Licks

by Kelly Siskind

  “I’m still scared.”

  “Does bungee jumping, which you’ve done more than once, still scare you?”

  “It does.” No matter how many times I stepped into that void, adrenaline would send my blood rushing, fear and excitement mixing.

  “Think of dating August like that. We’re your rope—us and all this other amazing stuff in your life. If your leap takes a turn for the worse, we’ll keep you tethered.”

  “I’ll take you shopping,” Ainsley added. “And we’ll get Rachel drunk and watch her embarrass herself.”

  A guaranteed pick-me-up, and I exhaled a slow breath.

  I’d assumed my downward spiral after my WTF had been because of losing August, that he’d been the eye of that storm. He had been, to some degree. But I’d never considered my situation at the time, how it had played a large part. A bigger part. Without coping skills and people to commiserate with, I’d wallowed. No one had tossed my unwashed laundry at my face and told me to get a grip. No one had hugged me when it all became too much. No one had acted out Law & Order or told me penis jokes.

  Sitting alone in a dank apartment had been a one-way ticket to Self-Pity City.

  A wave of emotion rocked me. “I love you bitches.”

  Ainsley covered her heart with her hand. “Nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. And meeting you two was the luckiest day of my life. I’m honored to share our birthdays, and I can’t wait to celebrate tonight.” She raised her smoothie for a toast. “To being radical bitches and scaring ourselves…and buying Emmett a penis pump.”

  Rachel’s cackle erupted. “To us and fear and penis pumps.”

  We clinked our smoothies and chatted about tonight’s birthday outing. The plan was to meet for casual drinks, us with our men. Emmett and Cameron would join us.

  And August.

  I still couldn’t believe he was my man, but he was. It didn’t matter that yesterday had been our first day together in an eternity. Crying on his chest last night, letting him see me vulnerable and weak, had made me feel strong, not alone. Not as a charity case. He was my other, and your other was supposed to support you and protect you. Exactly how I felt about him. I wanted to protect him, understand the man he’d become.

  There was no use fighting our pull, and the girls were right: I’d survive no matter the outcome. Which meant it was time to jump in with both feet. I had unused vacation days, enough to string together a few weeks of travel. I’d check my calendar this morning, figure out when I could meet him in Germany. Although anxious to open up fully and put my heart and future on the line, I had to try. I’d loved August as long as I’d known him.

  Even still. Even now. All this time later.

  The girls kept chatting, but I could barely sit still. I couldn’t wait to share my decision with August. I’d tell him the second we met at Fisherman’s Wharf. But my restlessness was more than that. Realizing I’d interpreted my depression after my WTF wrong, that I’d been too entrenched in the intensity of my sadness to understand more than August had knocked me sideways, left me unsettled.

  I’d also been sure finding my father was the right thing to do. That knowing him, even if he was an asshole, was better than living with the ten million unanswered questions I’d amassed. Was this the wrong perspective, too? If he was horrible, would I truly be happier knowing?

  There was a reason my mother had never told me his name. It could have been personal—her fears and issues driving her. Or it could have been to protect me from something awful. If I gave up this search and forgot about my birthday resolution, I could spend the next day with August, in a bed, a shower, against a wall, on the floor again. We could make excellent use of our seconds. I suddenly wasn’t sure on the smart move.

  My attention drifted toward Emmett, who was running on his treadmill. His mother had left him and Owen when they’d been young. They had different fathers, men they’d never known or met. He would understand my situation more than most people, another new support in my life.

  I drained the last of my smoothie. “I need to chat with Emmett, then I’m heading out.”

  Ainsley launched an air kiss my way. “Ask him if he needs the small or extra-small penis pump.”

  I snickered.

  Rachel shushed our friend. “More important is that you’re going to pledge your undying love to August before you meet us later, right?”

  I drew an X over my heart. “I’ll offer to have his babies.”

  Not such a farfetched concept, considering my reaction after our sweaty session on my floor, how I’d wished I hadn’t been on the pill. I almost touched my belly now, willing it to be so.

