Her step stutters, just enough to give her away before she recovers with another spin of her stick.
As the slope twists, my hand reaches out to the small of her back, guiding her across the sidewalk so I can take the road side. The houses thin as we climb the rise, porch lights falling away until it’s just us at the entry to the clearing at the top. Open, quiet, the whole street behind us.
Blue eyes glitter sideways at me. “You’re being awfully quiet.”
I nod, glancing at her. “Because I’m trying not to say what I want to say.”
“Which is?” she asks, stepping over tree roots and shrubs as we push our way through to the clearing.
I’m quiet for a long moment, unsure what to say. Unsure if she wants to hear it. But once we step through into the expanse of the clearing, the water of Sloan’s Lake shimmering against thelights of Denver behind it, she turns to me, and I know I can’t keep it to myself.
“You know what you’ve done, wearing that.”
She turns fully toward me, grin wobbling. “It’s Halloween, Pookie. I’m supposed to dress up.”
“You found the one loophole, Lu,” I mutter, stepping in closer, my hands fisting into the jersey material at her hips. “You gave me the one thing I didn’t think I could have, and I’m not gonna pretend it doesn’t mean something.”
“I want your name on me.” She smiles at me, and I’m gone.
One second I’m breathing, the next I’ve got her pressed against a tree trunk, lips on hers. She moans, stick clattering to the ground, then fists her hands in my turtle top to yank me closer.
“Fuck, Lu,” I rasp against her mouth, hands sliding under the hem until I find bare skin. “I really,reallywant my name on you, too.”
Her laugh trembles, swallowed by my groan when her nails scrape the back of my neck.
The kiss is quick and frantic, all heat and no finesse. My teeth graze her lip, her fingers tangle in my hair, my thumbs push higher on her thighs until she gasps my name.
God, I could keep her here all night.
But headlights turn at the end of the block, slanting through the trees and shrubs, and she shoves lightly at my chest, both of us breathless, excuses barely holding us together.
“Later,” she whispers, eyes wide and lips shiny.
It takes everything in me to nod, step back, and let her pick up her stick.
We make it down the hill and the street in silence, hearts still hammering, fingers threaded together until we get too close to our houses that it’s dangerous.
The chaos has dulled, and the kids are all sugared out, half-asleep on shoulders. Decorations are sagging, Zoe and Tamara are tossing trash into bags, and Eli’s parked in a chair, mowing through leftover cupcakes.
I shrug out of my turtle shell, and spend the next hour counting down every second until we can be alone.
Tamara finally wrangles Eli home, herding him into their car, and the rest of the crew piles into their own SUVs, peeling off with sleepy kids and full treat bags, laughter trailing after them.
By the time tidy up is complete, I’m already half-feral. Lulu slips upstairs to ditch the shin guards and pads, and when she comes back down, she’s in leggings and my jersey. It swallows her.
I barely manage to wait until we’ve crossed the street. Dusty trots happily at our heels, lion’s mane bouncing with each step, oblivious to the fact I’m hanging by a thread.
He noses between us the second I slam the door.
“Not now, buddy.” My voice is raw as I rip the lid off the treat jar on the entryway console and toss a handful toward the kitchen. He scrambles after them, nails skittering on the hardwood.
Then it’s just us.
I’ve got Lulu pinned against the door before she can blink, mouth crushing hers. She gasps into me, legs winding around my waist as I grind her back against the wood.
“Logan,” she moans, nails catching at my neck.
“Off,” I growl, dragging her leggings down. “Everything off, except this.” I fist the hem of the jersey, tugging it tight, then work my own jeans down.
