless of his stubble. Somehow, Jake Sorensen even made beard burn feel good.
    And maybe that was okay. Maybe, just for a week or two (or three), she could abandon her ten-year plan and let herself follow her heart. Maybe now was the right time.
    When you know, you know.
    â€œFourteen days and no regrets.” She spilled another drop of orange liquid on the pristine white sheets. She didn’t apologize or race to the bathroom for a washcloth dipped in cold water. She let the stain set and kept kissing her new husband, who tasted like intrigue and Gatorade. “But just tell me one thing: Why me? Why now?”
    He gathered her up in his arms and her whole body melted against him. “Why not?”
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    By the time the moon crested over the dark horizon, Brighton was completely relaxed, completely blissful, and completely exhausted.
    â€œDo you need anything?” Jake asked. “Water? Trail mix? A protein bar?”
    â€œSleep.” She snuggled into the pile of fluffy pillows.
    â€œI’m going to shower.” He kissed the top of her head as he rolled out of bed. “Feel free to pass out.”
    The steady noise of waves crashing on the shore lulled her to sleep, but just as her eyes fluttered closed, her phone beeped.
    She groped for her cell and peered through the darkness at the text from Kira:
Just making sure you’re still alive. Sometimes the charming ones turn out to be sociopaths.
    Brighton hit “call back.” As soon as Kira answered, Brighton demanded to know, “Why are you still awake?”
    â€œOh good, you’re not dead.” Kira sounded more amused than relieved. “Sometimes I have trouble sleeping. And when that happens, I like to stay up and obsess about worst-case scenarios that will probably never happen.”
    â€œLike Jake Sorensen being a duplicitous sociopath?”
    â€œExactly like that.”
    â€œWell, he’s not. But even if he was?
Worth it
.” Brighton was wide-awake again. “I need a new word, Kira. Lust, limerance, longing . . . it’s all of that to the tenth power.”
    â€œNice.”
    â€œHe
is
nice,” Brighton confided. “Yes, he’s the physical equivalent of a Dolce and Gabbana cologne ad and he has a mansion on the beach and an apparently bottomless supply of orange Gatorade—”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNever mind. He has what he has and he looks how he looks, but he seems like a genuinely nice guy.” Brighton paused. “Not a duplicitous sociopath. And not one of those guys who
pretends
to be nice so he can manipulate you into putting up with his bad behavior.”
    â€œAn important distinction,” Kira agreed.
    Brighton nibbled her lower lip as she gazed up at the whitewashed ceiling beams.
    â€œBut . . . ,” Kira prompted.
    â€œBut I have no idea who he actually is.”
    â€œDid you Google?”
    â€œOf course I Googled!”