  I dodged the weight machines and stopped at the side of Emmett’s treadmill. “Can we chat a second?”

  He glowered at me. “I’m not talking to you.”

  “This isn’t about your penis size.” But I said it loud enough for the girl at his left to gawk and stumble as she ran. No point missing an opportunity.

  Muttering under his breath, Emmett slowed his treadmill until it stopped. He grabbed his towel and joined me by the water fountain, a quieter alcove to the side. “This better be good.”

  It certainly wasn’t a light penis-pump talk. “Do you wish you knew your father?”

  He reared back at my sharp conversation turn. “What’s this about?”

  I leaned my shoulder into the wall, the cold, hard plaster steadying. “I never knew mine either and it’s always plagued me, the kind of void in your life that consumes you. And I have this chance to maybe find him, something I’ve dreamed of forever. But, I don’t know…all of a sudden, I’m wondering if I should let it go.”

  “That’s definitely not penis talk.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, no. Sorry to be so heavy this early in the morning.”

  He mopped his forehead with his towel, taking his time. “It’s a tough one to answer. Part of me would like to know the man responsible for half my DNA, and part of me doesn’t care. He had his chance to know me and didn’t take it, or maybe he never knew I existed. To be honest, I stopped letting either possibility affect my life a while back. Dating Cameron had something to do with it—accepting my past doesn’t dictate my future. I have a great brother and grandmother. A hot boyfriend who knows I don’t need a fucking penis pump.” His glare was adorable. “Not sure that helped much.”

  It echoed what Rachel had said, how my current life was full, no matter what curveballs were tossed my way. Still, I felt unmoored. “I want to find him, I’m just worried it’ll send me for a loop when I have a lot going on right now.”

  A lot being the understatement of the millennia.

  He fisted his towel and folded his arms. “All I can suggest is this: you have to do you. Owen and I coped differently with our past, but we both made it through. There’s no wrong or right. So if this is something you need, for closure or whatever, then putting it off will stress you more. If you think you’re ready to let it go, then”—he shrugged—“let it go.”

  Shrugged. Like it was that simple. You know, just uncover my father’s name, meet the man who might have chosen to ostracize me from his life, or like, whatever…let it go.

  But when it came down to it, I guess it was kind of simple.

  When the clock had chimed midnight last year, there’d been a reason I’d chosen this resolution. Ainsley, Rachel, and I had promised to make our wishes big ones, things we’d believed were essential to our lives.

  Finding my father was essential.

  I guess that was my answer, in the end. I would meet August at my mother’s park bench and tell him I was ready to look ahead and plan for our future. Then we’d see, together, if my father’s last name had been memorialized in that very spot. Whatever happened from there, at least I’d have August.

  9 a.m., 15 Hours…

  August

  I loitered by the Alcatraz ticket booth for so long parents side-eyed me and tucked their kids to their sides. My unrelenting frown wasn’t helping. Gwen hadn’t arriv
ed yet. My lockjaw had returned. I stared at the park bench mentioned in Mary’s journal, half a second from rushing over and searching for Ted’s name possibly scratched into the wood.

  So I can scratch it out, a dark part of me whispered.

  But I wouldn’t stoop that low.

  The day was sunny but brisk. The sweat from my punishing run had been washed off in a blistering shower, but a feverish chill still descended.

  I was about to lose the love of my life after I’d just found her.

  Gwen’s tousled hair snagged my attention first. Across the street and waiting for a gap in traffic, she bounced on her toes. She wore ankle boots, a fitted T-shirt—blue with something written on it. Her tight jeans made my mouth water. They had a rip in the thigh, the perfect place for me to ease my fingers in, tease her with soft strokes.

  I hadn’t tasted her yet, licked and sucked and mapped her body. When she learned what I’d done, that fantasy would be shot to shit.

