Page 69 of The Sweet Spot

“It sets me apart, you know?”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“I guess not.” I finger my necklace, smiling. “I usually don’t tell people because of all the questions that inevitably follow, you know?”

“But you told me.” Luca grins smugly, squeezing my knee. Every time he touches me, my stomach shoots to my feet.

“You’re hard to resist.”

We look at each other, something passing between us. Lust, probably. “How’d you even find him?”

“He found me. I submitted my DNA to one of those ancestry sites online in an effort to, like, discover more about myself.” I rub my forehead with a humorless laugh. “The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced my subconscious was leading the way. I mean, of course I’d find my real dad! How on earth could I find distant family members or whatever without finding him?” It’s the first time I’ve actually said this out loud, but the notion’s been percolating in my head ever since Arlo messaged me for the first time.

It was never about my bloodlines. It was about finding my dad.

“Anyway, the site matched my DNA with whatever was in the database. It linked me to a bunch of people, him included,” I explain. “His name’s Arlo. He’s French. Like, born in France, moved to the US when he was really little.”

His eyes widen. “And he reached out to you?”

“He did. It was the craziest, most unexpected thing ever.” I stretch my legs, resting my socked feet on the coffee table. “We’ve been emailing ever since. My mom was a little freaked out at first, but she’s warmed to the idea.”

“That’s incredible.” Luca nods, gazing off into the distance. “I’ve always wanted to try one of those sites.”

“Just let me know, I can give you my referral code for a discount,” I joke.

“Maybe I will.” Winking, he tips his head back and polishes off what’s left of his beer.

“You want another one?” I jump to my feet, collecting both of our bottles. “I do.”

I skim past him, a little jolt of excitement zapping through my entire body at the fact that Luca and I are together. At his place. Retrieving two more beers from the fridge, I open them with Luca’s keys.

His hand slides up my thigh as I pause to hand him his beer. “Thanks,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t take it.

I look down at him, stomach flip-flopping at the golden glimmer in his light brown eyes. “You know, you’re the one with the killer eyes, Luca.”

I leave the bottles on the table and face him, enjoying the weight of his hand. This is what I’ve been thinking about for the past year and a half. Luca’s touch. His intentional, intimate touch.

His other hand slides up my thigh, squeezing my hip. The heat between us builds. “Hey.”

Moving sinuously, slowly, I ease onto his lap, resting my knees on either side of his hips. It’s a risky move, launching us from maybe to definitely, but I don’t care. I feel like we’ve been holding back forever and I’m over that.

Smiling slyly, Luca bites his lip. His heated gaze drops to my mouth as his hands round themselves over my ass. He squeezes, dragging me closer. “Don’t stop now, Wren,” he teases.

“I’ve thought about that night at the boardwalk so many times,” I confess, ghosting my fingertips over his sharp cheekbones.Jeez, what a face.

“So have I.”

My breath hitches. Resting my hands over Luca’s broad, muscled shoulders, I lean closer and meet his mouth in a gentle kiss. I do this over and over, closing my lips over his bottom one, then his top, enjoying the feel of him. After a moment, he nudges my lips open, darting his warm, wet tongue into my mouth. It feels so good that I moan quietly, tightening my grip on him, pulling myself even closer. The movement pulls a muffled groan from him, too, and he stiffens beneath me.

It’s like pouring gasoline on a bed of embers. Squeezing my ass, Luca sweeps his tongue into my mouth, chasing mine in a slick, sexy push and pull that has me panting and writhing in his lap. Glimmers of our other kisses shoot through my memory like comets, sweet and gentle on the Sky Glider, passionate and forbidden in the photo booth. This is a supernova of the hottest kind.

Luca’s relentless, kissing me and kissing me, nibbling my mouth and sucking my tongue. His hands roam up under my sweater, running restlessly over the bare skin of my back, and his rough, sandpaper chin rubs deliciously against mine, making me think of other places I’d love to feel it. I grind my hips instinctively against his, the fabric of his jeans doing little to hide how hard he’s become.

“Wren,” he grits out, his head falling on the back of the couch. “If we don’t chill out…”

“I don’t want to chill out,” I murmur, dropping kisses down the column of his neck. I lick and suck the tender skin there, chasing his pulse with my teeth, gratified when his fingers tighten almost painfully around my waist.

He laughs, groaning, and moves his neck from my mouth. “That’s why you loveThe Lost Boys—you’re a little vampire yourself.”

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