“Here I come, five, four, three”—he swoops in closer—“two, one.”
I force myself to dip under until the water floats up to my neck, and my body gives a mean shiver, but then a burst of heat rinses over me, and I can breathe again.
“Hey”—I take a few steps out until my feet no longer touch the bottom—“itiskind of warm.”
“That’s because I had to take a mean piss.” His dark brows rise as he swoops in closer. “Don’t worry, sweetie”—he blinks a smile—“I only had your best interests at heart.”
“You bastard.” I flick my fingers, squirting him in the face. Ace shakes his head like a wet dog, peppering me with the residue.
“Lyingbastard would be more accurate. I promise, Reese, I can find far more creative ways to keep you warm, and very few of them involve bodily fluids.” Ace hoods his lids again. His dimples depress as he comes in ever so close. “I think this is the part where we hug it out—or maybe we should make out for the hell of it and call it a night.” A smile tugs on his lips, and it only makes him look that much more achingly beautiful. Ace is a god among men, and he doesn’t even know it.
I pinch my nose and dip under the waterline, relieving my hair of the gravity-defying pose I molded it into earlier.
“Big hair is officially out,” I say, blinking into him.
“I think you just changed the topic.”
“I didn’t think you’d notice.” I move in closer until his chest is within reach, and I wonder if he can see my body from this vantage point—if he wants to.
“I noticed a lot about you tonight.” He swallows hard, taking in my features as if it’s the first time he’s seeing me.
“Like?” I push in an inch, anxious to steal a glance below the water and see his measuring rod for myself.
Ace winces.
We both know we’re dancing a little too close to the flames, and I like it, I’m hoping he likes it too. Ace and I have been friends from the womb, never mind the fact I’ve been secretly crushing on him just as long, but we’ve never stepped outside the bounds of friendship. I hung out with a different crowd in high school, then went straight to Yeats while Ace has spent the last three years at the local junior college.
“Like the fact you’re the only girl I know who can pull off big hair.” His dimples reappear, mocking me with their superpowers. “Your neon leggings were pretty hot, too. I think you should bow to the eighties style gods and revamp your wardrobe.”
“Please”—I hedge in ever so close—“I looked like an escapee from a John Hughes movie.”
“A damn cute one.”
My heart thumps just once when he says it.
“You think I’m cute?” I ask, moving in another few inches. It’s a well-known fact Ace thinks of me more as a little sister than a contender for his endless supply of prophylactics. I should know about the never-ending supply, I’ve seen the testaments to anti-procreation he stashes openly in his bedroom. His sister Neva and I used to be friends until she ditched me for a group of stoner girls. Then, one day, out of the blue, she announced she’s always hated me, and we haven’t said two words since. Now she just gives me the finger in lieu of hello.
“Yeah, I think you’re cute.” He reaches over and messes up my hair, so I slip under again and come up slicked to perfection as only the lake can provide.
I spit a perfect stream of water into his face. “Yeah?” I pant out of breath. “Well, I think you’rebeautiful.”
“What?” His head ticks back a notch. He’s either genuinely amused or more-than-slightly pissed. Gone is the playful banter as his features soften, affording him a boyishness I’ve never seen in him before.
“You heard me. I think you’re beautiful.” A moment of silence whistles by with the breeze. “And, I think maybe weshouldmake out for the hell of it.” My heart races at the prospect of his mouth covering mine—his probing tongue having free roam inside me for hours. I’d give every pint of blood in my body to make this happen. Being dead by morning doesn’t frighten me near as much as living a life in which I’ve never kissed Ace. I’ve wanted it, fantasized about it for years.
“Yeah, right.” He squeezes his eyes tight for a moment as if trying to rouse himself from a dream. “You’re all hopped up on moonlight and night magic and whatever else girls fill their heads with after midnight.” He tips his chin up as he examines me. Water beads down his face. His stubble dusts over his cheeks like a shadow, and my gut cinches just taking him in like this.
The sweet scent of night jasmine perfumes the air and makes me heady for a special kiss that only Ace Waterman can masterfully deliver.
“I’m serious.” I lean forward until I feel the warmth emanating from his chest. Every inch of me trembles with a new level of fear I didn’t know existed. Who knew that deep down inside, Ace is the very thing I’m terrified of. “I want to have a crazy summer”—I reach out and touch my fingers over his glossy hair, soft and slick—“and the last person to give it to me is going to be Warren McCarthy. If I have to hang out with him and the banana republicans until I head back to Yeats, I’m going to fling myself off Wilson Bridge.” I stick my finger down my throat and mock gag at the idea.
Ace ticks his head back a notch and looks at me with the slight air of reproach. Now that I think of it, I’m pretty sure mock gagging only made me look even more like a child in his eyes. The next thing you know, I’ll be leading him into a sparkling conversation about late-night cartoons—maybe challenging him to a game of Candy Land to round out the evening. Just fuck. Way to kill a potential spit swap. I would have paid in solid gold Krugerrands to have his lips pressed against mine for even a brief moment in time.
“I see many flaws with your plan of action.” He sinks until the water is up to his chin. Ace looks up at me as the stars reflect in his eyes, and I marvel at this small miracle. “Not only is Wilson acoveredbridge, but the water in the stream is a shallow four feet.” His lips twitch. “Blame it on the lousy rainfall we had last year.”
Ace floats back a few inches, but the gap he’s building may as well have an entire continent between us. A part of me wonders if he finds me too repulsive for that ever-elusive kiss. I might be leaning toward the dramatic, but I’m probably not too far off base. Rumor has it he’s slept his way through the entire state of Connecticut, and, yet, I’ve never garnered so much as a second look from him. Not that I’ve put out any signals that I was interested before, at least not like I am now. I think he’s right, I’m drunk off night magic, and it has me fearlessly asking for the very thing I’ve always wanted—Ace himself.
“And what about that kiss?” It comes from me barely audible, broken—because if he doesn’t deliver I might raise the water levels of this lake with tears.
