Licks

by Kelly Siskind

  August, however, glared at me from inside the exit. “A bad stomach? I just love my refried beans?”

  I swirled my hand in a dramatic flourish. “I was in character.”

  “And now rumors will spread that I get the shits.”

  I didn’t even try to curb my snickering. “Everyone uses the bathroom and puts their pants on one leg at a time. You’re no different, Mr. Rock God.”

  A sweet blush highlighted his cheekbones. He dropped his gaze and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m no rock god. I just play music.”

  His modesty had my heart tripping over itself. “Don’t downplay what you do.” When he didn’t reply, I said, “I lied, by the way—at my mother’s house. I listen to your music all the time. It’s brilliant.”

  He glanced at me through his thick lashes. One beat dragged into two. “Thank you,” he said softly.

  Forget tripping. My heart freefell, taking my belly with it. And my IQ. It was nice to be joking with him again, talking about real things, even as my wits scattered, but his earlier reserve lingered. He hadn’t moved to touch my back or hold my hand.

  When with my friends, I never hesitated calling them on their bullshit. I believed in laying your cards on the table, being honest with those in your life. After my WTF, I’d realized too late how vital it was to be honest with yourself. Yet here I was, since August had parachuted into my life, hemming and hawing, thinking more than speaking. Keeping the depths of my thoughts on mute.

  “We should take off,” I said. “Before someone breaks into our cars.” Not the thing I should have said. It was the easy thing. The don’t get hurt thing. “We’ll need to read more of my mother’s diary, search for more clues.”

  He cast a dark glance at the street beyond the exit. “Best to meet somewhere else, a bar or something that doesn’t come with men who want your sugar.”

  Heading to our separate vehicles meant another round of erratic driving. I was bound to lose my license before I officially lost my mind. “Maybe we should pare down to one car? We can meet at my apartment. Go through the diary there, then stick together after.”

  His eyes dropped to my chest, then skimmed up to my neck and face, lower again to my breasts and hips. The zig-zagged pattern tied me into knots. “Sure,” he said.

  I looked back in the direction of the glass case, where my mother’s photo was tucked inside. A strange pressure cramped my lungs, as though fresh oxygen lay that way. Answers. Stones I had yet to turn. But there were no more clues leading to my father. Nothing here would help me find him.

  August placed his arm around me as we pushed outside, shielding me with his body. A silly effort. Although a few panhandlers called out for cash, no one paid us much attention. Not that I minded leaning into his side. We arrived at my car too soon.

  I gave him my address, and he followed me home and up the stairs to my apartment. I put my key in the lock like I had a thousand times before. I opened my door by rote, but I didn’t enter the space.

  Not with August behind me, ready to enter as well.

  My place looked stark from this angle, my surfboard and mountain bike hidden from view. All that lay ahead were empty slate walls, an Outside magazine splayed on the kitchen counter, a shopping list stuck to the fridge. August was about to walk into my home, my life, and learn things about me. Discover the woman I’d become. What struck me harder, though, the blow that had me frozen in place, was that he hadn’t fully known me all those years ago, either. Not really.

  He’d seen what I’d let him see. He’d heard what I’d chosen to say, never fully speaking my heart. Even when tipsy and texting on my nineteenth birthday, I’d diluted the truth, hinting at an older crush, not admitting I’d still loved him irrevocably.

  I had no clue how long he was in town, if our lives could converge, or if this was a wild waystation we’d been stranded on. He’d made the first step, at the restaurant, blurting our history to our friends. It was my turn to offer some blunt honesty, share the extent of my feelings for him back then: hiding from them had never served me in the past.

  All he had to do was open my closet door and see the August Cruz poster tacked inside. Proof my feelings hadn’t diluted much. (Note to self: remove at first opportunity.)

  “Gwen?” His hesitant voice was close, just behind me.

  Gathering the strength that served me when powering through an insane workout, when I was sure my lungs would give out and my legs would buckle, I turned to my former best friend, and said, “I loved you.”

  7:00 p.m., 29 hours…

  August

  My abs flexed, like her words had struck my gut. Adrenaline spiked my heart rate. It took three rough breaths to compute what tense she’d used.

