Chapter 11
Eleven
Pen
August and I debate where to go the whole walk down to the car and while I buckle up. But finally, we settle on heading for the Santa Monica beach bike path. Mainly because it’s a perfect day, and we’d both like a bit of fresh sea air.
It feels good, though, to drive along with the windows down in Pops’s old Wagoneer and the radio playing.
August chose The Doors Greatest Hits, something my grandfather loved listening to as well, and I’m reminded of going fishing off the Pier with Pops.
We’d end the day with a ride on the Ferris wheel, after which, he’d buy me a custard shake.
Maybe I can convince August to get one with me later.
Speaking of August . . .
“Keep your eyes on the road, mister.”
August lifts his brows in a parody of innocence. “I am!”
He most certainly was sneaking looks at me slathering sunscreen over my arms and legs.
“You act like you’ve never seen anyone take proper precaution against sun damage before.”
“There you go with the grandma talk again.” He switches lanes, the corner of his lips curling upward. “It only turns me on, you know.”
“Glad to know you have a thing for grandmas.”
“Try again, Sweets.” He risks a glance, quick but hot. “And I should be lecturing you on distracting the driver. Can’t you rub that on your legs when we get there? I vote for a slow and thorough application.”
“Ha. And no. Sunscreen needs to absorb twenty minutes before going out for maximum efficacy.”
He groans and takes a deep breath. “Killing me here.”
This flirty side of August is something I’d witnessed from afar but had never been subjected to. It’s surprisingly fun, and addicting. But he doesn’t need to know that. His ego is healthy enough.
Rolling my eyes, I cap the sunscreen but stick it in the bin between the seats instead of my bag. “If it wasn’t a safety risk, I’d say you should put some on now too. We’ll have to wait until we get there.”
White teeth flash in a grin. “You gonna rub it on me, Sweets?”
“Nice try, buddy.”
“Can’t blame a guy.”
With a dubious hum, I lean back and close my eyes, letting the wind hit my face.
“LA Woman” ends, and The Raconteurs’ “Old Enough” starts playing, the bluegrass-rock version with Ashley Monroe harmonizing alongside Jack White.
I know this because I played the song multiple times one year in high school.
I have no idea where I discovered it, but it’s a nice surprise to know August likes it too.
As it usually happens when I hear the song, I start to sing along, taking the contralto notes.
It doesn’t occur to me to feel self-conscious, even though I never sing around other people.
Maybe it’s because August is strumming his thumb on the steering wheel in time to the beat and eyes bright with pleasure.
But I’m not sure that’s it. Maybe it’s just him.
Somewhere between him telling me I had nice teeth, eating sandwiches in the night, and me hearing out his wild false marriage proposal, I fell into trust with him.
“Okay,” I say when the song ends. “I’ll do it.”
The car swerves a little when his attention swings my way. “What?”
“Road!” I point, scrambling upright.
But he’s already corrected. “Focus, Penelope—” as if I’m the one driving all over the place “—you’ll do what exactly?”
It’s clear he understood me perfectly fine because he’s beaming, his smile so wide, he’s dimpling. But he’s not letting it go, his insistent gaze darting between me and the road, waiting for my answer.
Brushing an errant strand of hair away from my eyes, I repeat myself with a calm I don’t exactly feel. “I’ll go along with your crazy-ass scheme.”
“Just like that?” He sounds dubious.
“Just like that.” I frown. “Why are you questioning?”
He lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. “I don’t know. Back at your apartment, it sounded like you were going to turn me down.”
I so was.
“Shows what you know.” In truth, I didn’t know until the words tripped out of me.
“Okay,” he says with a happy slap on the wheel. “Okay! Let’s do this, Sweets.”
We don’t say much more until he pulls into the massive beachfront parking lot that flanks the pier.
It’s fairly empty and the SUV stands on its lonesome as we get out.
I’m making an attempt to grab the sunscreen bottle when August hops out of the truck and rounds it with quick strides. He opens my door and captures my hand.
“Come here for a second.” That’s all the warning I get before he lifts me high and spins me around. I squeal both in surprise and pleasure. No one has swung me like this since childhood.
That August is doing it, smiling at me like I’ve made his year, his firm body pressed against mine, has my breath hitching.
His neck is warm where I wrap my arms around for stability, and he smells so good, all I want to do is nuzzle in close and breathe.
The whole thing flusters me so much, I get hot.
