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“Don’t.Okay, really! Truce for real,” I scream. “You’re not uptight!” I yelp and duck my head as syrup slides down my cheek and onto my neck. “Stop, Lorenzo!”

He tips the bottle upright but doesn’t let me go. He leans close so his eyes are a few inches from mine, his arm looped around me and his hand still holding my wrists tight behind my back. “Done shit-talking?”

I nod. “Yes. Done. Got it all out of my system.”

He holds me there, something wicked still dancing in his eyes. I’m not used to this, the heavy breathing and the faces inches apart and the eye contact he refuses to break. And maybe it’s only me, but it feels undeniably sexual.

Then, before I realize what he’s doing, he tilts his head and drags his tongue along my neck, licking away the chocolate syrup and inciting a fire that spreads through me like hot liquid. Then he releases me. I swallow hard, unable to keep my eyes off him as he surveys the mess on the counters and floors and cabinets.What the hell was that?

“Quite a mess you’ve made for yourself.”

I try rather desperately to act like the feel of his tongue on my neck doesn’t have my body buzzing. “For both of us,” I say weakly.

“Nah, you handle it.” He takes a kitchen towel and begins wiping his face and neck. “I have other things to do.”

“Such as?” I try to act like I’m put out by him not helping me clean, but his whole vibe right now—invigorated, self-assured, swaggering—is classic Lorenzo Rossi, and I’ve missed it so much.

“Getting the boat ready.” He gives me a winning smile and turns to head out the back door, his shirt clinging to his shoulder blades where I really nailed him.

God, I love my best friend.

SEVENTEEN

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“You were right, Hayes.”Lorenzo tips his head back against the white cushions on the bow of the boat and closes his eyes to the sun. “I haven’t felt this good in I don’t know how long.”

We’re anchored near the north end of the lake, where it’s quiet enough I don’t have to worry about anyone who knows my parents spotting the boat.

“See? I know what you need.” And then, because that sounded vaguely sexual and I still haven’t recovered from the hotness of him licking syrup off my skin, I add, “The lake has always been our spot.” I push the little blue cooler we brought on board toward him. “Care to indulge?”

He looks at me, and a conspiratorial smile forms on his face. “I guess one beer wouldn’t do much damage.”

I resist the urge to call him uptight and nod. “Do it.”

“You want one?”

I’m tempted. It feels so good to be back here with the sun and the boat and happy, relaxed Lorenzo a foot away. All the best times of my life happened in moments just like this. But a few drinks might sink me deeper into memories than I want. Funny how after all these years, I could still end this day in tears overhim, just like I used to. I can’t keep living like this. “All you,” I tell him.

He opens the cooler and takes out a beer. “Remember how miserable we thought we were in high school? No privacy, no freedom. Small town, private school, parents always on our back. This lake was our one escape.”

“Don’t forget booze and drugs.”

A dark look crosses his face. “Yeah, we leaned way too heavy on that escape.” He shakes it off. “But out here life felt good.”

“Well, yeah, when you’re getting laid constantly.”

“Who?”

I laugh. “You!”

“Getting laid constantly? What are you talking about?”

“You are so full of shit!”

He sits up while I try not to notice the fact that two weeks of recovery has done absolutely nothing to diminish Lorenzo’s hard, sculpted abs. “No, hold on, I need to hear this. I think I’d remember getting laid constantly.”

“Would you like me to refresh your memory?”