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He snorts. “Look, I appreciate you coming by, and the apology, but you don’t have to?—”
“What if Jeremy wasn’t the love of my life?” I ask, cutting him off.
Lucas inhales sharply.
“I’m not saying I didn’t love him,” I add quickly.
“I know you loved him.”
I nod, then clear my throat. “I mean… I guess what I’m saying is, there’s a chance he was, you know? That I’ll never experience what we had again. And really, no matter what, I know I won’t. There’ll never be another Jeremy for me.”
“No,” he agrees softly, gaze trained on the floor.
“But that doesn’t mean there’ll never be another… someone.” Flushing, I shift from side to side. “Either way, I shouldn’t have said that. And thank you for telling me why you acted that way. It gives me some closure. At least now I know it wasn’t because I sucked at kissing.”
“Jesus, Celeste?—”
“I’m kidding,” I cut him off. I’m not actually kidding—that whole thing really fucked me up and made me super insecure until enough time with Jeremy convinced me otherwise.
I step away from the grate and turn to face him. He still won’t look at me, which gives me the opportunity to study him. Really see him.
A swell of affection courses through me—for the boy who stepped aside for his best friend because he didn’t think he deserved me, who wanted me to be happy above all. And affection for the man he’s grown into: sensitive, kind, and still so funny. Strong, successful, and smart. Not to mention heartbreakingly handsome and sexy. Even his bare feet are lovely, the nails neatly trimmed and clean.
My gaze trips up his bare torso to find him watching me. Pale blue eyes seal my feet to the floor, and my next intake of air stumbles over the speed bumps of my rapidly pulsing heart.
“Anyway,” I say, the word nearly breathless. “I didn’t want to leave things like that with you. And I want to be there for you, in whatever way you need, while you’re going through this stuff with your family this week.”
“Celeste,” he rasps, the tone full of raw longing.
Heat floods my body, eclipsing the effects of the vents around us. All rational thought flees. We move toward each other at the same time, my arms lifting to encircle his neck as his lock around my waist and lift me against his chest. There’s no pause before our open mouths meet. No words as he backs me up until my spine connects with a nearby wall.
He angles a leg between mine, pushing the seam of my jeans against where I throb. I moan, my hips circling, searching for friction.
Lucas’s mouth dips to my jaw, then to my ear. “Tell me to stop,” he whispers.
I pause in my exploration of his throat. He immediately stiffens, his arms dropping as he takes a step back. His eyes are closed, his hands up and his entire body trembling.
“You should go,” he manages.
I should, but I won’t. And I don’t care to examine why.
I close the distance between us and grab his waistband, popping the button from its sodden denim hole. His eyes snap open.
“Peapod?”
“What?” I ask, feigning distraction as I carefully take down the zipper.
His hips jerk forward. “Are you?—”
“Shut up, Lucas,” I say as I yank his jeans over his hips and my hand dives beneath the elastic waist of his boxer briefs.
The feeling that fills me as I close my fingers around his hard length? Ecstasy. Relief. Sharp-edged desperation.
“I guess the itch isn’t scratched yet,” I murmur, pumping him once.
Lucas pants, his chest bumping against mine. Lowering his head, he tugs on my earlobe with his teeth, then licks the offended skin. I melt back against the wall, momentarily losing my purpose.
Then I remember and cup his balls, tugging them somewhat gently.
