Page 13 of Memories of You

“Because it was the thinnest and you were lame,” she said,and he really did laugh.

“Not lame. Just lazy. Not like you. I had to talk you out oftaking three because they were heavy. You said we’d sneak back for others afterwe read each one, and by the time we came home, we’d know everything there wasto know.”

“It was a good plan,” she said. “Just missing some keypieces of, um—”

“Reality?”

“That about covers it,” she admitted.

They shared a smile, and he felt so damn settled. It was agood feeling, and terrifying too, because he knew so well that it could allevaporate in an instant. It had with his parents, after all. His mom goingdeaf. His father packing up and leaving. Being dragged to Houston when hewanted to stay firmly at home. And in Iraq as well. Close friends, gone in aninstant. His own life changed in the blink of an eye.

“Hey?” Her gentle voice pulled him from his dark thoughts.“Did I lose you?”

“I miss those days,” he said honestly.

“Me too.” She took another sip of her drink. “I’m a littletipsy, or I probably wouldn’t say this, even though I’m sure you already know.”

“Yeah? What?”

“I had a total crush on you freshman year.”

“No way.”

She nodded firmly. “Oh, yes. But you were so popular, and Ithought you’d forgotten I existed.”

Her words were like a knife to his heart.

“God no. I kept—I was afraid to hang out with you.”

“What? Why?”

He drew a breath. “Because I couldn’t stop thinking of you.I had this fantasy that you’d knock on my window one night, and I’d let you in,and—”

He shook his head, cutting off the words. “But we’d neverbeen like that—we were friends—and I thought if you saw it in my eyes, I’d loseyou. The same way I lost my dad. He didn’t even try to work it out with my mom.It just got hard and he couldn’t deal and he left.”

“You thought that would happen to us?”

“I wanted you as a friend more than I wanted you in bed—hell,back then I didn’t even know what that would be like. Not really. But Iimagined it in living color.”

“Yeah?” She scooted closer, her knees pulled up inside thatpale pink dress. “So, um, how was I?”

He swallowed, trying not to look at the way her nipples weretight against the thin material. Or the way her pulse was beating in her neck.He needed to stop this. Needed to back it down, because this conversation hadtaken a dangerous—enticing—left turn. Keep going, and he’d regret it. He knewit.

And yet somehow he couldn’t quite veer off the path. “Youwere amazing,” he whispered. “And you tasted like strawberries.”

“It’s the lip balm,” she said. “I still use it.”

Their eyes met, and dear God he was hard.

“Do you want to taste? See if it’s like it was in yourfantasy?” She bit her lower lip. “I’ve never been anyone’s fantasy before.”

“I find that very hard to believe.” He didn’t mention herpotential stalker. He should—it would kill the mood, and this was a mood thatreally should be killed. But damn him all to hell, he didn’t say a singlething.

“Whiskey and strawberries,” she said, then leaned forward,her hands on his thighs. She glanced down, and he heard her sharp intake ofbreath, then saw the heat in her eyes when she looked back up. “You do want,”she said as she slid her hand higher until her fingertips barely brushed hiscock under the thin cotton of those damned pajama bottoms.

“Abby, what are you doing?”

“Are you honestly telling me you haven’t figured that outyet?”