Page 53 of Austin

He bows his head and lets out a groan.

“Tracking the curve, remember?” I remind him.

His head pops up with widened eyes as his gaze goes right for my chest and the curves he so provocatively told me he’d be tracking on our second date.

I laugh out loud, shocked at his audacity. “Nope. Not until I get one of your secrets.”

He rolls his head back and looks up into the sky. His eyes are still closed as he utters, “I was dead, and they brought me back to life.”

“You mean, in the military?”

His eyes open, and he gives me a nod.

We stand in silence for a few moments as I wait for him to say more. He doesn’t.

“Periscope” by Papa Roach plays on a speaker nearby, and as I listen to the lyrics, I watch his mouth open and close, as if he has so many things to say but can’t seem to form the right ones. Just like the song suggests, I feel like I’m getting pieces of him, and they’re all jumbled, like I’m seeing him through a periscope.

I can’t figure out if he’s creating a masterpiece or floating around, only to never be put together again. The thought saddens me. I know nothing about this man, and I’m starting to feel like no one else does either.

“I want to know who you are,” I say, determined.

“You know who I am.”

“No”—I look into his eyes—“I want to know who you really are. Why do I feel like you’re not who you portray on the outside?”

“Because I’m not.”

“Why not be who you want to be?”

“I’m scared you’re not going to like what you see.”

I grab his hand, pulling it up to me and placing it on my chest, giving him the opportunity to leave it there or wrap it around my breast, inviting him to the curve that he craves.

“A deal’s a deal,” I whisper.

Whatever hesitation he had a moment ago is now gone. What Austin might have difficulty expressing verbally, he has no problem doing physically.

His palm splays warmly on my skin as he leans in, softly kissing me, while his hand slides down my body, lightly touching my breast before he makes his way to my hips, firmly pulling me against him. His mouth opens with a low growl escaping his lips as his kiss intensifies.

Thank God for the race that is going on in the background because I’m being owned by a man in public, and it’s the most brazen thing I’ve ever done in my life.

I grab the back of his hood and wrap my other arm around his powerful waist, pulling him in so that I feel every inch of him, greater than I did the first two times we kissed. And the way his hand is dancing around my breast, tugging at the nipple over my shirt, has me spinning on all axles at the sensation that is pooling right down at my very core.

I’m still craving more of him as he pulls back and places his forehead against mine. Our chests heave in unison as we breathe in each other’s air and catch our breaths.

“I’m already looking forward to our third date,” he teases and then places a chaste kiss to my lips. “Thank you for going with me tonight.”

“Is this the end of our date?” I ask, sounding far more disappointed than I planned.

He smiles. It’s big and bright and beautiful. “Never.”

I climb into the passenger seat and watch as he walks around the front and into the driver’s side. When he’s in, he turns the ignition, and we drive back onto the freeway. It’s not even five minutes later when he places his hand on top of mine.

I roll mine over, palm side up, and intertwine our fingers.

We drive in the opposite direction from the city, past Lafayette and into the foothills of Mt. Diablo. We listen to music and take in the views even though it’s way too dark to see most of them. I watch as his grip on the steering wheel loosens with every pass, and his shoulders ease into the seat. It also doesn’t go unnoticed how his thumb runs small circles on the inside of my palm.

When we reach Alamo, I tell him a story about when my mom took me and Beckett to see the waterfalls in Las Trampas. It’s where I learned Beckett was afraid of salamanders.