I turn toward her without really meaning to. Her hair, almost the color of caramel, drifts down her shoulders. She closes her eyes, letting the light breeze run over her skin. When she opens her eyes, she catches me watching her.
“What?” she asks, almost like a dare.
I lean on one arm and use the other to touch her face, my fingers finding the nape of her neck. Pulling her to me, I feel her melt into it like she was already halfway there. Her lips are warm and lush, tasting faintly of cherries and summer, and the world narrows to the quiet press of her mouth against mine.
She sighs into the kiss, her hand sliding over my shirt, fingers curling like she’s grounding herself. I deepen it just enough to make my intention clear, but I keep it slow—like I’m savoring something I don’t want to rush. And also, because we’re out on a public beach.
My tongue sweeps along the seam of her lips and then I’m tasting her. She moans and it could be my undoing. She kisses me back, sure and a bit charged, her hand still pulling at my shirt like she’s afraid I might drift away.
Then she’s sitting up, not breaking the kiss, lightly pushing my shoulders back. She pulls away long enough to swing a leg over and straddle me, the movement easy and intentional, like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
Sadie kisses my jaw, and then down my neck. Her hands move from my chest to my arms.
“Colson Burke, with those good arms,” she teases me, squeezing my biceps. Something flashes across her eyes and puts a hand over her mouth. “Your shoulder. I didn’t even think about it. Are you okay?” She looks around to the sight of my arms propping me up, like she can see an injury with her eyes.
When she tries to stand, I move a hand to her hip, holding her in place.
“The shoulder is fine. Don’t you go anywhere.”
Relief shows on her face and she slowly leans in, bringing her lips back to mine. She nips at my bottom lip and a groan spills from my mouth. I can feel her smiling into it, sinking into my reaction, and I love how she makes me feel like this. I doubt she’ll ever be close enough.
My skin feels like it’s buzzing where she touches, and where I wish she was. The wind picks up a bit, pushing her hair into her face.
She pulls back enough to look at me, tucking her hair behind her ears, eyes bright and lips swollen from kissing. “This,” she says quietly, a teasing smile tugging at her mouth, “might actually be the real reason I brought you to my secret spot.”
I laugh under my breath, my hands sliding to her hips as she sits back, steadying her there. “I feel incredibly honored.”
She leans down again, kissing me once more—slower now, sweeter—but there’s still a spark underneath it, the hum of something charged and alive. A firework bursts overhead, lighting up the lake.
Sadie turns, looking at the sky. The light from another firework catches her face in flashes—warm, then shadowed, then bright again—and something about it makes my chest feel tingly in that good, dangerous way.
She moves until she’s sitting next to me. I pull my knees into my chest, my arms around them. Sadie loops an arm through mine, leaning into me.
Another burst goes off, closer this time, and the sound ripples through the crowd we can still hear but can’t see. Someone cheers in the distance. Here, it’s just us, tucked behind the curve of the lake, the blanket soft beneath us.
“Thanks for bringing me here,” I say.
She turns her head, smiling softly. “You’re welcome.”
We sit there, fireworks going off, and I feel like the moment stretches around us. And the way I feel about her is something I didn’t see coming.
thirty-two
Sadie
I’minColson’scarand he’s taking me back to my place. But I don’t want to go home. I should be exhausted from today. Kind of feels like today was a whole week–everything with the storm and clean up all the way through watching the fireworks on the beach.
I keep trying to steal looks at him—he’s caught me probably every other time. The dashboard lights wash over him in faint flashes, catching on the clean lines of his face and the muscle packed into his shoulders. His white T-shirt fits like it was made for him, stretched across his chest, sleeves snug around his biceps. Every time he shifts his grip on the wheel, his arm flexes. How can something so obscure like that be so damn hot? So distracting? Someone should really study that.
His hat is still on backward like he knows what it does to me. There’s something about the way he fills this space that makes my chest squeeze and something pool in my low belly. His jaw is set, a faint shadow of stubble along it, eyes trained on the dark road ahead.
I feel the pull of him without meaning to, a low awareness humming beneath my skin. The car is quiet except for the road and our breathing, the night wrapped close around us. I should be tired. I should want my bed. But all I can think about is how close he is, how good he looks like this, and how badly I don’t want this drive to end.
My hand finds his thigh. It’s testing the edge of something. Almost feels a tiny bit reckless. I draw slow circles through the fabric, then givea light squeeze, enough to see what happens. His grip tightens on the steering wheel, the muscle in his arm jumping, and this time when he looks over, he doesn’t bother pretending he didn’t notice.
His eyes flick to my hand, then to my face. One brow lifts. “What’s up?”
My pulse kicks up, nerves buzzing, but I don’t pull away. I like this version of myself—the one who asks instead of wonders. “I was thinking,” I say, voice softer than I mean for it to be, “what if I didn’t go home?
