“You’re really driving the point home, aren’t you,” I say. “I get it—I’m staying in America for you.”
“Oh yeah. I gotta give you the whole experience,” he replies, turning the volume up. “Admit it—I’m your big, sexy American wet dream.”
I laugh. I’m not gonna deny what’s patently obvious. Tilting my head, I regard my big, sexy American wet dream in tight shorts as he waits at a stoplight, before snatching his baseball hat.
Then I turn it backward, just the way I like.
“There,” I say, all smug as I cross my arms, “now you’re all set to make me cream my pants.”
The groan he lets out gives me confirmation that I’ve won. Satisfied, I rest against the cushioned seat and take in the green trees flying by, my hand on Nick’s leg and Nick’s…everything on my mind.
This time last year, I was regretting my decision to stay at WMU over the summer, homesick as hell and counting down the days until I left the country for good. Now, even though I’ve been in Michigan for all of twelve hours, none of those feelings are there. Not even a little.
I’ve got a smirking, smart-mouthed baseball player by my side, and I’m right at home. There’s nothing that fucker likes to do more than drive me up the wall, and as long as I’m there to give it back ten times worse, this is where the two of us belong.
EPILOGUE
NICK
TWO YEARS LATER
JUNE
My shoes pound on the loose dirt, leaves and twigs crunching as I round the corner, tearing into the home stretch. The trees give way to the road at the edge of the woods, and I swivel my head from side to side, checking for traffic, before racing across and up the driveway.
I skid to a stop, bracing my knees and ending the workout tracker on my fitness watch, heaving in deep breaths while the summer sun beats down on me. In the corner of my eye, I spot movement in an upstairs window, and I jerk my head up in time to catch Dean ducking down.
“I know you’re there!” I yell up, grinning.
He always does this—pretending he isn’t checking me out every time I go for a run without a shirt. I thought he’d give up the act after last summer, but nope, he’s still faking it and convincing nobody.
Or maybe he likes it when I wrestle a sexy little confession out of him after I go inside.
Speaking of inside, I need a shower. I straighten up and lumber toward the front door, only to pass the new hose Dean got the other day.
Now there’s an idea.
Smiling to myself, I saunter over to the spigot and turn it all the way on, unraveling the hose and sticking a finger intothe stream to check the temperature. Once it’s icy cold, I gulp a huge breath into my lungs and douse myself.
“Holy shit!” I scream when the frigid water washes over my body. I don’t know what else I was expecting, but hey, this is a great way to cool off.
And maybe this isn’t so bad. Why didn’t I think of this before?
“Babe,whatare you doing?” Dean asks, stepping onto the porch and resting against a pillar. “We have running water inside, too.”
He’s in one of my team hats—backward how he likes me to wear them—and that makes my heart flip like hell.
With drops trailing down my face and my wet hair falling over my eyes, I simply grin back. “This is more fun. Wanna see?” I wave the nozzle at my cowering boyfriend and snicker, dropping the hose to the ground and walking over.
“You scare me,” he mutters, shutting the water off.
“Nah, I turn you on,especiallywhen I’m shirtless. Gimme a hug.”
He shuts his eyes and smiles back, shaking his head and leaning into the wet hug I surround him with. “You’re lucky I love you.”
Aw. My heart squeezes as usual, and I nuzzle into Dean’s neck, which presses my mop of wet hair onto his face. “I am.”
“Yeah, you’re really, really lucky. Stop using me as a towel.” He can’t hold his laughter back as he shoves me, his hands wavering on my shoulders. I’ve been with him for long enough to know he’s feeling me up, and I close the distance between us, slipping my own hands underneath his loose shirt.
