Licks

by Kelly Siskind

  The waitress set down my beer, and I grabbed it, thankful to busy my hands.

  Owen reached over, knocking his bottle against mine. “Here’s to finding your feet with Gwen and avoiding Ainsley’s wrath.”

  “Of which wrath do you speak?”

  Ainsley swayed her hips as she approached, more amusement than ire in the sultry pout aimed at Owen. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Doll, don’t pretend like you aren’t terrifying. Jimmy still needs counseling.”

  Ainsley sat primly opposite her boyfriend, folding her hands on the table. Rachel followed and slipped into her seat. I exhaled a long, slow breath as Gwen sauntered forward. Her dark jeans and white tank top worshipped her body, her shoulder-length hair loose and messy. Dark makeup lined her green eyes. She was the picture of cool and casual.

  She was the only woman I’d ever imagined in my future.

  The only one I wanted in my bed now.

  Today. This minute.

  My calves tightened, my toes contracting, every bone in my body tense and alive. Heat stroked my groin. I gripped my beer, hoping the cold, damp bottle would tame the fire smoking through my veins. I launched her my most charming smile. “Glad you made it back.”

  Before she could answer, Ainsley pinned me with her feisty blue eyes. “Ignore the counseling crack. Owen’s just talking about the time I threatened to leave a candiru fish in Jimmy’s toilet bowl. The ones that swim up a urine stream into a guy’s penis and gnaw on its flesh?” She rolled her eyes, as though the comment didn’t send my nuts running for my stomach. “Which is silly, really. It’s nothing like that smallpox virus. You get that sucker, and you don’t have a clue for a week or two, and then bam. Pus-filled blisters are everywhere. In your nose and mouth, covering your entire body. And when they rupture?” She shivered dramatically. “You’d be wishing for a fish gnawing on your junk. So like I said to Jimmy, don’t hurt my friend.”

  She punctuated the horrifying threat with a grin.

  My face felt as green as Jimmy’s looked. “Your girlfriend is terrifying,” I muttered to Owen.

  His eyes turned hazy as he stared at her. “She’s one of a kind.”

  I might have to reevaluate what horrors I’d walk through to reach Gwen, but the way she was laughing under her breath, a slight shake to her shoulders, it was worth the nauseating visuals.

  Jimmy berated Ainsley for ruining his appetite, but he opened a menu anyway, the four of them debating which appetizers we’d share.

  I barely listened, couldn’t tell you what music played, or how full the bar was. All I saw was Gwen, and the amusement draining from her face. She leaned forward. “Were you trying to hurt me before, saying what you did?”

  As much as I believed we needed to speak openly about what had happened, not sweep it under the rug like we’d done for nine years, I regretted the comment. “It just came out.”

  Her eyes widened. “It just came out?”

  I stretched my legs under the table, making contact with her shin. “You’re repeating me again.”

  “Because you’re not making sense again. Comments like those don’t just come out.”

  No, they didn’t. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Gwen. If I did, I’m sorry. But I’m tired of pretending it didn’t happen. It did. It sucked. And I’m ready to move on. Question is, are you?”

  She glanced at our friends, who were going out of their way to give us privacy. She slid her attention back at me. “Move on how?”

  I could tell her I had every intention of living out my teenage fantasies: Gwen grinding on me, me thrusting into her, slow and deep, my tongue writing songs between her strong thighs. I still had a tour to finish, another album to write, a life in Europe. Gwen’s life was a big unknown.

  She didn’t do social media anymore, my creeping of her over the years unearthing zero intel. I had no clue what she did for a living, or if she’d entertain the notion of traveling with me, but my mind was already there.

  To the two of us racing down narrow cobbled streets, stopping to kiss in the rain, laughing as we mangled German translations, feeding each other baguettes and cheese in France.

  Jesus. I’d seen Gwen for half a day, and I was fifty steps ahead, practically naming our kids. But that wasn’t what she was asking. We were on fragile footing, late winter ice still lingering after a harsh season. “For starters,” I said, nudging her leg closer with mine, “I’d be happy to make an agreement.”

  Her leg didn’t move, but her eyebrows did, drawing close together. “You’re being mighty cryptic, Cruz.”

