by Penny Wylder
“Worth it though?” I ask.
“It’s always worth chasing your dreams.”
The way he says it, it sounds almost accusatory. Like I’m not chasing mine. I side-eye him, but he’s avoiding eye contact now. “Well, I envy you,” I say. “It took me longer to figure out what I really wanted.”
“To run the front desk of a hotel?” He smirks.
I elbow him without thinking, the way I would’ve years ago. The contact sends a spark along my skin, and I jump a little, involuntary.
Josh’s smirk only widens.
“It’s a good job,” I reply, defensive. “It’s steady work, and you can work almost anywhere. One of the easiest ways to move abroad for a job—there’s some countries that sponsor visas for anyone who wants to work in the industry.”
“Because nobody really wants to work in that industry,” Josh counters. “What happened to your painting?”
“I still paint. On the side.”
“You were so good, though.”
I shake my head. “I was good for a fifteen-year-old, Josh. I wasn’t brilliant or anything.”
“I thought you were,” he says, so low I think I misheard. But when I look at him again, his eyes are distant, unfocused.
“Well. I’m sure we both thought differently back then,” I say. “About a lot of things.” I let my voice go a little sarcastic at the end. But if he notices, he doesn’t say.
“I remember this walk being shorter,” he comments as we continue along.
“You didn’t need to come,” I point out.
He laughs. I cast a sideways glance at him but he only shrugs at me. “Just trying to be polite.”
Polite. Right. Good. I pretend it doesn’t sting—I’d thought he might actually want to spend time with me. Guess not. But it’s better that way. He’s only being polite—not interested.
Because I don’t want him to be interested. That would be very, very bad.
So I tell myself.
We round the corner off of the isolated road toward the wider road to the store. Instead of dirt, it’s a gravel road now, and the gravel crunches under our shoes. I slip on it, and he catches my arm, steadies me, so fast it had to be instinct. For a moment, we both pause, and I look at his hand where it’s wrapped around my shoulder, his fingers branding red-hot imprints into my skin.
He lets go then, but I can still feel his touch. Lingering. Reminding me.
“Where did you wind up going to school?” I ask, just to change the subject.
As we start walking again, though, he sticks closer beside me. Close enough that our arms brush every few steps, and once his fingers graze along mine. It could be an accident. It must be, because he doesn’t react, doesn’t act like he’s noticed. But it’s too coincidental. He’s doing this on purpose. Trying to drive me crazy.
“Kent State, out in Ohio.”
“Wow. Long way from Georgia.”
He catches my eye, a funny look in his. “We’ve been out in Cleveland for the last three years,” he says. “Though, obviously we’re moving back home now.”
I laugh a little, because what else can I do? I forgot, of course, why we’re both here. The insane situation that landed us in this mess. “Did you know about them?” I ask.
“Not until this morning.” He laughs too. “It’s just like Mom to pull something like this.”
“You don’t think it’s crazy?” My eyebrows rise.
“Of course it is. But hey, life is short.” He shrugs. “You have to do what makes you happy. Go for what you want.”
He’s eying me again as he says that, and suddenly I’m aware that we’re standing very close once more. I catch the scent of his body wash, something piney, and underneath it, the familiar scent that’s all him. Oak and mud after a stormy rain, hot and savory all at once. It makes me inhale again, sharper.
“I guess.”
He lifts an eyebrow. Grins that crooked grin I’ve missed so much. “You don’t sound convinced.”
“Well, sometimes you have to be practical too. You can’t always have what you want.”
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” he quips. His gaze rakes over me as he says it, and my body clenches reflexively at the glance.
He is definitely flirting.
Isn’t he?
Before I can reply, he walks ahead of me, toward the store in the distance. I trail after him, heart in my throat.
Mr. Johnson still works here, apparently. We’re barely inside the door when he greets us both by name, grinning. “Look how grown up you two are now. Never thought I’d see the pair of you again.” He glances back and forth between us, a knowing glint in his eye. “Here alone this year, or with family again?”
