Page 56 of When The Noise Stops

I took my shirt off. Boots. Jeans. Left it all on the bank with the phone in the pocket. She watched me come in and didn't look away.

The water was shockingly cold. But I barely felt it. Because she was swimming toward me. Until she was close enough to touch.

She stopped.

We stood there. Chest-deep. Looking at each other.

Her hand found my shoulder. Cold fingers. Then they slid, slow, to the edge of the scar she'd seen in the shower. The long one down my back.

I went still.

She started to pull away.

My hand closed around her wrist.

"Don't."

She looked at me. Water on her lashes.

"Don't touch it?"

"Don't stop."

Her fingers stayed. She traced it. The lake held us up. Her chest against mine.

"Grizz."

"What."

"Are you ever gonna kiss me?"

My hand left her wrist and found the back of her neck. Wet hair. Pulse under my thumb.

"Probably shouldn't."

"That's not what I asked."

"I know."

Fuck. I was tired of fighting it.

I kissed her.

It was slow, and it wasn't. Then heat. She made a sound I felt more than heard. Her legs came up around my waist, and I caught her, one arm under her, the other in her hair, and the weeks I'd spent thinking went under with us.

She tasted like whiskey and lake water. Her nails scraped the scar. I pulled her closer; she rolled into me. I kissed her deeper. Her arms circled my neck, her body pressing into mine beneath the cold water, and every reason I'd given myself for staying away from her disappeared.

By the time we broke apart, we were both breathing hard.

Forehead against forehead.

Her lips swollen.

Her eyes still closed.

"Okay," she whispered, then opened her mouth to say more, a smirk covering her lips.

"Don't."