  “Then I’ll simplify things for you.” I sat straighter, squaring my chest and heart. Hoping she’d judge my honesty. “I’m interested in you, Gwen Frances Hamilton. I miss you and feel like our potential slipped through our fingers, but it’s not too late to try and get it back. So I want to move on, with you in my life. As friends, if that’s all you can handle. But I’m hoping for more. I’d at least like for us to try, for you to agree to give us a shot.” I knocked back a swallow of beer. “Is that clear enough?”

  No more games. No more subtle flirting. The only regrets in life were the risks we didn’t take, and I was done letting my past undermine my future.

  Her throat bobbed, a few slow slides that had me shifting on my seat. A blush stained her nose and cheeks. Had I gone too far? Was she about to bail on me?

  But her calf pressed closer to mine. Even through my jeans, awareness splintered through me. Sudden. Fiery. Biting. Like my body was designed to respond to Gwen’s alone.

  “That’s plenty clear, August Eugene Cruz.” She emphasized the middle name she knew I hated. Just like she hated hers. Way back when, it would have rankled me. Tonight, in the light of our new understanding, it was a gift. “Which leads me to my earlier question.”

  “You want help learning to pole vault?”

  “You seem kind of obsessed with the sport.”

  “You have no idea.” My voice sounded so damn thick.

  Her deep inhale said she’d be keen to explore those athletics, too. And man, did I want her hand wrapped around my cock, fisting me, pumping me. Almost as much as I ached to watch her fall apart. Unfortunately, I knew which question dogged her.

  The one I’d avoided.

  The one I still wasn’t sure how to approach.

  Her calf slid against mine purposefully. “I have some idea, but the question you sidestepped is if you’d like to wear your Badass PI badge and help me find my father.”

  I froze, the cold bottle caught in my death grip.

  Deciding to pursue her didn’t ease my guilt over what I’d done, but I couldn’t reverse time. My choices hadn’t been malicious. Still, if Gwen learned I’d stolen her chance to meet her father, intentional or not, she’d shut me out. I could drop clues, lead her to him without admitting what I’d done, but that would hurry things along, limit our time together.

  Time was already in short supply.

  I’d also reread Mary’s last line, before leaving my hotel. Remember what I told you on Gwen’s nineteenth birthday.

  Gwen’s mother had shocked me when I’d called her nine years ago, her unexpected revelation leading me to buying Gwen her birthday ring, which had led to our epic disaster. Like this letter was more of the same—Gwen’s mother more involved in her daughter’s life than Gwen had ever realized. I wasn’t sure what that meant. Figuring it out seemed important.

  More time I needed.

  “Of course I’ll help you find your father,” I said, buying myself more hours.

  Gwen

  Whenever I’d stand on the edge of a plane door, about to skydive, my heart would pummel my chest, exhilaration and nerves spreading as wind blasted my face. Free. It always made me feel incredibly free.

  Like I was a superhero. Invincible. Immortal.

  Exactly how sitting across from August felt.

  “You’re sure?” I asked, unwilling to believe he’d agreed to this nutty adventure. That he’d laid out his heart, asking me to ta
ke a chance on us.

  “Stop questioning everything I say.”

  He was asking the impossible. Even after his confession, my courage faltered. He knew I’d crushed on him as a teen, but he had no clue how intense those feelings had been, or that they’d continued long after. I probably still loved him now. Words that would send most men running for the hills. I also hadn’t realized how badly I wanted his help finding my father until he’d agreed.

  I’d be spending the night with August Cruz, my partner in crime, who really was perusing me like my bikini-clad picture had decorated his teenage wall. I took my fill of him, too: the dark circles under his stunning eyes, his masculine jaw, the way his broad shoulders stretched his T-shirt.

  He played the part of brooding singer well. Too well.

  Being with him while chasing down clues would be a challenge. Already, I debated dragging him to my apartment instead of into San Francisco’s Tenderloin district. August was the best and worst distraction. One I couldn’t entertain. I had a birthday wish to fulfill by midnight tomorrow. No matter how slim the chances of that happening, I’d do my best. Which meant waiting out this storm cloud of sexual tension.

  First and foremost, August and I had been friends. Best friends. If we were going to explore our undeniable connection, starting here made sense.

  And I wanted to start now.

  I faced our friends. “You guys okay if we take off? August agreed to help search for my father.”

  Rachel spun her wineglass restlessly. “We can come, tackle other leads. Our wine tasting event later isn’t a big one. I’d be happy to cancel.”

