Page 98 of Second Position
“Are you trying to fuck me on my serene morning hike, Grant Fielder?” I ask, my teeth worrying at my bottom lip as I suppress my over eager grin.
“I’m letting you know that if you’d like me to fuck you on yourserene morning hike, I’d be more than happy to oblige,” he counters with a lazy grin, wetting his lips just before he rolls them together and he has to knowthatis my kryptonite. That or him in a backwards hat. Or both at the same time.
Running my fingers through his hair, down to the nape of his neck, I pull him toward me, pressing my lips against his and it’s euphoric—the way his lips feel, his tongue feels, against mine. He meets me stroke for stroke, ruining me with just his mouth, and my core throbs with anticipation at what he’ll do to the rest of me.
The hike down is that much harder after coming so hard, you see those little floaters you sometimes get when you stand up too fast, but we manage. Well, mostlyGrantmanages—he carries me downhill the last third of the way, without a complaint,gladto do it. And I love him, more and more, deeper and deeper, in these in-between moments: when we’re quietly coasting down a mountain, me on his back; when the playlist’s been on for a while and we stop commenting on the songs, content to just sit in each other’s silence; when he glances over at me, hiseasy smile so calm and content, just before he shuts off his car.
I love him more intensely when I see him with his family, when I watch the way he loves them. I love him more fiercely when I watch some idiot foul him in a game. It just grows and grows—boundless.
We traverse the large, gravel entrance driveway to the mountain home his parents offered up for this friend-cation, stopping short when I see Sloane’s iconic cherry red convertible. Admittedly, it looks like it’s seen better days, but it makes sense after the eighteen hour drive she made from Boston. Why she didn’t just fly is beyond me, but then again, Sloane is oftentimes beyond any of us.
“Ready for summer camp?” Grant grumbles, still not entirely sold on the upsides of spending an entire week with all our friends in a rural cabin. “We could still book a hotel.”
“It’ll befun. Anyway, we have the entire guest wing. I think you can manage doing some paper mache to placate your sister.” I tug him toward the front door, flashing him a hopeful smile. “If you let yourself, I think you’ll even enjoy it.”
“I’ll enjoy it,” he relents, pulling me to him just before I can reach for the handle. “You’re here. That’s all I need.” His lips land on my forehead, pressing a kiss to the salty sweaty skin he’s sure to find there.
“You’re quite the romantic. Anyone ever told you that?” I smirk, about to press another kiss to his lips, when the front door swings open.
“Oh my god, you’re back!” Olivia says a little too loudly, eyes as wide as saucers. Then quietly, so only Grant and I can hear: “S.O.S.”
“What are you talking about?” My brows knit in confusionas I walk through the large doorway, worried that maybe Ben has news about Will, before spying Sloane swinging her feet from where she’s perched on the massive granite slab in the airy kitchen.
I feel Grant tense behind me, stopping in his tracks as the heavy door falls shut. “What are youdoinghere?”
“I told him I’d owe him one,” Sloane says with a slight shrug.
“Jesus Christ,” Grant grumbles, raking his hands through his hair.
Ben stands off to the side, cautiously looking between Grant and his sister, and Liv slowly makes her way back to his side like she’s waiting for a bomb to go off.
“So what we’renotgoing to do,” Sloane says, popping off the counter with graceful ease, “is be rude. I invited him.”
Andrew Spellman sheepishly turns from where he was scouring the fridge, sinking his hands deep into his pockets as he gives Grant a brief nod. “Hope I’m not imposing.” And it’s not so much that it’s Andy. I mean, everyone likes Andy. It’s that he’s herewithSloane, and that Sloane made a point not to tell anyone—that’s what has Grant so on edge.
I watch as Grant’s eyes bounce between the two blondes, attempting to calculate what grave error must have occurred for Sloane and Andy to have shown up here together. He looks at me, and all I can do is shrug.
“I literally know just as much as you do,” I tell him, running my hand up and down his arm. “But the more the merrier, right?” I offer Sloane and Andy, smiling brightly. I feel like I’m playing hostess, and until Evie gets here tonight, I guess I am.
“Thank you,” Sloane mouths, trying her best todownplay the bizarreness of the situation. But Sloane is up to something, and my stomach flips when I consider what it could be.
