Chapter 16 #2
“Don’t look so surprised,” he says. “I thought you knew March was the biggest player in the family. Not me.”
Part of me wants to say that’s like comparing red apples to green apples. Despite his words, I’d never seen August Luck without a companion hanging on his arm. Until now. But I guess now he has me. Which is a ruse. Ugh. I don’t want to think about it anymore.
Resting my head on the back of the sofa, I blink up at the sky just beyond the roofline. “Where was I?”
“Sarah and Daniel had either banged or run off every other roommate with offers to bang?”
“Right. By this point, Sarah was tired of Daniel and didn’t want to hook up with him anymore. Apparently, this was fine by him, as he had an entire city of hot chicks to choose from. His words.”
August’s brow clouds. “He didn’t try anything with you, did he?”
A stray leaf drifts onto the cream fabric of the lounger. I flick it off. “He asked if I swung his way, and I said only with my fist if he tried anything. That was that. Anyway, he moved out a month after I got there, and I was glad for it.”
“And Sarah?”
“And Sarah what?”
He gives me a speaking look and patiently waits for my answer.
“There were a few feelers put out, but when I didn’t bite, she left it alone. Despite all the roommate shenanigans, she’s not actually pushy that way.”
August reaches down and picks up a football that had been under the coffee table.
It looks downright small when he palms it in thought.
His expression clouds. “Okay, you’re out of the revolving-bed-partner house, and will avoid what’s probably going to be another ugly blowup You’d already planned to move out anyway. So why are you upset?”
“She didn’t know that!” I lift my hands in irritation. “For all she knows, I’m a struggling college student with no place to go, and yet she just . . . booted me!” I deflate with a sigh. “I found it callous and hurtful, is all.”
Somehow, we’ve drifted until August’s shoulder rests against mine, our heads nearly touching. As if he’s done it all his life, August takes my hand in his. The connection is instant. Warmth flows through him and into me.
Thoughtfully, he spreads my palm and fingers out over the larger expanse of his own and studies the difference in sizes.
Mine looks tiny in comparison, though thankfully not childlike.
We both have long fingers, narrow palms. His is rough with calluses, taut with strength, while mine is soft and smooth.
Our breathing slows, each inhale, exhale matching. We aren’t doing anything more than pressing our palms together, and yet it’s as if he’s stroking along my neck, down the small of my back, up the inner edge of my thighs. My head lolls, the fall of my hair puddling on his shoulder.
His voice becomes low and warm. “It was shitty of her, Pen.”
Okay, maybe I’m not totally calm, because I still hear Sarah bluntly telling me I had to go play over in my mind.
“And here I was agonizing over how to leave the place.”
His hum is noncommittal. But I hear the way he’s struggling not to point out the irony all the same.
Taking my hand back, I shoot him a repressive look.
“I repeat, she had no idea I had another place to live. And—” I lift a finger for punctuation “—she rents because she likes the company not because she needs the money.”
August shifts around so that he’s resting on his side and facing me. His eyes glint with humor. But his tone is conspiratorial. “Do you want me to hold back the box seat pass I was going to give her?”
My heart trips. “You were going to do that?”
“Sure.” His gaze searches mine. “She’s your roommate and a huge fan. I thought it might ease the way when you announced your departure.”
Oh, God. Oh, God. Do not get misty-eyed.
I bite the corner of my lip. “No, no. Don’t do that. She’s not a bad person, really. Just . . . complicated.”
“I don’t like that she hurt your feelings.” August scowls down at the football and picks it back up. “I’ll give her the tickets, but she’s not getting the team hat.”
“You got her a hat?”
The bridge of his nose pinks again. He spins the ball in his palm. “Ah, no. The hat was . . . ah . . . for Edward.”
A beat of silence pulses between us. One in which August tries valiantly not to squirm or look my way, and I try not to melt into a puddle of goo next to him.
“August,” I breathe. “That’s so . . . sweet.”