My cheeks flush.
“Here together,” Josh answers. He nudges my shoulder as he does. “With family too.”
“Oh wonderful. I love reunion stories. What can I get for you today?”
“I need some wood,” I speak up.
Josh at least waits until Mr. Johnson ducks behind the counter to fetch it before he leans over and whispers in my ear. “That’s what she said.”
I elbow him again. He shoves back, gently, just enough to push me off-balance. When I catch myself, I find I’m leaning against him. He stays there, shoulder against mine, warmth flooding between us.
When Mr. Johnson returns, I jump again, away from Josh, suddenly pulled back into reality. We can’t be doing this, flirting, touching, as if nothing’s changed.
Josh insists on paying, so I grab the wood and throw it over my shoulder.
“Let me carry that,” he protests, but I ignore him and wave goodbye to Mr. Johnson, already halfway out the door of the store.
“Possessive of your wood?” Josh asks with a smirk, trailing after me.
“I did say I needed it,” I shoot back with a grin.
“You know, it’s generally more enjoyable when you share it.”
“What, wood or burdens?”
He laughs. “Both, actually.”
I roll my eyes, but this time when he reaches for the stack of wood, I let him take some of it. Not the whole thing because I still have some pride to retain. But it is pretty heavy, now that I’m actually hiking up this dark gravely road with it all in my arms.
That, and a few of the cabin owners seem to have gone to bed, shutting off their porch lights on the way. It’s darker than ever now, and we toe our way through the dark, as I shift the wood back and forth between my arms.
“Seriously, just let me carry it.”
“No faith in my strength, huh?”
“Me? You’re the one who doesn’t trust my manly ability to haul a lot of wood.”
“That sounds like something she said too,” I point out, grinning.
“Really? I would think she’d say something more like, ‘You can haul my wood anytime, baby.’”
“Wow, she’s cheesy.”
“Hey, you said it, not me.” He elbows me again. This time, though, I’m not expecting it. The wood clatters to the ground, out of my arms, and I curse under my breath. As I lean down to try and pick it up in the dark, I trip, and only Josh dropping his own pile of wood to catch me saves me from going sprawling across the dirt road.
“What was that about not trusting you?” he asks, his breath hot against my cheek, mouth so close to my ear I’d swear I can almost feel his lips graze my skin.
I laugh a little, breathless. Less from the fall and more from his proximity, the heat between us. The air grows thick with tension again, but not the awkward kind this time. It feels like the whole world is holding its breath, waiting for us to make a move.
I twist out of his grip. “I wouldn’t have dropped it if you didn’t bump me,” I mutter.
“Then it’s my fault.” He shifts his grip on my shoulder. Lets his hand slide down my shoulder, his fingertips tracing my bicep, my elbow, my forearm, all the way down to my wrist. “Let me make it up to you.”
I turn toward him, unable to help myse
lf. I’m as powerless to resist that touch as a flower turning its face to the sun. But I force myself to stop there, just watch him in the near-darkness, only his eyes visible, little points of light gray-blue in the night.
He lets me go and starts to hand me the wood pieces. I try to catch my breath, now that we’re far enough apart that oxygen can reach my lungs again.
“Proving you trust me again?” I ask as he hands me the last of the wood, so I’m carrying it all again.
“Something like that.” He grins.
Then, without warning, he scoops me up. Catches the back of my knees with one arm and tilts me back with the other. Before I can orient myself, I lose touch with gravity, and he’s got me cradled against his chest, the wood still cradled in my arms.
“This seems like cheating,” I say, though I can’t disguise the hitch in my voice. Nor can I ignore the growing heat in my belly, the way my whole body tingles in contact with his.
