Page 52 of A Bittersweet Summer

“Hey,” Gus says, his voice soft—as ifheshould be the one reassuringme. “Love you, but you’re starting to make this weird.”

I laugh, wiping the last of my tears away.

“Thank you for that,” I whisper just as Megan returns to my brother’s side.

He nods, and just like that, I’m left standing with Wes as everyone retreats back to their homes.

I turn toward him, the awareness of how close we’re standing sending my body into overdrive. I’m a livewire—hyper aware of every inhale, every exhale of breath.

“Thank you for this,” I say, my voice low.

Wes leans in, his gaze tracing over my features, pupils blown wide. There’s no smiling in this moment, no banter. Nothingbut the realization that my boss is looking at me like he’d want nothing more than to kiss me, andman, do I want it.

“It was no problem,” he practically whispers. One hand moves, beneath the blanket of stars overhead, as he pinches a strand of hair, gently sliding his fingers down to the end. Everything feels so good—his presence, his attention—I can’t help but close my eyes.

“You got pretty muddy,” his voice rumbles, dark like the night that’s overtaken us.

I open my eyes, and blazing heat shoots through my core. Sucking in a sharp inhale, I watch the rise and fall of his chest—faster now as I match him breath for breath.

If I could just touch him. If I could justdosomething about the blazing fire in my bloodstream, I might be able to extinguish whatever headythinghas taken over my mind.

“You’re muddy, too,” I whisper, trailing my thumb over the dirt streaked on the side of his jaw. Once my skin makes contact with his, the hunger sets in, causing me to slowly slide my touch up, my palm on the side of his face as my fingers slide into his hair. He’s usually in a hat, but since we were wearing helmets most of the evening, he opted to go without it.

It’s a gift to be able to touch him like this—tofeel.

Wes’s honey eyes close, and he sighs. One hand wraps around my wrist, halting my exploration. “I need you to stop,” he breathes as if pained.

I halt, my stomach sinking, but before I can pull away, his hand slides up to cover mine. He gently pulls my palm around, sliding my hand until his lips brush my heart line. “We should stop,” he says.

“Stop what?” I question.

“Touching,” he whispers, and his breath tickles my hand before he slides it down, placing my palm on his chest.

I don’t want to lean in—don’t want to do more for fear of the moment ending.

“Okay,” I say, voice strained.

Wes’s eyes open, blazing in the starlight. “I can’t stop touching you,” he confesses.

“Technically,” I say, holding his stare. I can feel his pulse beneath my hand, just as rapid as my own. “I’m the one touching you right now.”

When he chuckles, his fingers wrapped around my wrist as he hangs his head, something in me awakens.

I’ve never been one towantlike this.

There is no need here—nothing forcing me in Wesley’s direction. All I know is I crave whatever is happening between us, and I never want it to end.

Slowly, Wes slides his hand up my arm, sending heat trailing in its wake. When he tilts my chin with one finger, I look up, finding it hard to breathe.

His thumb sweeps over my bottom lip, catching at the fullest part, eliciting a groan from somewhere deep in his chest.

Wes closes his eyes, gathering strength.

“Goodnight, Cassidy,” he voices.

When he shoves his hands in his pockets, turning to walk down the length of the drive, I stare after him.

I’m hopelessly turned on, but more than that, I’m confused.