Page 34 of Until August
My cousin was beautiful. Her hair was a darker shade of brown than mine, long and silky, unlike my messy waves, and she had delicate features in a perfect oval face. So it shouldn’t surprise me that August was attracted to her.
And really, who could blame him? They were two attractive, single people, so it was only natural that they’d gravitate toward each other.
I had no claim over him, and his extracurricular activities were of no concern to me.
Why had I opened my door to temptation? Because that’s what August was. A six-foot-two tattooed temptation that sent my hormones into overdrive. And it wasn’t only because he was hot, either. Rob was hot, but I didn’t care if he was fucking the entire wait staff.
But watching someone so skilled and competent, who had total command in the kitchen, was my kryptonite.
I don’t care what anyone says.
Hot chefs are sexier than rock stars.
I bummed a cigarette from Rob and stood up abruptly.
“Hey, Nic,” Ari shouted. “Since when do you smoke?”
That was another family trait. Yelling over everyone to be heard. Subtlety had never been our strong point.
Luca looked at me from across the table with his brows drawn together. His gaze dipped to the cigarette and lighter in my hand, and he rubbed his fingers together. “Naughty, naughty.”
Smart-ass. He smoked weed all the time.
August watched me carefully like I was a bomb about to detonate, but I ignored him.
After I smoked the cigarette, I returned to the kitchen and avoided eye contact with August for the rest of the night. As if I was scared I’d combust into flames. Or, worse, reveal my innermost secrets and desires just by making eye contact.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
August
My sneakers poundedthe sandy trail, and I pushed myself to run faster, hoping it would release some pent-up frustration. Move a muscle, change a thought. Lately, too many of my thoughts centered around a certain female chef.
By the end of each night working with her, I breathed in the scent of her shampoo whenever I inhaled. Orange blossoms. She smelled like orange blossoms. Heady and intoxicating. A natural aphrodisiac.
Working so closely with her was a mixture of heaven and hell.
She made me want things I couldn’t have. In the past, that had never stopped me from going after what I wanted. But I was trying to be a better version of myself.
Last week I’d come so close to kissing her. I’d been tempted to do more than just kiss her if not for the band on her left finger. A constant reminder of why I shouldn’t—couldn’t—go there.
I ran past the pier and slowed to a walk when I reached The Surf Lodge. It was early, and I still had a few hours before I had to be at work.
But today, I’d come on a mission.
I leaned against the wall and watched the yoga instructor leading the class through a series of sun salutations under the palm trees. Her white-blonde hair was in a braid, and she wore yoga pants and a sports tank that showed off her bump, which had grown noticeably more prominent in the six weeks since I’d stood on her doorstep.
Six fucking weeks.
I took off my t-shirt and wiped my face with it, then tucked it into my back waistband, my eyes on her as I guzzled electrolytes from a plastic bottle.
Beach Yoga with Sasha. I found the flier in the lobby of The Surf Lodge yesterday. She taught six classes a week, but I’d always missed her.
When the class ended, I strode across the sand and stopped next to her. She was rolling up her yoga mat and, by the looks of things, hellbent on ignoring me.
“Thanks, Sasha,” one of the women said.
“See you next week,” someone called.