  “Whatever we can do,” Jimmy added, compassion in his earnest gaze.

  Silent communication passed between Owen and Ainsley. “I was supposed to attend a store opening,” he said. “A new place selling my furniture, but I’m cool to bail. Give you whatever help you need.”

  Ainsley beamed at her man, but said to me, “We’d love to come.”

  A wave of warmth rolled over me. I may not have blood relatives in my life, but I had this crew, people ready to drop their commitments and come to my aid. Owen’s offer in particular touched me. He didn’t know his father, either, and his mother had disappeared from his life. He’d been lucky enough to have a loving grandmother raise him and his brother, but understanding shone in his soft brown eyes.

  My throat grew scratchy. For a woman who rarely succumbed to emotion, I was sure getting blubbery today. “You guys are the best, but you have food coming, and I only have one lead so far. More people won’t help.”

  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.

  But a second later, he shrugged a shoulder. “You have a point.”

  He leaned down and kissed me softly, a reverent touch that had me rocking on my heels. My belly dipped. We both moaned. Tingles cascaded down my spine.

  August’s lips were on mine, where they were meant to be.

  Our hands moved and heads tilted, a natural shift that allowed us to open to each other. Open to our past. Accept it. Move on. I clutched the sides of his T-shirt, my fingers curling into the soft fabric. Mine. August was finally, maybe, almost mine.

  He cradled my neck, tugged my hair. His breath filled my lungs, sweet and hoppy with the tang of beer. Deeper. Hotter. We were putting on quite the show.

  When his tongue skimmed mine, I whimpered.

  I’d never whimpered when kissing a man. My skin had never felt like it had shrunk, every inch taut and aware, my clothes and underwear suddenly suffocating. And wet. The damp heat between my thighs engulfed me. He pulled back too soon.

  My eyes fluttered open. August came into focus, the street around us reminding me where we were, and of the task ahead of us. Still, I didn’t move. “I’m scared to leave this spot.”

  He rested his forehead against mine. “Why?”

  “This could be a dream. I could lose you again. I just…I don’t think I can handle that.”

  He smoothed my hair and kissed the sensit
ive skin by my ear. “It’s not a dream, Possum. And if this is one of your stupid pranks, I’ll fill your bed with spiders.”

  I shivered involuntarily.

  “But that was…” His breath skimmed my lips once more.

  “Yeah, it was,” I agreed. Everything.

  He stared at me a beat longer, then scanned the street. He cleared his throat. “Your car or mine?”

  I was about to say, either as long as we get naked in the backseat. But such extracurriculars would have to wait. This was Mission Find My Dad, and Badass PI partners didn’t mix business with pleasure. “Let’s meet there, in case we have to split up to chase different leads. It’s an artsy center in the Tenderloin. My mother danced there or something. She referenced a guy who would watch her some days and pick her up.”

  Instead of agreeing, he frowned, and my stomach sank. Was he having second thoughts? Was he suddenly overwhelmed? “What is it?”

  He toyed with my fingers, dragging his thumb over my cuticles in seductive half-moons. “Nothing. I’ll follow you.”

  After pointing out our cars, we separated slowly, walking backward, our hands the last things to part. Again, a cold desolation gripped me. I almost changed my plan and dragged him to my car, but that was the crazy talking. Daffy as a duck. When my heel cranked into a lamppost, I finally turned and hurried to my Impreza.

  6:30 p.m., 29 ½ Hours…

  Gwen

  My driving skills on the way to the TASC center were an embarrassment. I cut off two cars, nearly plowed over a man, and I drove so slowly at one point, honking blared for five seconds.

  All I could picture was losing August, his rental car disappearing from sight, him disappearing from my life. I could win that show: America’s Worst Driver.

  In one of America’s seediest districts.

  The Tenderloin had a smell about it, eau de vomit mixed with rotting garbage and a skunkiness all its own. Weed mixed with gasoline. The homeless community owned the sidewalks, sleeping and loitering twenty-four/seven. Random shouts competed with grinding brakes, and this was an improvement from decades ago.

  Again, I tried picturing my mother venturing here, blouse buttoned to her chin, gray-streaked hair close cropped. Pointed nose. Thin lips. Severe. That was the word that best described her, in looks and personality.