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My slippers make slapping sounds on the planks as I cross the water to his house. The lights in the house are dim. It’s possible he isn’t even home, and maybe Rick left the car here while August stayed late at the office. It’d be just like him.
Still.
Stomach twisting, I stop in front of the door and knock.
No footsteps. But then—
“Out here, Elle.”
August’s voice.
He’s outside, and it’s coming from around the side of the house. He sounds off.
Thicker, heavier somehow.
Frowning, I hug my arms around myself and make my way carefully along the deck ringing the house, my footsteps treading carefully on planks wet from sea spray.
It’s not until I’m all the way around the back of the house that I find him. He’s sitting on the deck outside his bedroom, with the sliding glass doors open.
August perches on the edge of the deck, with one leg drawn up and the other hanging over the side, dangling over the water. He’s shirtless in a pair of dark-grey sleep pants, the thin fabric clinging to his narrow hips and riding down low enough to bare the dimples above his ass, his thighs tightly outlined against the fabric.
His back is taut, his spine a deep canyon framed by steep muscle. The wind ruffles his hair, making it fan out in dark arcs.
One arm is draped over the railing, with a half-full tumbler of golden liquid dangling from it.
I stop where I am, watching him and biting my lip.
I’m all knots inside, confused and scared and wanting.
He looks back, one pale eye over his shoulder. Unreadable.
The moonlight gives the light-blue color impossible depths, like trying to see the bottom of a glacier.
“Nice outfit,” he says dryly.
The heat in my cheeks tries to beat back the wind blowing off the water.
“I didn’t think I’d need formal wear tonight.” I sink my teeth deeper into my lip. “Um, you’re drinking.”
He gives back a soft, cynical snort.
He unloops his arm from the railing and tilts his head back to take a deep drink, his throat working before he exhales roughly and drops the half-drained tumbler to the deck at his hip. He looks away again to where the moonlight flirts over the water.
“You drive me to it,” he says.
I flinch. That spears deep, hurting and colder than any late-winter night.
“I’m sorry.” It comes out thick, hard.
Well, here we go.
Start with I’m sorry.
Then what?
I press my knuckles to my lips. There are words building, but I don’t know what they’ll be until they tumble out.
“I shouldn’t ... I shouldn’t be so pushy with you. Always flirting and wanting more.” I shake my head. “I know nothing can ever ease the pain Charisma left behind. I know you’re still in love with her. Or maybe the idea of her. That can happen after a death, and you said you weren’t right for each other, but once someone turns into a memory, it’s easy to—mmf!”
