Page 28 of The Forbidden Summer
But it’s no use. I’m powerless when it comes to Van.
He’s everything I never knew I needed, and everything I was afraid to hope for, all wrapped up in a smile that knocks the air out of my lungs. It’s dangerous, the way he makes me feel. But damn, if I’m not willing to fall.
Van
I dive in like I’m chasing something, maybe a reprieve from the heat, or maybe just Père’s attention. The water feels warm on the surface, but cooler down by my feet. The sun is high, baking my face and casting a blinding glow off the water’s glassy surface.
I swim out past the dock just far enough to make Père nervous, then loop back in like it was nothing. The ladder creaks under my weight as I climb up, slick and dripping, leaving wet footprints all over the old wooden planks.
Père's standing by the grill like some sort of lakeside deity—shirtless, tongs in one hand, dish towel flung overhis shoulder like he's posing for the Men of Summer calendar. His trunks are scandalously short. Not that I’m complaining.
I shake out my hair right next to him, and he flinches when the droplets hit his back.
“You splash me again,” he warns, not even looking over, “and I’m tossing your burger to the loons.” He flips the patty with casual flair, the way only years of backyard bragging rights can earn. “Which would be a shame, considering how close we are to greatness here.”
I slink up behind him and wrap my arms around his middle, my wet skin against his sun-warm back, and rest my chin on his shoulder like I belong there.
“Mmm,” I sigh theatrically. “I love it when you talk dirty about grilling technique.”
He huffs a laugh but doesn’t move away. Just stands there with his tongs and that stubborn smirk.
“You’re not charming,” he says. “You’re wet. And cold. And annoying.”
“Cold, yes. Annoying, arguably. But charming?” I nuzzle the side of his neck, just barely. “Undeniably.”
Père maintains a stoic expression, but I feel that little capitulation in the way he leans back into me before pulling away.
Peeling off, I skip to the edge of the dock, sitting with my legs in the water, and kick up little waves. I glance over my shoulder. “You bringing me that burger, or do I need to come eat it from your hand?”
Père gives me the look. The one that says,don’t push it, but alsokeep going. He walks over holding out the plate like it’s an offering. Our fingers brush when I take it from him, and no surprise, something in me sparks.
We sit side by side on the dock, our toes in the water, nottalking anymore. Just chewing and listening to the soft hiss of the grill behind us, the occasional call of a loon out on the lake.
We polish off our burgers in record time, mostly because I keep trying to steal bites off Père’s plate and he keeps threatening to stab me with a pickle spear.
With my belly full, I stretch out on the dock like a cat, skin sun-drenched, and toes still dragging lazy circles through the water. Beside me, Père props up on one elbow, watching the sky change from gold to lavender. There’s a dragonfly doing stunt tricks between us. It’s a perfect moment. Naturally, I decide to ruin it.
“So,” I start, flipping onto my stomach and resting my chin in my hands. “On a scale from one todrag me behind the shed and ravish me,how bad do you want to kiss me again?”
Père snorts, one of those full-bodied ones, like I just made him choke on his tongue. “You’re deranged.”
“Mm-hmm. And you still kissed me yesterday.”
“That was a lapse in judgment.”
“Then I hope you keep lapsing. For, like, the rest of your life.”
He shoots me a sideways glance, trying real hard to pretend he’s immune. But I see it. The twitch at the corner of his mouth, the faint color rising in his cheeks that’s definitelynotjust sunburn.
“I’m not dragging you behind the shed,” he says, trying to sound stern. “If I wanted to kiss you again,” his gaze turns hot, “I’d do it right here, in plain view.”
“You’re thinking about it,” I whisper. Damn, I need to touch my dick so bad. Better yet, I needhimto touch it.
“I’m thinking about throwing you in the lake again.”
“You could do that. Or…” I run my fingers slowly along the waistband of his trunks, teasing, not touching. “You could kiss me like you meant it last time.”
He stills. Just for a beat. And then his hand comes down to gently catch mine, holding it in place.
