“Oh, no, they’re not the first,” Corbin says, holding his hands up in the air, one of them holding a bottle of beer. “That title goes to the two of you.” He points to McKenna and me.
“You might want to slow down on those, bud.” I aim to the bottle of beer in his hands. I’m pretending like I don’t know what he’s talking about, yet the memory is my most vivid from my childhood.
“Do you two remember the day I walked in on you two—” He gestures to McKenna and then me. “—in the treehouse, and you were getting married?” He laughs.
“Stop.” McKenna laughs with him. “I was seven.”
Corbin gives me a mischievous grin. “It’s been what? Sixteen years? You think you two still have it in you?” He wags his eyebrows. “I’m thinking we need a reenactment.”
“I think Lara and Colby should do the reenactment,” I speak up, turning the heat from McKenna and me.
“Nope. That’s bad luck,” Corbin fires back.
“No, it’s not,” McKenna argues.
“Yep. It’s bad luck to pretend to marry the person you’re actually going to marry,” Laramie explains. I can tell by the look in my sister’s eyes that she knows she’s talking shit and no such theory exists. I mean, that’s what wedding rehearsals are for, right?
“Colbs, I think we need to cut her off.” McKenna makes a slashing motion across her neck. “She’s had enough.”
“Hush.” Laramie’s grin grows wider. “Besides, it’s not a true reenactment unless it’s the original actors.”
“We’re not actors,” I counter. My sister waves her hand in the air. “And we’re already married,” I say, joking.
“Nope. Single as a Pringle.” McKenna holds up her hand, showing she’s not wearing a ring. That pleases me more than it should.
“What’s the matter, Callahan?” Corbin goads. “You afraid to catch McKenna’s cooties?”
“Are you twelve?” I ask him. My heart races at the thought of my lips touching hers. One time in my life, I kissed her. I was nine years old, and the memory is one I will never forget. I’m twenty-five. What does that say about me?
He brings his beer to his lips and makes a show of draining the bottle. “Nope. Are you a pussy?” he asks.
From beside me, McKenna bursts into laughter.
“Really?” I ask her. I’m trying very hard to remain stone-faced, but I can’t do that when she laughs like that. So carefree. So beautiful.
“If I remember correctly, you volunteered to play with me that day,” she muses, tapping her index finger against her chin.
“You really wanna do this?” My eyes stay trained on hers. There’s a part of me that wants her to say yes, and a part of me that is worried that I won’t be able to stop once my lips mold with hers.
She nods. “I mean, unless you’re scared?” The corner of her mouth tilts up in a smile.
“It’s just a show for our fans,” I say, making them all laugh. “I’m only getting married once in real life. It’s definitely not going to be some snap decision at a bonfire,” I tell them.
“Oh, hush.” My sister laughs. “Just humor me.”
Fuck it. Reaching over, I take the new beer that Corbin just opened out of his hands and down the entire thing. “Let’s do this,” I tell them.
Corbin claps his hands together, as does my sister, as I’m placed on one side of the fire, while McKenna is led to the opposite so she can “walk down the aisle” to me, or at least that’s what Laramie is mumbling about. My hands are sweaty, but I know if I wipe them on my jeans, Corbin will call me out. That fucker never misses anything. Hence the reason we’re performing this little charade. I made the mistake of telling him how good she looked yesterday, and well, now here we are.
My reluctance has nothing to do with being a pussy, or being scared. It’s not because I think McKenna has cooties. I mentally roll my eyes with that one. No, it’s because I’ve had a thing for my sister’s best friend for years. She was the first girl I ever kissed, and tonight, she’s too fucking tempting. Her long brown hair cascades down her back. Those short cutoff jean shorts that make her legs look incredible and that tank top that does nothing to hide the impressive tits that live just below the surface of the fabric. I’m hesitant because I’m not sure once my lips touch hers that I’ll be able to stop. I’ve been fighting this for a long damn time.
At first, I wanted to wait until she graduated. I’m two years older than her, and I thought that was the right thing to do. Then she announced she was accepted to Harvard for prelaw with the dreams of following in her grandpa’s footsteps. Telling her then would have only caused pain for both of us. No way was I going to interfere with her living her dream. This time she’s home for good. She’s back, and I’m not sure I have the willpower to resist her.