I’m not fifteen anymore. This isn’t my first kiss. I’m thinking about a whole lot more than kissing right now as he holds me tight against him, starts to carry me up the road. I remember seeing him in the bathroom, the perfect lines of his sculpted body. My thighs tighten, and I clench hard, trying to ignore the growing ache between my legs as my imagination drifts to what he would look like completely naked. It’s hard not to imagine what his cock might look like when he’s got me crushed against his chest, his arms so strong and hard around me. I imagine if we hadn’t been interrupted that night, kissing in the grass. What other firsts might we have explored? Would he have slid a hand under my shirt, reached up to undo my bra, teased my nipples until they ached? Would he have laid down across me, slid a hand between my legs, traced the edges of my underwear until I was wet, begging for him…
I shiver, and he tightens his grip on me.
“Cold?” he asks. “It’s pretty hot out here.”
Damn him, he doesn’t even sound out of breath, even carrying me up this trail in the dark, with the added weight of a bundle of wood in my lap. “Only because you’re carrying me. It’s cold when you don’t have to walk,” I lie, to avoid telling him the real reason.
He laughs, low and throaty.
From this vantage point, I have a good view of his neck, corded with new muscles now that he’s all grown up and buff as hell. I eye the stubble along his jaw, the sharp angle where it meets his neck, under his ear. I want to press my lips to that spot. I want to feel his stubble graze my cheek as his soft lips meet mine. Part against my mouth, as our tongues entwine again.
I wonder if he remembers that kiss. If he thinks about it as often as I do. If he thought about me at all after that summer.
It didn’t seem like it based on the way he completely ignored me the second we left the cabin.
But now… He’s being so sweet and kind. He knows about my studies, seems honestly interested and invested in what I do in the future. He seems to care, at least a little bit. So maybe I was wrong?
It doesn’t matter, I tell myself. He’s my brother now. There’s nothing between us. There never can be.
The cabin comes into sight ahead. The windows are dark—our parents must be out walking. My dad and his mom. Together. Because they’re our parents now.
He sets me on my feet at the foot of the steps to the porch, but neither of us makes a move to climb up. Not yet.
As he’s setting me down, his hand grazes the backs of my legs. Trails up across my ass, lingering just long enough to let me know it’s on purpose. And it’s definitely not a brotherly caress.
My breath hitches.
Then he lets go and takes the wood from me. Sets it on the steps. As he does, I catch his scent again, so addictive, so familiar. They say scent ties to memories the strongest of any sense. I never believed it until now. Until it throws me straight back to that last night at this cabin, under the stars, our limbs entwined.
“It’s funny,” he says, and we both inhale, as though startled by the sound of his voice after so long in strained silence.
“What?” I ask, stepping closer to him almost without realizing it, my body moving of its own accord. We’re close enough that I can see the cabin windows reflected in his eyes. He looks past it, out at the lake beyond. The moon is half-full, its light shining on the still waters.
“It still looks the same,” he murmurs.
“As that summer?” I follow his gaze.
“One night in particular.”
I look back at him and find him staring at me now. I swallow hard. Force a smile, though I know it must look lopsided. “We were just dumb kids back then,” I say, with a laugh that’s hard to fake.
He shakes his head. “We weren’t. We were more than that.”
I shiver again.
He steps closer. “It’s warm out tonight, Pau.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“So why do you keep shivering?” He brushes my arms. Trails his fingertips up them, until he’s cupping my shoulders gently.
“I think you know why.”
He smiles. It’s not like the other smiles he’s given me tonight—flirty, coy, teasing. This one is wide-open and sincere. It takes my breath away.
Then he leans in and presses his lips to mine, and I can forget about ever breathing again. That’s okay. Who needs oxygen? I have this kiss.
I wrap my arms around his neck, reflexive. For a moment, one blissful, heat-stopping moment, the rest of the world fades away. I forget why we’re here, the situation we’re in. All I can think about is the way his lips feel on mine, soft and hard all at once, hungry, like he wants to devour me whole.
