Page 4 of Bottle Rocket
Youthful summertime memories rushed up on her. Cool river water against her bare skin. The scent of sunscreen and condoms. Sour-cherry-flavored kisses. The snap of firecrackers against hot sand.
Rosie rolled her eyes. She was a sucker for that smile. Made her feel nostalgic. “Oh, shut up. What brings you home?”
“This hasn’t been home in a long time,” he said.
“I’m aware.”
“I’m here for six days for work.”
Days. She and Leo Whittaker in the same place fordays. Stupid possibilities bombarded her. The main one, to her surprise, was sex.
She could have sex with Leo Whittaker. Summer of Rosie: Take #69. It would be awesome.
Too bad she was a total coward. Figure drawing was not going to be her thing. Neither was hooking up with old flames.
Probably.
Unless he wanted to.
“Rosie?” His gaze was eating her up, running a fast circuit from her face to her shoulders and throat. Maybe that was heat in his eyes? Or maybe it was discomfort?
She was so bad at this.
“Yeah?”
“Are you still married?”
She blinked a few times in surprise and touched her naked ring finger with her thumb. How did he know she’d been married? They hadn’t spoken since their breakup, which meant he’d checked up on her at some point in the last decade.
“No. Divorced.” In the past, that word had tasted like ash in her mouth, but now it was a relief.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She waved the apology away. “It was for the best. Trust me.”
He bit his lip. “Remember when I left notes in your work locker for two weeks before you gave me a second glance?”
“Yeah, you were a big weirdo.”
He laughed. He had a tattoo that snaked up the side of his throat. His hair was as dark as when they’d been teenagers, but he no longer had the Sunday-school cut his mother had insisted on. He had an undercut with wild wavy locks that grazed his chin. A gold ring graced his full bottom lip and thick stubble highlighted his sharp jaw. He looked different, but he had the same moss-green eyes. The same long lashes. The same crooked smile and deep dimples. Seeing him like this, so unexpected, yet so welcome, sent a tremor of longing through her.
“You were a relentless pest,” Rosie said.
“I remember you liking it.”
“Teenagers can be stupid.”
He laughed again, and she let out a shaky breath. She wasn’t sure what it meant, Leo showing up in her life at this moment. Her siblings, both of whom were annoyingly coupled up, would say it was a sign. She didn’t believe in signs anymore. Or fate. Or flighty bad boys who craved freedom. She was the arbiter of her own happiness, her own security now. Leo was temptation and danger personified, but damn, it was good to see him.
His humor faded, and he stared at her with an intensity that was all new. “I really want to hug you, but I know that might be weird, considering the circumstances.”
She practically launched herself at him, giving him a quick, fierce hug.
“Fuck, Rosie.” He hugged her back hard, his cheek grazing hers and the silk of his robe slipping over her skin.
She’d loved him so much when they’d been eighteen, but they’d been just that—eighteen. Thankfully, they’d been smart enough to realize their lives were heading in opposite directions, and he’d cut ties with her rather than let their individual needs tear them apart. All her experiences with romantic love, with the exception of Leo, had torn her apart.
“I have to get back in there,” he said, glancing behind him to the room of waiting artists.
