Page 29 of Licks

August

“You, my man, have balls of iron.” Jimmy shook his head at me, pretty much all he and Owen had done since the girls’ not-so-subtle bathroom dash.

I’d gotten away with staying mum while our waitress came by and I decided on a beer, but there was no avoiding the grenade I’d launched. “My history with Gwen is complicated.”

Owen shifted his chair forward. “I thought I had it rough with my ex-wife, but your situation seems sticky as hell. Actually…” He frowned at the blackboard menu above the bar. “Ainsley crushed on my brother before we met. If Emmett was straight, she would have slept with him. Hate to think where that would have left us.” He rubbed his chest.

I was well acquainted with that pain. “I’ve been angry with her a long time.”

Jimmy leaned his elbows on the table, dark eyes narrowing. He looked like a brute in this kitschy bar, daisies on the lime green tables, birds painted on the walls. “If you said that to upset her before, as nice as it’s been seeing you, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Under different circumstances, his hard tone would have my shoulders bunching toward my ears, but the ultimatum meant Gwen had people who cared for her.

“I didn’t.” I rubbed this salty day from my eyes, unsure how much to say. I rarely spoke with Finch anymore. My bandmates were cool, but we didn’t sit up at night braiding one another’s hair and swapping stories. I hadn’t seen these guys in twelve years, but some friendships defied the laws of time.

I shoved my right hand into my jeans pocket, finding one of my guitar picks. I spun it in circles. “I’ve had it bad for Gwen for as long as I can remember, and for a bunch of stupid reasons on both our parts, we never acted on how we felt. The closest we ever got was the day she turned nineteen, and she slept with my twin. But seeing her now…” My body hummed at the thought of her. “I’m tired of letting one fuck-up ruin our chances. Not sure I can let her walk away this time.”

Studying her packed box filled with our memories had knocked my head clear. She hadn’t let go of me, like I hadn’t let go of her, even though I’d tried.

I’d driven to my hotel afterward, unable to shake thoughts of her. My bitterness had dripped into the drain as I’d showered, imagining Gwen under that hot stream with me. It had thinned into nothing as I’d dressed and hopped in my car, jumpy and nervous. Not because I dreaded seeing Gwen.

Because I couldn’t wait to be with her again, anywhere near her, touching her, breathing her in.

One afternoon, and I was hooked.

Jimmy stared at me like I had carrots dangling from my nose. “So you thought you’d share your history with the group?”

I released the guitar pick and passed my hand over my mouth, wishing I’d sewn it shut. “It kind of slipped out. I’m tired of us tiptoeing around each other.”

He barked out a laugh. “It kind of slipped out. Have you met these girls? Ainsley will eat you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” The asshole kept laughing.

If making our history non-taboo helped Gwen and me rediscover our footing, it was worth it. Getting over her night with Finch would still be a tough wall to scale, but we’d made huge strides earlier, and walking away now would leave me with less closure than before. Just a few hours with her had lyrics looping through my head, odd fragments I’d been jotting down since I’d left her mother’s.

Time licks wounds. Touch remembers. Infinite flames.

Finch’s betrayal had been more personal, complications that had stemmed from decisions made prior to that shit-storm. Gwen, I could forgive, and I meant what I’d told her earlier: I was done analyzing my actions. If I wanted to flirt with her, I would. If I wanted to touch her, tease her, kiss her, I would.

I just had to figure out what to do about her mother’s letter and the news it brought.

I could come clean, explain how I’d ignored a dying woman’s wishes to share Gwen’s father’s name. How I’d needed time to process before facing the only woman I’d ever loved. Feelings that still lingered all these years later. I could tell her I waited and delayed, procrastinating like a prick, and when I finally looked up her father the other day, to make sure he wasn’t a drunk or druggie, or some skeeze who’d hurt her, the intel I discovered had punched me in the gut.

I’d sat in my car afterward, eyes squeezed to the point of pain, wishing I could turn back time.

But her father had died of a heart attack.

Eight days prior.

I’d sat on his name for two months. Because of my procrastination, Gwen would never meet her father. Because of me, she’d never talk to him and find the missing pieces of her puzzle.

The waitress set down my beer, and I grabbed it, thankful to busy my hands.

Owen reached over, knocking his bottle against mine. “Here’s to finding your feet with Gwen and avoiding Ainsley’s wrath.”

“Of which wrath do you speak?”

Ainsley swayed her hips as she approached, more amusement than ire in the sultry pout aimed at Owen. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Doll, don’t pretend like you aren’t terrifying. Jimmy still needs counseling.”

Ainsley sat primly opposite her boyfriend, folding her hands on the table. Rachel followed and slipped into her seat. I exhaled a long, slow breath as Gwen sauntered forward. Her dark jeans and white tank top worshipped her body, her shoulder-length hair loose and messy. Dark makeup lined her green eyes. She was the picture of cool and casual.