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“You were there.”
“There’s something else going on.”
Sly’s eyes met mine then, full of something that looked an awfully lot like hurt. But he didn’t speak, just tilted the beer to his lips and then settled back into the chair, staring out into the darkness of my yard.
“You’ve almost finished the fence,” I said, figuring a shift in topic was the right move.
“Yep. So I’ll be out of your hair soon.”
I tried to subdue the shock of his easy statement. “Right. Back to Wilcox, I guess?”
“Back to my real life.”
I nodded, lifting my beer to my lips and thinking about this. I’d known we were temporary, that this was just a fling, but still...hearing him so easily cast whatever we were into the past was hard. “And me and Katie?”
I hated the vulnerability in my own voice, but I needed to hear him say it. It wasn’t going to be easy to explain this to Katie.
“You can go back to your lives, I guess. You don’t need any of my bullshit anyway.”
“Your bull—” I shook my head. “Sly...”
“Come here,” he whispered.
I turned to him. His dark eyes glowed in the dim light the open kitchen door cast on the patio, and the sweltering heat added to the surreal quality of the entire situation. He reached for me, his hand extending like a man reaching for some kind of salvation but not actually believing it might come. I fought with myself. I shouldn’t go to him. Not like this.
But I did.
I took his hand, setting my beer down on the patio and reaching to swing the kitchen door shut all the way, killing the light that had been spilling over us. And then I slid onto his lap, my knees finding their way to either side of his thighs.
And some stupid misguided part of me believed that this was a chance to change his mind. One final opportunity to prove that we were worth keeping.
Our lips met, but nothing about the way Sly kissed me told me that this was anything but goodbye. There was a desperate finality to every swipe of his lips, every teasing touch of his tongue. His hands dug into my hips, pulling me into him with all the command and dominance I’d used to think he’d display in any sexual encounter. Before I knew better. Before I’d been touched by the tender and sweet side of my high school crush.
And I didn’t care. That’s how desperate I was for him. How much I wanted one more night with Sly Remington. Because even though I knew I was letting him go, I wasn’t ready. Not yet.
He pushed my shirt over my head, and reached around me to release my bra, palming my breasts as I arched into him. His mouth found one nipple as his fingers played with the other, and I writhed on his lap, forgetting myself completely in the moment. I slid to the ground, easing his shorts off his hips, and dropping my own as I stood back up, letting my panties slide to the ground with them. And then I slid back onto his lap, our centers connecting and stealing my breath.
I knew we needed a condom. Sly was famously promiscuous and I was a mother, for fuck’s sake. But part of me believed that if I interrupted whatever this was to ask, that he’d simply leave. And it would be over.
Instead, I swallowed the question and slid onto him, murmuring, “I’m clean. And I’m on the pill,” hoping for some kind of similar statement from him.
“Tested. Clean,” he grunted, his fingers digging into my ass. So I had that, at least.
I moved over him, feeling like he needed this, needed me, and reveling in the feeling of helping him with whatever it was that had him drowning suddenly in darkness. I wanted to save him.
Because I was stupid.
But more than that, because I loved him.
I’d loved Sly Remington since the first time I saw him next door when I was in ninth grade and his family moved into the house adjacent to mine. I’d loved him when I’d sat across the table from him all those nights, helping him with math, and desperately hoping he might notice that I’d done my hair a little differently, that I’d worn a darker shade of lipstick.
I was in love with him that one fateful night when prom had been approaching and he’d walked me to my front door after a tutoring session. When I’d gathered my courage and said, “Hey, I wondered if you were going to prom this year.”
Of course he was. He was a senior. He was a god. And I was...why was I asking?
He’d grinned down at me, cocky and glorious even then, all that wavy dark hair falling over his forehead. “Might,” he’d laughed. “Probably, I guess.” Then he’d cocked his head and met my eyes in a way he’d never done before. He’d dropped his gaze to my lips and for the briefest moment, I’d thought just maybe, maybe he might kiss me, choose me.
I’d risen on my tiptoes, dropped a hand onto his bicep, hoping, waiting.
