Page 30 of Licks

She was the only woman I’d ever imagined in my future.

The only one I wanted in my bed now.

Today. This minute.

My calves tightened, my toes contracting, every bone in my body tense and alive. Heat stroked my groin. I gripped my beer, hoping the cold, damp bottle would tame the fire smoking through my veins. I launched her my most charming smile. “Glad you made it back.”

Before she could answer, Ainsley pinned me with her feisty blue eyes. “Ignore the counseling crack. Owen’s just talking about the time I threatened to leave a candiru fish in Jimmy’s toilet bowl. The ones that swim up a urine stream into a guy’s penis and gnaw on its flesh?” She rolled her eyes, as though the comment didn’t send my nuts running for my stomach. “Which is silly, really. It’s nothing like that smallpox virus. You get that sucker, and you don’t have a clue for a week or two, and then bam. Pus-filled blisters are everywhere. In your nose and mouth, covering your entire body. And when they rupture?” She shivered dramatically. “You’d be wishing for a fish gnawing on your junk. So like I said to Jimmy, don’t hurt my friend.”

She punctuated the horrifying threat with a grin.

My face felt as green as Jimmy’s looked. “Your girlfriend is terrifying,” I muttered to Owen.

His eyes turned hazy as he stared at her. “She’s one of a kind.”

I might have to reevaluate what horrors I’d walk through to reach Gwen, but the way she was laughing under her breath, a slight shake to her shoulders, it was worth the nauseating visuals.

Jimmy berated Ainsley for ruining his appetite, but he opened a menu anyway, the four of them debating which appetizers we’d share.

I barely listened, couldn’t tell you what music played, or how full the bar was. All I saw was Gwen, and the amusement draining from her face. She leaned forward. “Were you trying to hurt me before, saying what you did?”

As much as I believed we needed to speak openly about what had happened, not sweep it under the rug like we’d done for nine years, I regretted the comment. “It just came out.”

Her eyes widened. “It just came out?”

I stretched my legs under the table, making contact with her shin. “You’re repeating me again.”

“Because you’re not making sense again. Comments like those don’t just come out.”

No, they didn’t. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Gwen. If I did, I’m sorry. But I’m tired of pretending it didn’t happen. It did. It sucked. And I’m ready to move on. Question is, are you?”

She glanced at our friends, who were going out of their way to give us privacy. She slid her attention back at me. “Move on how?”

I could tell her I had every intention of living out my teenage fantasies: Gwen grinding on me, me thrusting into her, slow and deep, my tongue writing songs between her strong thighs. I still had a tour to finish, another album to write, a life in Europe. Gwen’s life was a big unknown.

She didn’t do social media anymore, my creeping of her over the years unearthing zero intel. I had no clue what she did for a living, or if she’d entertain the notion of traveling with me, but my mind was already there.

To the two of us racing down narrow cobbled streets, stopping to kiss in the rain, laughing as we mangled German translations, feeding each other baguettes and cheese in France.

Jesus. I’d seen Gwen for half a day, and I was fifty steps ahead, practically naming our kids. But that wasn’t what she was asking. We were on fragile footing, late winter ice still lingering after a harsh season. “For starters,” I said, nudging her leg closer with mine, “I’d be happy to make an agreement.”

Her leg didn’t move, but her eyebrows did, drawing close together. “You’re being mighty cryptic, Cruz.”

“Then I’ll simplify things for you.” I sat straighter, squaring my chest and heart. Hoping she’d judge my honesty. “I’m interested in you, Gwen Frances Hamilton. I miss you and feel like our potential slipped through our fingers, but it’s not too late to try and get it back. So I want to move on, with you in my life. As friends, if that’s all you can handle. But I’m hoping for more. I’d at least like for us to try, for you to agree to give us a shot.” I knocked back a swallow of beer. “Is that clear enough?”

No more games. No more subtle flirting. The only regrets in life were the risks we didn’t take, and I was done letting my past undermine my future.

Her throat bobbed, a few slow slides that had me shifting on my seat. A blush stained her nose and cheeks. Had I gone too far? Was she about to bail on me?

But her calf pressed closer to mine. Even through my jeans, awareness splintered through me. Sudden. Fiery. Biting. Like my body was designed to respond to Gwen’s alone.

“That’s plenty clear, August Eugene Cruz.” She emphasized the middle name she knew I hated. Just like she hated hers. Way back when, it would have rankled me. Tonight, in the light of our new understanding, it was a gift. “Which leads me to my earlier question.”

“You want help learning to pole vault?”

“You seem kind of obsessed with the sport.”

“You have no idea.” My voice sounded so damn thick.