  Loved not love. Past not present.

  Even worse was the heavy disappointment that crushed me at the realization.

  She clutched her mother’s diary in one hand, her keys in the other. I didn’t cup her cheeks the way I ached to, or pull her into my arms. I kept picturing her face when she’d spoken about her job, how much she loved it. How she’d found her life’s purpose. A life that didn’t include traipsing around Europe with a touring musician.

  But, man, the rawness in her voice. “When?”

  A sad sigh slipped past her lips. “I don’t know. For as long as I can remember. Like, as kids, being around you made it hurt to breathe. During high school it got worse, especially at the end. And that shitty, lonely year after. Not just because of the lonely part, me building it up in my head.”

  She tossed her keys and purse and diary on the floor behind her. Like she was angry. “I’m not talking about a teenage crush here, August. This was bone-deep love. And I was sure you didn’t feel the same. I thought you pitied me. Or it was my own lame excuse to push you away. I pushed everyone away. It’s what I did. Sorry. God.” She covered her face with her hands. “I’m not making sense.”

  But she did make sense. Too much sense.

  Hand jammed into my pocket, I flipped my guitar pick over. Her texts nine years ago had hinted at the intensity of her feelings. That Zap she inspired had leapt from my phone the second I’d seen her name. This morning, at her mother’s, the way she’d spoken and the heat in her eyes had said all she hadn’t. My instant connection to her had been just as strong.

  It had never faded. Not fully.

  I’d tried to make sense of this Gwen habit over the years, how I’d pull that zoo picture up on my computer, stare at her, miss her. An addiction I could never kick. Each wallow session ended in sad songs sung. So, yeah…I understood what it was to feel like the marrow had been sucked from your bones, the hollowness that lingered. Nine years of emptiness. Nearly eleven if her previous silent treatment counted.

  I also recognized the way she was breathing harder now, eyes round and wide. Filled with doubt and longing—hope that this second chance would stick.

  I stepped toward her, a fraction closer. She had loved me. She loves me, my body and soul taunted. Whatever the tense, her truth had me addled. It was why I’d backed away from her earlier. This was not a woman I could casually fuck. That kiss in the street had resounded through me, like a tuning fork had vibrated through my blood.

  This was a woman meant to be worshipped, strummed, discovered, possessed.

  And she had a life here she loved. Friends. A great job. Not to mention I was helping her track down a deceased man.

  Letting this go any further would be irresponsible. That didn’t stop my honesty from matching hers. “I loved you, too. I realized it when I started resenting Finch hanging around us. I hated him making you laugh, hated you wrestling with him or running through the sprinklers together. I wanted you to myself, but I also knew I was all you really had. That thought scared the crap out of me.”

  Her hand floated up to her neck. “Why?”

  “If we didn’t work, where would that have left you? With friends like Kayla who only ever wanted to social climb? Feed you false information, so she could make her move o
n me?” I shook my head. “I couldn’t risk it.”

  “You knew Kayla did that?”

  “Not until much later. The night I broke up with her, when…everything went down, she didn’t walk away easily. She badgered me awhile, and when she figured out something happened with you, she told me you hated being my charity case. That what we had hadn’t been real. She framed it in a catty way to make you look bad, but it was easy to read between the lines, that she’d turned those tables on you, too. At the time, it was more shit heaped onto a shit pile. But I know you, Gwen. I understand how your mother beat you down. How one word from someone like Kayla would infect you.”

  Her spine went rigid. “My mother never hit me. I would have told you.”

  “Emotional abuse is just as bad.”

  She winced, and it crushed me. I’d walked in once, unannounced, to overhear Mary Hamilton call her only child worthless. Stupid. The word disgusted had been used. Always in that acrid tone, like Gwen was lice stuck in her hair.

  “Thing is,” I shut the door and inched forward, walking until we were in her kitchen, her back pressed to her island countertop, “you never cowered when she laced into you. You would lift your chin and take it. Stand taller. I never pitied you, Gwen. I was amazed by you.”

