Page 17 of No Place Like Home
“Glad I could be of assistance,” she said in a snarky voice as she stretched out, laid her head back, and closed her eyes.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Her hair glistened in the sunlight, and she looked like an angel—which made me snort. Summer could be anything she wanted, but an angel she was not. She was naturallypretty, and when she relaxed and didn’t have a scowl on her face, she was more than that.
She was breathtaking.
She turned toward me and smiled—and I suddenly remembered to breathe again.
“Can I ask you something?” she asked.
“Of course.” I copied her. I stretched out and closed my eyes if for nothing else so I could block her beauty from my mind—not that I didn’t have every bit of her face etched in my memory. At least the rays of the sun felt good, and I focused on that.
“Why did you start calling me Summertime?”
I shrugged in answer to her question, though I knew exactly when I started calling her Summertime, and why. I remembered it like it was yesterday.
It was the summer before our sophomore year in high school. We were hanging at the river—right here, just like we always did. Summer wore a bikini—not quite the skimpy kind that would make me uncomfortable in the near future, but still a bikini—and the look of her newly forming breasts under the skimpy cloth, the way her ponytail shimmered under the summer sun, and the scent of the coconut and honeysuckle sun block she had me apply to her back, all became what I would think of whenever I thought of summertime.
Eventually, her carefree, take-no-shit attitude that always left me in awe of her would be what I compared all women to, and would keep me from being able to commit to anyone in any relationship. No one ever measured up to my perception of the perfect woman, because Summer was who I based perfection on.
I considered my answer carefully. “You’ve always been Summertime to me. I never wanted to forget what it was like when we hungout by the river the summer before our sophomore year. You were finally out of your extreme goth phase you went through and smiled more, especially when it was just the two of us.”
I opened my eyes, and our gazes met. My heart leaped and picked up speed. “You were always happiest when we were here. The smile on your face and color of your skin was a perfect combination—perfectly Summertime.” I moved my sunglasses on top of my head so I could see her better. Her hazel eyes were more golden today. They usually were when she was relaxed—happy. Our gazes held.
I watched as her tongue brushed lightly against her bottom lip, then she sucked in her top lip and bit down. A familiar longing I hadn’t felt in a while rose up in my belly and caused the crotch of my shorts to tighten. How I wished I could read her mind. What was she thinking? What was she feeling? She was always good at hiding her emotions and feelings, while I always wore them like a badge for the entire world to see. “What?” I asked.
I could never tell what she was feeling, even now. She held her feelings deep within her, keeping them hostage, not sharing anything with anyone. She held my gaze a bit longer. My heart hammered in my chest.
She swallowed hard—I saw the movement in her throat. “I’m thinking we need to take a walk in the river.” She slipped off her shoes and pulled water shoes from her bag, throwing a pair at me. “I found these in the closet. They’re probably Kai’s. Put them on.” Then she jumped from her chair and waded into the river.
Chapter 9
Summer
That had gotten way too intense. Electricity had shot sparks throughout my entire body and caused my nerve endings to scream. I’d had tingles from my head to my toes.
This was crazy. No. No. No. This wasRowan. I can’t be having these feelings toward him. Not now. Not after all these years.
But damn, the way he looked at me, and the story of how he started to call me Summertime . . . I sighed and continued my walk through the water while my thoughts drifted. I’d wondered briefly that summer whether we might finally admit our feelings for each other, but when sophomore year started, he had an amazing season on the football field, and became the most wanted guy in the school. Then that snotty-ass cheerleader bitch he started seeing made sure we didn’t talk much, and I decided we would always be better off as friends.
Now, though . . . What the hellwasthat? What was going through his mind, and why the hell did my body react the way it did? When he looked at me like that . . . Damn, I didn’t even want to think about what I saw in his eyes. He was Rowan, and if something wasever supposed to happen between us, now would be a stupid time. I needed asinglefriend. I needed to always be able to count on him. This—whatever this was—had to stop.
We waded into the creek—which, technically, wasn’t a creek at all, but a narrow part of the Red River. The water was chilly in the shallows, but it didn’t take long to get used to it. The farther in you went, though, the deeper and colder it got. We waded just around the bend to where the river widened and became the swimming hole.
“Shouldn’t we watch the goats?” Rowan asked.
I brushed my hand in the air. “No, they’ll be fine. They’ll probably still be there when we get back, unless Kai comes home.”
We stopped where the water was still at our shins. Rowan reached down and pulled out some rocks. “Did you ever learn to skip rocks, or are you still a fish murderer?” He sent one stone skipping along the top of the water five or six times before it fell under.
“Don’t know. Haven’t done it in a while.” He laid a flat rock in the palm of my hand, and a zing of awareness pulsed through my body. I pulled away from his touch and turned my attention to the task at hand: skipping this damn rock. I cocked my arm back, kept it even with the water like I remembered him showing me years ago, and let it fly. It landed with a hardkerplopand sunk immediately. I pursed my lips. “Shit. I guess that answers that.”
“Here.” Rowan said as he choked back a laugh, his face giving away his amusement.
I narrowed my eyes.
“Sorry. Let’s try this again.” He handed me another rock. “Remember what I always told you.” He went behind me and placed his left hand on my waist while his right hand guided my right armthrough the air. “Gently, now. Keep your arm straight, and when you let it go, aim for the top of the water.”
I turned to adjust my stance, and my shirt slipped above the waistline of my shorts just far enough that his hand touched my skin. Our eyes met. The warmth of his fingers brushing my skin sent a now familiar, yet unwanted, shot of electricity through my core.
