Page 31

TWENTY-FIVE

ruby

As soon as I see Lorenzo’s text on Saturday evening— Meet me on our dock —a thrill ripples through me.

Our dock.

I pull up to a cedar-shingled bungalow a few lots down from my parents’ place, the house and its evergreen-studded grounds entirely dark except for one dim, flickery light bulb illuminating a small side porch.

Like always. I roll down the windows, hungry for the earthy, wet scent that means I’m home.

No one has lived in the house since we were young kids, the owners long since having moved to assisted living.

But the story in the neighborhood went that they didn’t want it sold as long as they were alive.

It might have been the perfect house to party in or at least try out some vandalism skills, but none of us touched it, probably because we all remembered the owners as sweet old folks who gave out full-size candy bars on Halloween and had the most impressive Christmas lights in the neighborhood.

Instead, Lorenzo and I claimed the dock as ours.

It was our spot when we wanted to get away from our parents but didn’t want to run into any other friends.

And despite the proximity to both our houses, the thick line of trees that separated each property and the fortunate curve of the shoreline meant we were completely out of our parents’ sight.

As I slip through overgrown weeds in the yard, I spot Lorenzo on the dock in one of the old weather-beaten chairs we hauled out here years ago, the lantern at his feet providing the only light. Beyond him, the lake is dark emptiness.

“What’s up, Hayes?” He smiles at me over his shoulder.

I sidestep a splintered wooden plank and lean over the back of his chair to plant a kiss on his cheek, savoring the gritty feel of his stubble on my lips. It could be a friend greeting, but it’s not. “I have good news.”

“Hold on. Is this going to need a cheers? Because this beer’s kicked.” He holds up an empty bottle.

“No.” I glance at the small assortment of unopened beer cans and bottles under his chair. “Okay, yeah, let’s do it. It’s pretty damn good news.” I grab a can for each of us and take the empty chair next to his. “I just got the call before I got in the car: I got my aquarium job back.”

“You’re kidding. The same job? How did you pull that off?”

“Charm.”

“You walked in there wearing your strip club outfit, right?”

“It just so happens they were desperate. And even then they definitely wanted to tell me no, but I guess the fish were hungry.” I bump my beer can against his and take a drink.

“Damn, you’re good.” He takes a swallow of his beer and looks at me. “I was kidding about the strip club outfit.”

“No, it’s okay. I think now that we’re .

.. whatever.” A blush creeps over my cheeks.

“You can say stuff like that.” I don’t know if I love or hate the awkwardness that comes over us when we stray into this territory of acknowledging that we are, in fact, more than friends.

The excited strain of it is unsustainable.

But just as quickly we’re us again, the way we’ve always been.

Lorenzo listens to me gush about the details of my new job, and then he tells me about the dopey freshman football player his coach wants him and his buddies to show around the school.

Later, we move to the edge of the dock to let our feet hang in the cool water. Lorenzo’s arm is out of the sling, and I run my fingers along the skin, pale in contrast to the rest of his arm, which has enjoyed the summer sun. Then I kiss him.

“Did you know we’ve kissed six times now?” I ask between tasting his lips.

“Seven.”

I shake my head. “It’s six. Maybe you’re thinking of your other best friend.”

He takes me in, his dark eyes glowing like he’s got a secret. “Seven. You don’t even remember our first kiss.”

I scoff. “I will never forget that kiss.”

“Where was it?”

“In your bed. Duh.” The electrifying memory comes alive inside me. I still can’t believe I did that.

“Wrong.” He looks out on the lake, pressing his lips together as he tries to suppress a grin.

“What are you talking about?” I tap his arm, but he refuses to look at me, the wickedness in his eyes growing. Instead, he leans back on one hand, puffing his chest out. “Lorenzo!” I pinch his thigh, taking advantage of my knowledge of his ticklish spots.

He jerks, grabbing my hand away from his leg but keeping a tight grip on it. “Our first kiss was right up there.” He nods up shore toward his house. “On my dock.”

“You’re full of shit!” I wait for his features to collapse into humor—Lorenzo can never hold a straight face long when he’s lying—but his expression remains the same, his eyes searching mine.

“The night I split my eyebrow open on the post. You kissed me.”

