“Do you want me to stop?”
My lips are so close to his that when he shakes his head, our mouths brush. I graze my nose against his and take his bottom lip between my teeth. It’s not my usual opening move, but I feel as if I could devour him whole. He tastes like gummy bears. A groan rumbles in Charlie’s chest, and then suddenly his hands are around my thighs and he’s hoisting me off the ground. The look in his eyes is a dare and a promise and other, more dangerous things. I lock my legs around his waist and cling to his shoulders, and when he adjusts his grip, I gasp at the hard press of him against me. I move my hips, because…
Whoa.
“Alice,” he grits out. “Fuck.”
“I’m still mad at you,” I say, staring into his eyes as I bring my lips closer to his. “But I’ll let you make it up to me because I like you.”
Charlie blinks. “I like you, too.” His grasp on me loosens, and he slowly sets me back on my feet.
“Then what’s the problem?”
He swallows. “We shouldn’t.”
“I don’t understand.” He was clearly enjoying himself.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that…” He looks around the room.
I’d forgotten about Nan. “Let’s go to the boathouse,” I say.
“It’s not that.” He stares at me with tortured green eyes. “I got carried away. I shouldn’t have let that happen. It’s not you,” he adds quickly.
“Then what is it?” My face is burning. I’m embarrassed, a little angry, and a lot turned on.
Charlie struggles to find an answer, but finally settles for, “It’s probably best for us to stay friends.”
I gape at him. “Friends?”
He nods, and I can’t help it, my eyes lower to where there is something very unplatonic pressing up against the fly of his jeans.
Charlie swipes a palm over his head, then gives me an inscrutable look. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Trouble.”
25
Saturday, July 12
51 Days Left at the Lake
I stow away in the boathouse the next afternoon. There are two twin beds and a large sliding door that leads to a small deck with just enough room for two Muskoka chairs. Its peaked wood ceilings are so steep you have to crouch if you’re close to the sides. I’ve set it up like Nan did back when I was a kid, with a bunch of cheap art supplies and a plastic cloth on the table. I can’t remember the last time I messed around with paint and pencils. Right now, I’m sketching the bay while Charlie stains the dock. Or at least I’m trying to sketch. My eyes keep drifting from the shoreline to him. He stripped off his T-shirt five minutes ago.
I woke up this morning with a Chardonnay headache and his voice in my ear.
Alice. Fuck.
I can’t believe I threw myself at him. I’ve never done anything like that before. My need to touch him, to feel his body, to taste him, was overwhelming. It seemed to appear out of nowhere, an apparition that needed to be exorcised. I’m not sure Ican blame the wine. We barely kissed, but I haven’t been that turned on in…well, I don’t think I’ve ever been that turned on.
Chewing on the end of my pencil, I watch him work on his hands and knees. He wipes his forehead, pausing to peer over his shoulder at the boathouse. I don’t think he can see past the sun’s glare on the window, but he looks right at me. My stomach flips.
I keep replaying the moment when I pulled his lip between my teeth, when he madethat sound, then lifted me off the floor as if he couldn’t hold himself back for another second. And then the spell broke.
It’s probably best for us to stay friends.
Those words haunted me when I laid my head on my pillow, staring at the reflection of the light from his house on the water. I didn’t sleep. Instead, I spent the night reminding myself why Charlie was right to pull back. I had a crush on a friend once before, and it destroyed us. And despite how mixed up I feel about Charlie, I do think that’s what he’s become. A friend.
I’m so deep in thoughts of Charlie that I don’t hear his footsteps ascending the boathouse stairs before he knocks.
“Alice. Can I come in?” he asks from the other side of the door.