“God, not the dreaded ‘so sweet.’”
“What’s wrong with being sweet?”
He shoots me a repressive glare. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s latent trauma we little dudes experienced whenever one of our female relatives would cry out that word while pinching our cheeks or smothering us with kisses.”
“Oh, the horror.”
“Talk to me about ‘horror’ after you’re thrust in front of fifty relatives at the annual family picnic and are made to sing ‘Food, Glorious Food’ from Oliver Twist,” he says darkly.
I try to smother a laugh with my hand but fail spectacularly. “I had no idea you even knew the words to that song.”
“They played the musical on TV, didn’t they? And I was only singing it in ode to the buffet I was about to attack. Then Aunt Edna swooped in and outed me.” His voice dips to singsong. “‘Oh, isn’t that so sweet? Margo, you simply must hear this!’”
I laugh harder. “How have I never heard this story? How old were you?”
“Six,” he mutters, then lifts a lofty brow. “You finished?”
“Almost. It’s just so sweet—ack!”
One second I’m laughing, the next I’m on my back with August half sprawled on me. He rests his weight on his elbows at either side of my head, a satisfied grin spreading over his face. “That’s enough out of you, Miss Morrow.”
Breathless, I stare up at him. He’s been touching me more and more since that rainy night we reconnected. The entire Luck family is physically affectionate. But August has never been with me before. That alone would have me disoriented by this new closeness.
But the truth is more concerning. Because I had no idea how good it would feel to be held snug beneath his body.
Good lord, he just does it for me. Base lust swirls alongside drowsy pleasure.
I don’t know what I want to do more: push against him and feel that prime body or simply melt into the furniture with a sigh.
I settle for narrowing my eyes up at him and pretending my heart isn’t trying to thump its way free of my chest. He must feel it, though. God knows, I feel him—hard and pulsing with restrained energy. I don’t think I make a greedy noise of want, but I might have.
August adjusts his position just enough to slide his thick thigh in between my splayed ones. The move sends little devils of heat dancing in my core. He grunts, a soft rumble of sound, and his gaze moves over my face. Everything slows and tightens.
“You know,” he says almost conversationally. “We could practice kissing.”
“Practice?” My head’s gone all floaty.
The tone of his voice deepens. “So it seems natural when we do it in public. Your first game day appearance is this Sunday.”
Is it? I can’t think. He’s so close now, all I see is him. The diamond-bright beauty of his sculpted features, the hot gleam in his eyes. His lips look both firm and soft. I want to know which. He smells delicious, of berries and August.
Kiss him?
He dips his head closer. A lock of his hair brushes the crest of my cheek. The light touch might as well be a brand. I feel it all along my skin, in the sensitive nerves of my lips.
The blunt tip of his thumb skims along the underside of my wrist as though to soothe. It sends tiny shivers of pleasure along my skin.
Kiss him.
For practice.
That last bit catches hold just before his mouth brushes mine. My breath hitches. Instinctively, I press deeper into the couch cushion, away from him. He feels the change and halts, lifting his head enough to meet me gaze.
“I . . . ah . . .” My voice croaks, and I clear it. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
Lies! Take it back!
But I can’t. He’s already easing away. I scramble to get out from under him. A frown mars his face as he watches me fumble my way to standing, and then gracefully stands himself.
“I’m sorry, Pen,” he says slowly, troubled. “I didn’t mean to make it awkward for you.”
“You didn’t. I mean . . . I can see the . . . ah, merit of the idea.” I run a shaking hand through the tumbled mess of my hair. “I just think it might confuse things, and perhaps it’s best to keep our . . . performance to only on game day.” I swallow hard. “So to speak.”
There. That wasn’t an awkward word salad at all.
Hands loosely braced low on his hips, August stares at me for a second like he’s deliberating what to say. But then he takes a breath and offers a relaxed smile. “Of course, Pen. Whatever you want.”