  She made it to the bench and touched its edge, but snatched her hand back as though she’d been hit with an electric shock. She bit her lip and searched the area. Throngs of tourists walked the strip. One kid clung to her parents’ hands as they swung her between steps. Carefree. Happy. The briny air expanded with chatter and squawking seagulls and laughs. My endless regrets lodged in my throat.

  I should have contacted Gwen the second I’d received that letter.

  Or the next day. The next week. The next month. So many days I could have given her with her father. Days she’d never get back.

  I kept out of view, sick to my stomach.

  She refused to talk about our future, I reminded myself. I may have been all in, but Gwen was still living our seconds. Even without this massive obstacle, she might not have given us a chance. She might be relieved when faced with my deception. It would make ending things with me easier, freeing her from the burden of pushing me away.

  Yes. That was how this would go. My confession would give Gwen the out she wanted. She could keep her friends and life and not have to risk it all on me. This would be better for her.

  She paced, clenching and unclenching her hands, her face equal parts excited, scared, and determined. Exactly how she’d looked at her first regional track meet. I’d been there for her that day. Not her mother. No close friends or siblings attended, only me to cheer her on. I’d screamed myself hoarse as she’d torn past the finish line.

  Today, I wasn’t the one in her corner. Today, I’d be the one letting her down.

  When she took her lip chewing up a notch, looking ready to break skin, I scrubbed a hand down my face and trudged forward.

  The second she spotted me, she waved and smiled, beaming with open affection. It was too much. Having those gorgeous eyes brimming with joy, having seen them ignite at my touch—how was I supposed to let that go?

  She’ll be relieved in the long run. Her life will be better.

  I clipped a man’s elbow as I approached her and tried to offer an apology, but my saliva was all gummed up. A break in pedestrians finally gave us a clear path to each other, and I forced myself forward. Gwen still seemed nervous and excited, shifting on her feet, hands now tight little fists. I should ask her how she was doing, hug her and offer support. That would only make this harder.

  “We need to talk,” I said quickly. “I should have—”

  “I bought a plane ticket,” she blurted before I could finish. There was a small distance between us. Mere inches. She seemed hesitant to close the space.

  I froze. “You did what?”

  It sounded like she’d said she’d bought a ticket, which could mean a thousand things, one of which had my heart pounding a near-deafening beat.

  “I booked a flight.”

  “Where?”

  “To Germany.”

  “Germany?” Yep, deafening.

  “Ger-ma-ny,” she said, emphasizing each syllable. “You should Q-tip after you shower. Helps with hearing.” She mimed cleaning her ear.

  I’d laugh if I weren’t stunned. Sick. Devastated. What happened to the woman only willing to live our seconds? “You booked a flight to Germany?”

  The notion wasn’t sinking in. She’d imposed our no-future-talk rule. Changing the game now wasn’t okay, not with what I had to say, but she was turning it all upside down.

  “Well, let me see.” She tapped her chin and squinted at the sky, then she grinned at me, sweet yet tentative. “I believe that’s what I did.”

  “You’re coming to Germany.” A statement this time. I couldn’t sound like a bigger idiot.

  “Wow, so…now I’m worried you have a head injury or something. Did you fall on your run? And if this is you freaking out because I took this step and you’re having second thoughts, then I’ll need you to back away before I embarrass myself by puking on your shoes.” She pressed a hand to her belly. “August? You’re kind of scaring me.”

  “No, babe.” My limbs finally woke up, and I gripped her shoulders. I shouldn’t kiss her or pull her against me. I should keep my distance and say what needed saying. My body wouldn’t obey. I pressed a kiss to her forehead, another to her perfect lips, then I crushed her against my chest. Tighter than tight. She’d for sure feel the thrashing of my heart. “I’m not having second thoughts. I want you and this more than I want to breathe. There’s just…”

  I inhaled her feminine scent. She smelled clean and sweet with a hint vanilla, freshly showered, which had me picturing us under a hot spray as I licked a path along her toned flesh. Dammit. This was not the time to be thickening behind my zipper. She’d feel that, too. And it was wrong.

