“Delicious.”
His nostrils flair with an indrawn breath. “Give me a bite?”
I don’t hesitate, cutting a huge piece and offering my fork. Bracing his forearms on the table, he leans over the plates and snags the bite, firm lips sliding over my fork. Slowly he chews. There’s a glint of something in his eyes—teasing, definitely, but the other thing... His gaze lowers to my lips, and everything slows down, the clatter and chatter of the diner fading.
August’s eyes meet mine. My heartbeat sounds overloud in my ears. Base desire flows like liquid gold through my veins, hot and languid. Beneath the table, I press my thighs together to ease the ache between them. How the hell does he do this to me so easily?
This is why I avoided August so vehemently all these years. I can’t control my response to him, and I can’t hide it.
Maybe my agitation shows, because he blinks as if coming out of a fog and then flashes me a sweet smile. “You’re right. It’s delicious.”
My response is a supremely smooth, “Guh-huh.”
The bracket dimples around August’s mouth deepen. He stabs a golden portion of hash browns and offers it to me.
“Oh, I . . .”
“Don’t be shy.” He gives the fork an enticing wiggle. “I know you love hash browns. Especially the crispy bits.”
Surprise has my lips parting, and he gently feeds me the bite.
“How did you know that?” I ask, when I’m finished chewing.
“Pen, come on. We grew up together.”
“You were almost never around.”
August concentrates on his omelet. “I guess I was around just enough.”
Is that why I know he hates mushrooms but loves truffles? Or how he gets car sick if he has to sit behind the driver. I’ve collected these pieces of him because I paid attention on the sidelines. Had he been doing the same? Or was it more like osmosis based on a sometimes shared childhood?
“I used to come here with my grandparents,” I say, to fill the silence that’s descended between us.
“Me too.” His expression grows fond. “When I visited them, we’d go here, or out for hot dogs, burgers...” He huffs a laugh. “They loved ‘Americana food,’ as they called it.”
“Yes, they did.” It’s useless to regret things that will never be, but my chest squeezes. Part of me mourns that August and I never went here together with them. That we grew up together yet somehow completely apart.
“The year Jan won the Heisman, March and I joined him out here. We drove along the coast, went surfing, and Jan met with his agent and some PR people.” August stabs a thick, golden, lump of omelet. “All that stuff. Anyway, we got together with Pops and Pegs. They took us to Sushi Park. Do you know the place?”
It’s an extremely expensive yet traditional sushi restaurant inexplicably located on the second floor of an innocuous strip mall. It’s also a known celebrity magnet, pulling in A-listers on the regular.
“They took you there?” I can’t contain the surprise in my voice. While Pops and Pegs loved sushi, I didn’t think that would be their go-to.
August nods shortly. His hands, once loose with relaxation, fist. “They said to Jan...” He clears his throat. “He was soon to be a famous sports legend, and that one day, March and I would be too, so they might as well take us where top celebrities hung out.”
He looks down at his plate. “God, they thought that was a hoot, you know?”
“I can see it.” For a second, my breath goes short; I miss my grandparents so much.
“I still remember Pegs beaming. Said she was showing the world the Luck Boys, and the world better be ready for us.”
My smile is watery. “They were right.”
He holds my gaze with his. “I loved them too, Pen.”
“I know.”
It sits between us for a quiet moment. Then he exhales long and slow. “So many people I might let down.”