I blink and glance up shore as though the memory might still be sitting there. I hesitate, a little quiver in my stomach. “I don’t remember that.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“Sorry, I—” But should I be apologizing? Should he for not telling me? Maybe neither of us should. Okay, so I kissed him and I was too hammered to remember. With all the booze and emotions that powered me through high school, I’m surprised it didn’t happen on a weekly basis.

Lorenzo relaxes his grip on my hand and threads his fingers through mine. His thumb makes tiny, soothing circles against my skin as he watches me.

“Okay, so ... how was it?” I ask.

He adopts a thoughtful look, pretending to ponder this. “Unforgettable,” he says. “I mean, you know, for me. Obviously other parties might have found it unimpressive.”

I laugh and lean against him. “Come on.”

He puts his strong arm around me and presses his lips to my head like he’s sniffing my hair. “Actually, it was amazing,” he murmurs into my skin, and a million nerve endings awaken all over my body.

“Really?” I whisper. “Like this?” I glide my lips over his, kissing him soft and easy.

He exhales slowly when I pull away. “Actually, more like this.” He angles my head so he can kiss me straight on. His fingers press into my skin, not letting me go as he kisses me deep.

“Mmm, that’s not exactly how I remember it. Let’s try again.”

“You wouldn’t remember,” he says, his voice deep. “Let me show you.” Deftly, he grabs the beach towel sitting near his chair and rolls it out on the wooden boards before laying me down.

“I think I would have remembered this view,” I tease, gazing up at the solid wall of his body as he kneels over me.

“Well, my memory’s getting fuzzy.” He kisses me again before letting his lips drift down to my neck. “So let’s just go with this.”

I sigh blissfully at the feel of his warm mouth against the thin skin of my throat but seize up again when he decides to repay me for tickling him earlier, his fingernails dragging against the back of my neck, my ticklish spot.

I squeeze my shoulder up to my neck to still his fingers.

He smiles and returns to the soft kisses of before.

But he continues this way, sweet and salty, making me giggle and sigh in turns.

When he drags his tongue along my neck just like he did that day with the chocolate syrup, I can’t help but shriek.

He laughs into my skin, and the humming heat of it sets me on fire.

I lift my chest toward him, begging him to be closer.

He moves down my body, his head dipping to my collarbone. This is where I expect him to stop. Lorenzo, always polite, always respectful, stopping to ask my permission before he touches me in places his eyes have never seen. But he doesn’t stop.

He slows down, his mouth moving centimeter by centimeter lower, his lips inches from the top of my shirt. It turns me on massively, this persistence where I expected deference. It amazes me the things I don’t know about him.

His fingernails graze my shoulders as he pulls down the straps of my tank top.

It’s familiar in so many ways—I’ve done this with more people than I wish I had.

But it’s new, his touch and his eyes on me and the way my heart thrums with anticipation.

He pushes my top down to my hips, then kisses his way up my stomach and between the cups of my bra.

I’m on fire everywhere he touches. The brush of his hair on the tops of my breasts sends me reeling, my nipples tightening with want.

His fingers hook around my bra straps, but this is where he lifts his head and meets my gaze. The look in his eye isn’t so much asking permission as it is asking if we should be doing this at all.

I brush his hair out of his face and whisper, “Keep going.”

Something lights in his eyes. He pulls down one bra strap teasingly slow, like a man who knows seduction is an art.

When my breast is bare, he licks his lips, but he doesn’t taste me.

He cups my flesh in one hand, makes a sound in the back of his throat, and moves achingly slow to my other shoulder to start the whole process again.

When I’m half naked in front of him, Lorenzo pulls back and gazes down at me.

He takes a short breath, half gasp and half sigh, and the sound of it pulls at my heart.

This need to steady himself, like he’s not sure what to make of what lies in front of him, is so endearing.

I have to remember he’s nervous too. I’m not some hard-won prize—god knows I would have gladly slept with him on any one of a thousand nights.

But the way he looks at me makes me feel like he’s been fighting to get here his entire life.

“Ruby.” He smiles and his gaze gets caught on my breasts before he finally brings it to my eyes. “Are we out of our minds?”

“Maybe,” I say softly. “But you can’t stop now.”