Page 67 of Let It Be Me

“You’re kidding. The same job? How did you pull that off?”

“Charm.”

“You walked in there wearing your strip club outfit, right?”

“It just so happens they were desperate. And even then they definitely wanted to tell me no, but I guess the fish were hungry.” I bump my beer can against his and take a drink.

“Damn, you’re good.” He takes a swallow of his beer and looks at me. “I was kidding about the strip club outfit.”

“No, it’s okay. I think now that we’re ... whatever.” A blush creeps over my cheeks. “You can say stuff like that.” I don’t know if I love or hate the awkwardness that comes over us when we stray into this territory of acknowledging that we are, in fact, more than friends. The excited strain of it is unsustainable. But just as quickly we’re us again, the way we’ve always been. Lorenzo listens to me gush about the details of my new job, andthen he tells me about the dopey freshman football player his coach wants him and his buddies to show around the school.

Later, we move to the edge of the dock to let our feet hang in the cool water. Lorenzo’s arm is out of the sling, and I run my fingers along the skin, pale in contrast to the rest of his arm, which has enjoyed the summer sun. Then I kiss him.

“Did you know we’ve kissed six times now?” I ask between tasting his lips.

“Seven.”

I shake my head. “It’s six. Maybe you’re thinking of your other best friend.”

He takes me in, his dark eyes glowing like he’s got a secret. “Seven. You don’t even remember our first kiss.”

I scoff. “I willneverforget that kiss.”

“Where was it?”

“In your bed. Duh.” The electrifying memory comes alive inside me. I still can’t believe I did that.

“Wrong.” He looks out on the lake, pressing his lips together as he tries to suppress a grin.

“What are you talking about?” I tap his arm, but he refuses to look at me, the wickedness in his eyes growing. Instead, he leans back on one hand, puffing his chest out. “Lorenzo!” I pinch his thigh, taking advantage of my knowledge of his ticklish spots.

He jerks, grabbing my hand away from his leg but keeping a tight grip on it. “Our first kiss was right up there.” He nods up shore toward his house. “On my dock.”

“You’re full of shit!” I wait for his features to collapse into humor—Lorenzo can never hold a straight face long when he’s lying—but his expression remains the same, his eyes searching mine.

“The night I split my eyebrow open on the post. You kissed me.”

I blink and glance up shore as though the memory might still be sitting there. I hesitate, a little quiver in my stomach. “I don’t remember that.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“Sorry, I—” But should I be apologizing? Should he for not telling me? Maybe neither of us should. Okay, so I kissed him and I was too hammered to remember. With all the booze and emotions that powered me through high school, I’m surprised it didn’t happen on a weekly basis.

Lorenzo relaxes his grip on my hand and threads his fingers through mine. His thumb makes tiny, soothing circles against my skin as he watches me.

“Okay, so ... how was it?” I ask.

He adopts a thoughtful look, pretending to ponder this. “Unforgettable,” he says. “I mean, you know, forme.Obviously other parties might have found it unimpressive.”

I laugh and lean against him. “Come on.”

He puts his strong arm around me and presses his lips to my head like he’s sniffing my hair. “Actually, it was amazing,” he murmurs into my skin, and a million nerve endings awaken all over my body.

“Really?” I whisper. “Like this?” I glide my lips over his, kissing him soft and easy.

He exhales slowly when I pull away. “Actually, more like this.” He angles my head so he can kiss me straight on. His fingers press into my skin, not letting me go as he kisses me deep.

“Mmm, that’s not exactly how I remember it. Let’s try again.”

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