“Put me down, pazzo!” It comes out by rote because I don’t know how to be this publicly free. Unfortunately, August immediately sets me down.
But he doesn’t let me go. His big hands rest on my waist as he grins down at me. “Pazzo?”
“‘Crazy’ in Italian.” The wind blows my hair in my face, and I swat it back. “Tu sei pazzo. You’re crazy.”
August groans and tips his head forward. “God, that sounds sexy.”
Flushed, I avoid his gaze and try to ignore the heat of his hands seeping through my shirt. “And here I thought you had a thing for grandma talk.”
He bites his bottom lip as his eyes light up. “Maybe you could combine them?” The suggestion sounds far too hopeful. “We can get you one of those long-ass pins they use to roll out pasta dough, and you can wave it at me while lecturing in Italian.”
“Maybe you should go to Bologna and spend some time with my nonna.”
“Will she make me pasta and those little almond cookies your mom always has at Christmas?”
“For you? Probably.”
“I am very charming when I try.” This is offered with a perfectly straight face. It makes me laugh, despite my best efforts.
“Yes, you are.”
His snicker is unrepentant, but, after giving my waist a squeeze, he lets it go. “Why’d you change your mind, because I know you did.”
Before I can answer, he holds up a hand. “Doesn’t matter. You said yes.” Again, that light comes in his silver eyes that makes my insides flutter and float. “That’s enough for me.”
“Okay.” It’s all I can come up with under the brilliance of his joy. But relief has me breathing a bit easier. Telling him why I’d said okay to his pazzo idea is a bit more than I’m ready to reveal.
He hasn’t moved away and doesn’t look as if he’s planning to. Whatever is going on behind those eyes has his brows drawing together in concentration. “Right, then.” That sharp focus shifts to me. “Let’s do this.”
“Okay but . . .” I reach into the open truck and grab the sunscreen that I’d dropped on the seat when August decided to have a celebratory whirl. “Lather up first.”
He blinks at me as though not understanding.
I shake the bottle enticingly. “Protection is key.”
The corner of his mouth quirks. “Usually when I hear this, I’m being offered a condom instead.”
“I’d like to think you wouldn’t need reminding of that,” I say primly. No, I am not going to picture him in that situation. No, thank you.
He takes the bottle. “Joking, sweet Penelope. I am a safety guy through and through.”
“Then you won’t forget to use sunscreen religiously as well.”
With a grunt that may or may not be agreement, he squirts out a good dollop, hands me the bottle to hold, then proceeds to rub it on his arms. Up until now, I’ve managed not to look too closely at his body. No sense in risking being caught gaping. But I can’t ignore it now.
His arms are works of art: baked brown by the sun, corded and defined, with rocklike biceps that bunch and shift when he moves.
August is leaner than March; he doesn’t need the bulk that his younger brother does.
But the Lucks have the genetics of the gods, as far as I can tell.
Every one of them has strong, well-toned bodies that would take me hours of working out a day to achieve.
August is no exception. There’s a reason images of his torso went viral leading up to his draft.
Thankfully, he leaves his T-shirt on and only focuses on his arms and neck. He catches me looking, and waggles his brows. “You sure you wouldn’t want to put this on for me—”
“Nope.”
“I might miss a spot or two.”
“Your hands are big enough to catch all outlying territory.”
A soft laugh rumbles in his chest. “Cut it with the sexy talk, Pen. I can’t take much more of it.”
Sternly, I hand him the bottle again so he can get some sunscreen for his face.
He does an admirable job of covering himself, but there’s a white streak on each side of his nose where it rises up to his eyes.
Since he’s rubbing his face hard with frowning determination, I know he doesn’t realize this. Something in me softens.
Tossing the capped sunscreen back in the truck, I step up to him. Immediately, August stills, his hands falling to his sides as he watches me with quiet eyes. So still, as though I might bolt if he makes a sudden move. I just might.
My voice comes out too breathy. “Here.” Not entirely steady, I cup his face between my hands. Instantly, his lids lower, his head falling forward so I can reach him easier. With the blunt edge of my thumbs, I smooth out the sunscreen.
A gull cries overhead. In the distance comes the faint crash and rush of the waves, and the bright quick laugh of a child.
But here, standing in the lee of August’s long body, it’s so quiet the agitated rhythm of our exhalations sound like thunder.
My belly quivers as I stroke my thumbs over the high crests of his cheekbones.