  She slipped her hands down my back, cresting them alongside my spine, over the waistband of my jeans. “I want all of you more than I want to breathe, too,” she whispered.

  I held her harder against me. It could be my last time. “What changed?”

  “I can’t lose you, August. Not again. I can only come for three weeks, and there’s a chance we won’t work. Long distance will be beyond painful, but I’ll survive regardless. I have Rachel and Ainsley, their guys and Emmett and Cameron, and other outlets in my life. No matter what happens, I’ll pick myself up. Not giving us a shot would be worse than trying and failing. You’re worth the risk.”

  She was worth everything. She deserved everything, including the truth.

  Pulse revving into overdrive, I forced myself to create space between us. I ran my hands through her hair, skimmed my thumbs over her cheeks. “I want you with me in Germany, wherever I am for as long as you can swing it. I’ll fly home often. I’ll reassess my career, see about building my audience in the States. We have options. We’ll make this work, and you trying means more than you know.”

  My mouth was desert-level dry. Licking my lips didn’t help.

  She fisted the back of my shirt and leaned away, tension in the guarded movement. “So why are you looking at me like we’re saying goodbye?”

  I dropped my head forward, focused on a crack in the sidewalk between our feet. A mini fault line that could open up and swallow me whole. “This isn’t goodbye, Gwen. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  I forced myself to meet her eyes. Her pupils had blown wide, darkness taking over shades of green. “Why do I sense a but?”

  “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  Gwen

  Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. Doomed to Die. The Doom Generation.

  I mentally listed every movie or show I knew with the word doom (spoiler alert: The Doom Generation was a hardcore film with a questionable three-way and a penchant for grotesque violence), unable to process the shift in August’s demeanor. Not that processing was required. Doom was the real takeaway here.

  Doom in his flitting eyes. Doom in his blotchy skin.

  A couple times, before skydiving, I had nightmares prior. They’d consisted of me reaching for my ripcord, only to find it missing. I’d pummel to earth, spinning, unable to scream, the ground racing toward me at death-de
fying speeds. Startling awake had always been a sweaty, panting affair. Like right now.

  I’d expected my flight news to come with hugs and making out, an awkward victory dance, maybe. I’d paid for a nonrefundable flight, had been more honest with August than I’d ever dreamed. The words I love you had almost passed my lips. Present day love. Not past love. Not just because of our history. I’d leapt from a plane for August Cruz.

  And the ripcord was slipping through my grasp.

  A sheen of moisture clung to his upper lip, because he had something to tell me.

  Doomsday. Mansion of the Doomed. The Sword of Doom.

  I hadn’t done this in ages, listing movie titles with key words, a nervous habit I’d thought I’d kicked. As a kid, I’d go through this obsessive exercise, a way to keep it together when my mother was hurtful or I’d flunked a test. Teenaged August would snicker at me, and say, “You’re doing it again.”

  “Doing what?” I’d reply, royally embarrassed.

  “That weird movie title thing.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “Am not.”

  “Your lips are moving, Possum.”

  I’d hated how well he’d known me.

  Today I made sure to keep my lips stiff, but my focus was fading fast. Traffic sped behind me. The tourists in my peripheral vision blurred. Noises swirled with the scents of car exhaust and ocean air, spinning around me at a dizzying rate.

  I broke free of August’s arms and blinked away my sudden vertigo. “Say it.”

  “What?”

  “Whatever it is that has you sweating on a non-sweaty day.” It wasn’t warm enough for him to be flushing like that.

  His next swallow lasted an eternity. He didn’t reply.

  “Spit it out, August.” I hugged myself, tried to breathe through the cumulating dread. “Is there a woman in Europe you didn’t mention? Did you get someone pregnant or something?”

  Which had me wishing again for my belly to swell with our baby. Not a healthy sentiment when the guy at the core of that wish looked ready to faint.

  “I know your father’s name,” he said.