His leg slides between mine, his hands drift down to my lower back, and my whole body aches for him. My belly tightens, and I arch my hips into his. The hard press of his cock against my inner thigh makes my pussy clench, and I can already feel myself getting wet before he even so much as touches me.
I let my hands follow his, run my nails down his back, and enjoy the way he groans against my mouth, turning his head to kiss his way along my jawline, his stubble rough against my smooth cheek. I trail my fingers all the way down to the edge of his T-shirt. Toy with the hem, even as he slides his hands under mine and digs his hot fingers into my hips, pulling me to him even tighter.
I gasp faintly, lift one leg to arch against him harder, and he returns the motion, his hips grinding slowly against mine, that hard length of his cock against my thigh driving me wild. I want to tear his shirt off, push him down against the steps and take him right here.
He bites the sensitive spot just below my ear, hard enough that I gasp again, and I know he’s thinking the same thing. About the heat between us, the irresistible fire.
Then I hear laughter, loud and nearby.
We spring apart as though burned. Maybe we were. I certainly feel like a child again, a kid who got caught too close to a hot stove, as we turn and spot our parents walking up the path from the lake. They’re holding hands, my dad smiling brightly as Susan laughs, a full-throated laugh, her head thrown back with amusement.
They look so normal together. So well-suited. My chest aches with pain. How did I not see this coming? How did I never notice the way they fit together, that summer we spent here, those family parties we shared?
Probably because I was too busy focusing on another member of the family and my own growing attraction.
I clench my fists and lean away from Josh. He reaches for my hand, but I twist out of his grasp. Dart away to approach our parents instead because it’s the only way I can think of to be sure he won’t do something crazy, like try to kiss me again right here, right in front of them.
I can’t do this to my dad. He’s spent so long alone, all because of me. He couldn’t date while he had a young daughter to worry about, he always said. Now he’s finally found someone, he’s finally happy, and I want to throw it back in his face by starting the most inappropriate relationship possible?
No way.
I owe him more than that.
“Hey guys,” I call, forcing pep into my voice.
“Pau.” Susan stops laughing, though she keeps the bright smile as she waves. “How did the wood hunt go?”
“Got plenty for a fire tonight,” Josh says, stepping up beside me. He stands close, far too close. I can feel the heat radiating from him. It’s almost a dare, I think. He’s daring me to move away again, show our parents that I’m uncomfortable.
Two can play at that game.
I rest a hand on his shoulder, friendly, and smile at our parents. “We were just talking about what we should make for our first family dinner.” I lay into the word family a little hard. Just enough emphasis that Josh knows what I mean. We’re family now. Lay off. “What do you guys think, hot dogs?”
“You read my mind,” Dad replies, and squeezes Susan’s hand for emphasis. “Family dinner it is.”
Right then, watching the two of them brush past us, hands clasped, my heart finally snaps in two. Because I know, for certain, that I cannot do anything to damage my dad’s happiness. Not when he’s finally found it at last. Nothing can happen with Josh, ever again.
I break away from him and follow our parents into the cabin for the start of our new life. One big happy family, right?
3
“Remember the time you filled that whole jar with fireflies?” Dad is asking, laughing as Susan prepares another round of s’mores for us.
I accept mine with a grin of thanks and roll my eyes at Dad. “I let them go right after.”
“Yes, but you insisted on catching at least fifty of the buggers first. Took half the night. It was worth it for the look on your face though, when you finally caught them all.”
“That was the night we had the Fourth of July bonfire, wasn’t it?” Josh butts in. “I remember that. When you let the jar go you released all the bugs in my face.” He nudges me with a knee.
We’re side-by-side on one of the few logs around our backyard firepit, marshmallow toasting sticks in hand. I tried to sit on the other side of the fire from him, but he followed me around and plopped down right next to me. It would’ve looked weird to move away again, so we’ve been stuck here ever since, me trying to avoid his more obvious touches.