  She tilted her head to meet my eyes. Disbelief shone. “Really?”

  “Oh, honey. I was in awe of you.” I planted my hands on either side of her, caging her body against the counter. The space between us swelled with nine years of bridled heat.

  “But you don’t know me now,” she said, her voice breathless. “I also wasn’t fully honest with you earlier, when you asked why I slept with Finch.”

  My grip on the counter stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  “You asked if I did it to hurt you, and I think part of me did. Aside from being sad and lonely, and wishing Finch was you, I was devastated when I saw that stupid picture of Kayla. I was angry and knew sleeping with Finch would hurt you. I knew, and I did it. I wanted you to feel my pain.” She finally touched me, her hands branding my chest. “I’m sorry. It was so wrong.”

  My first instinct was to wrench away from her and pace an angry line, but to what end? Feed the demons that had chased me these long years? Try to surgically remove this woman who lived under my skin? I’d only cut myself. “I understand,” I offered instead.

  But she curved forward, her shoulders sloping in dismay.

  “Look at me, Gwen.” When she lifted her head, I held her chin between my fingers. “You loved me. I loved you. We should have done something about it, but we didn’t. We hurt each other instead. But what I see in front of me now is a fresh start with the only person who knows I love Gilmore Girls and who spreads rumors I get the shits from eating beans.”

  That earned me a smile. “I should run your fan club.”

  She should be the goddamn president. I erased the inches separating us, pressed my hips into hers. My dick lengthened, got hot and heavy. She mewled at the contact, her hands snaking around my waist. She pulled me into her.

  Lust blasted up my thighs. “Please tell me you want this, too. Because being with you is killing me. I’ve never wanted anything so badly as I want you right now. You have no idea.”

  She latched her leg around mine and rolled her hips. “Then stop talking and start kissing.”

  I slammed my mouth onto hers. There was no holding back the years I’d fought our pull, the eternity I’d dreamed of sinking into Gwen. My thrusts rocked her into the sharp counter, my lips working hers open. She let me in, sucked on my tongue, my bottom lip. I palmed her ass and pressed into her.

  Her aggression rivaled mine. She pushed back so hard I lost my grip on the counter and tumbled to the floor, taking her with me. Because I wouldn’t let her go. Not now. Maybe never. Fuck, I had Gwen Hamilton in my arms, under me, on her apartment floor. Abruptly, I shoved my hand up her shirt. She gasped. My knuckles skimmed her taut stomach until her breast was in my greedy grasp. Her bra was lacy, her nipples hard buds beneath. My cock throbbed with each squeeze of my palm.

  Gripping my hair in unforgiving fists, she rutted against me and sucked on my neck, her jeans abrading mine so wildly sparks were sure to light. I thrust harder; she cried out. We were dry-fucking like a couple desperate teens.

  “Jesus, Gwen. I can’t last like this. I need you so fucking bad.”

  “If I don’t fuck you in the next three seconds, I’ll die.”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “Then get to work.”

  A command I’d happily follow. She pushed up my shirt and yanked at my belt buckle. I made quick work of dragging off her jeans, but mine only made it to my knees. My hand was in her underwear, the slick heat of her obliterating me. “You’re so wet.”

  She writhed beneath me and cupped me over my briefs. “That’s all for you.”

  A gift I’d never have dared wished for. The pressure of her hand on my cock, rubbing brazenly, had my eyes rolling to the back of my head. She pulled at my waistband, so hard she trapped my hips against hers. I eased her back. “Easy, sweetheart. I need space to get them off. And we need a condom.”

  “No.” She stilled beneath me, both of us breathing hard. “I’m on the pill. Are you clean?”

  Christ. Bare and balls deep in Gwen Hamilton? Fresh fire leapt up my thighs. “I’m careful and I get tested.”

  “Me too.”

  And I was about to lose my load.

  My ass flexed as we shoved my briefs down, my cumbersome clothing hooked around my knees. Her tank top was shoved above her bra. My shirt was still on, too, hiked high enough that our abdomens touched. Warm skin on warm skin. Gwen’s skin against mine. Sweet anticipation spiraled through me, and the instant her hand circled my rigid flesh, I bucked. It wasn’t pretty. It was instinct. Her hot palm played me, my hard length singing in response. I’d never been burned up by desire. Not like this, riled and flushed with wanting.

