Page 153 of Summer Love

“Jace… what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you. Couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

“You’re supposed to be wiped after PT.”

“I am.”

Summer doesn’t answer, but she moves closer and her arm touches mine.

We stop near the trailer. Flip must be asleep inside—I hear a steady snore through the thin wall.

Summer puts a hand on my chest. Her palm is warm through the fabric. My heart pounds underneath.

The moonlight traces one half of her face; the other’s in shadow. She’s beautiful.

I lean in and kiss her. Her hands rise to my neck, my fingers slide into her hair.

But my thigh throbs, and Steph’s cream is sticky under my shorts. The eucalyptus smell rises between us.

I’m not ready. And I’m scared as hell she’ll notice.

I pull back, rest my forehead against hers.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

I push open the trailer door. Stretched out on the bed, Flip lifts his head, wags his tail. The air inside is warm, stale. My stuff’s where I left it Sunday morning.

Flip jumps down, slips between us, and bolts for the yard.

Summer’s on the threshold, leaning against the door frame. She doesn’t come in, doesn’t leave either.

She can stay. She can go. I’m not going to choose for her.

CHAPTER 48

Summer

“You’re cold,” Jace says, nodding at the goosebumps on my arms.

“A little,” I admit.

“First cabinet on the right. Help yourself.”

He hangs a towel over the shower wall and disappears inside. The water starts running.

I leave my sandals by the door and go open the cabinet. A stack of T-shirts, a few pairs of shorts, a gray Quiksilver sweatshirt, another plain black one. I take the black one and shake it out. It’s way too big. I pull it on over my T-shirt, and right away, Jace’s scent wraps around me.

I sit down on the edge of the bed. The sheets are rumpled, the pillow tossed into a corner. I listen to the shower. Steam escapes over the top of the stall, warm, thick with the smell of soap.

The water stops. The towel vanishes into the stall and the door opens.

Jace steps out with the towel around his waist, chest bare, his dripping hair slicked back. The steam follows him. He moves toward the cabinet and the towel catches on the shower door.

It falls.

Jace is naked, his hand still reaching for the cabinet.

The scar, wide and ragged, runs down his left thigh, almost to the knee. The skin is bleached white in places, thickened and raised in others, with furrows gouged into the flesh.