Page 32 of Licks

Rachel pursed her lips. “Fine, but call if you need us, and we’re hitting the gym tomorrow. Come if you can. If Ainsley signs up for a step class, we can watch her trip and glare at the instructor.”

One of my favorite pastimes, and I’d hate to miss our gym time. I saw Rachel too rarely now, her Napa Valley life making our visits precious. “I’ll do my best. It just might be a shorter session than usual.”

Meeting them early shouldn’t derail my search, and something told me I’d need the girl time.

“Does that mean we’re getting out of here?” August’s leg pulled away from mine. The loss of contact was worse than if I’d found myself marooned in the tundra, cold and alone.

I nodded quickly, wondering if he’d press his hand to my lower back as we left, or walk ahead and not glance back. He did one better. He waited for me to stand and join him, then he threaded our fingers together.

My best friend, the boy I’d loved my entire life, was holding my hand.

Goose bumps erupted up my arms.

Rachel blew me a kiss. “Call if you need me.”

Ainsley copied her move. “What she said.”

“We’re heading on a run in the morning,” Owen told August. “Boys only. We’ll talk about the girls behind their backs. You should come.”

August grinned. “How could I turn that down?”

“I’ll plant a wire on him,” Ainsley fake-whispered to Rachel.

The boys joked about running naked, giving August and me a chance to leave before Ainsley unleashed more of her scary threats.

But I was gone hours ago.

So far gone for August Cruz.

He was a slight step ahead of me. I followed close on his heels until we were outside. We paused, fingers intertwined. He faced me and ran his thumb over the back of my hand. It was a simple brush, but there was nothing simple about touching August.

We both glanced at our clasped hands. My breath faltered. The past few days had been warm for April, the heatwave steaming the evenings, too. Being with August made it steamier. People passed us on the street, a blurred parade of figures. Music drifted from passing cars. Scents of gasoline and rubber permeated the air, all sensations drifting to the background.

August wound both our arms around my back, pulling me against him. “You look beautiful, Possum.”

His nickname for me pinched my heart. As kids, I’d pretend to sleep sometimes while we’d watch TV, like a deceiving possum playing dead. I’d then bolt upright to scare the living shit out of him. A screeching August was supremely entertaining.

I tilted my head back to look into his eyes, every memory we’d shared reflected in those hazel pools. “I’ve missed that nickname.”

His free hand came to my cheek, knuckles brushing it gently. “I’ve missed you. It was always there, under my skin, in every song, but I didn’t realize how much until today. My heart is fucking racing.”

God, this man. I squeezed our laced palms and unfurled my other over his sternum. Over his heart. Need bellowed in that thundering beat. “You don’t smell like grass.”

He wrinkled his nose. “I used to smell like weed?”

“Like grass, dummy. The lawn mowing business.”

He smiled and shook his head lightly. “We can roll around in a park, if you want.” He sucked on his bottom lip while eyeing mine.

Lord have mercy. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Oh, it’s happening.” He gripped my hand tighter, pulled me closer, brushed his nose against mine. Then he stepped back. “But not here. I’m not wasting our first kiss on a sidewalk, surrounded by people.”

“It’s not our first kiss,” I blurted, pointing out the massive blemish on our history. Making out with August while Finch had dealt with his condom had been the world’s worst first kiss.

Way to go, Gwen.

His attentions drifted over my shoulder, tilting up to the cloud-dotted sky. He closed his eyes. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Here we were—touching, flirting, finally on the same page—and I go and mention my WTF.