  The hard floor didn’t matter. We could be locked in a prison cell for all I cared. All that mattered was her willing body under mine, my best friend about to become so much more.

  I kissed her neck, sucked on her ear. She guided me to her entrance, a firm grip that didn’t waver. I should have slowed down, eased into her, but the second I felt her cleft, the very center of her, I thrust in. “Gwen, fuck. Oh, fuck.” My Gwen.

  The words tore from my throat. Her name resonated in my chest, ringing with rightness.

  She clawed my ass. “August, God. How do you feel this good?”

  “I’m so hard, baby. So hard inside you.”

  Her inner walls clenched, sucking me deeper. I spasmed at the hot tug. I didn’t slow. I couldn’t. Hard, fast strokes followed. Skin slapping. My forearms and knees dug into the hardwood floor, Gwen’s body caged below me. We locked eyes, our mouths open but not touching. We traded grunts and pants, but the intensity didn’t allow for kissing.

  There was also a hint of anger in each snap of my hips. Uncensored bitterness for what she’d done, her one senseless act stealing almost a decade from us. But it played like a dead note, a muffled guitar string that enhanced the backbeat. Made it what it was. This was our time.

  Now, not then. Anger and all.

  It whipped through me, coupled with the way Gwen’s eyes shone with tears, our lips still brushing but not connecting, her knees drilled into my sides.

  Anyone else, and what we were doing would be fucking. Not with Gwen. This was making love to the woman I’d dreamed of most of my life.

  Real, raw, wild.

  “August.” She panted my name. “I’m so close.”

  We clutched each other like this was the only moment we’d ever have.

  “I’m gonna explode the second you let go.” I slammed harder into her, nearly winding myself.

  “Oh, wow. Yeah. That. Don’t stop that.”

  I growled my approval, loved her asking for what she needed. I was on a thin wire, my thighs screaming for release, my balls drawing up tight. When she c
alled my name again, it soared with a sharp cry, her pussy clamping on me so tightly my release detonated—a fast, hot surge that blasted down my spine. It lasted an eternity, each convulsion blinding.

  I kissed her then, finally, pressing my cock deeper inside her, fucking her mouth with my tongue as the waves lessened. Her tears stuck to my cheeks. I kissed her eyelids, the underside of her jaw. Worked my way back to her perfect mouth.

  I couldn’t get enough.

  I also had to tread carefully.

  Explaining I’d ruined her opportunity to meet her father could mean this would never happen again. It could wreck our fresh start. There was nothing to be done at this point, no bringing the man back, but I could be with her on this journey, support her when she found out. Maybe we’d learn more about him during the process. If I told her the truth now, she’d stop following the clues. She’d push me away.

  Both outcomes unacceptable.

  I rotated my hips, still high on the heaven of her. “My knees are skinned.”

  She laughed and wrapped her arms and legs around me. “My ass is bruised.”

  “What a glorious ass it is.”

  “You didn’t even see it.”

  “I squeezed it. And I plan to see it shortly.”

  She clasped me closer. “That just happened.”

  I rubbed my nose up her ear. “It did. And it better happen again.”

  “Don’t pull out yet.”

  Her heart raced, a rapid percussion against my chest. Pounding with anxiety? “I’m not going anywhere, Possum.”

  Except that wasn’t true. Another unpleasant reality. I had to get on a plane in less than two days.

  Gwen

  I trailed my nails down August’s scalp, and he sighed. When I clenched my core, a delicious rumble moved through his chest. Little things. New things. Precious discoveries I wanted to hoard.

  He pressed soft kisses all over my face. “Stay here. I’ll get a cloth to clean you up.”

  I flinched as he pulled out, the emptiness instant, but when he tripped kicking off his jeans and briefs, we both laughed; the silly intimacy of it filled me back up. The way he reached behind him and yanked off his T-shirt had my laugh trembling into a moan.