Page 213 of One Wild Wish

His nickname for me pinched my heart. As kids, I’d pretend to sleep sometimes while we’d watch TV, like a deceiving possum playing dead. I’d then bolt upright to scare the living shit out of him. A screeching August was supremely entertaining.

I tilted my head back to look into his eyes, every memory we’d shared reflected in those hazel pools. “I’ve missed that nickname.”

His free hand came to my cheek, knuckles brushing it gently. “I’ve missed you. It was always there, under my skin, in every song, but I didn’t realize how much until today. My heart is fucking racing.”

God, this man. I squeezed our laced palms and unfurled my other over his sternum. Over his heart. Need bellowed in that thundering beat. “You don’t smell like grass.”

He wrinkled his nose. “I used to smell like weed?”

“Like grass , dummy. The lawn mowing business.”

He smiled and shook his head lightly. “We can roll around in a park, if you want.” He sucked on his bottom lip while eyeing mine.

Lord have mercy. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Oh, it’s happening.” He gripped my hand tighter, pulled me closer, brushed his nose against mine. Then he stepped back. “But not here. I’m not wasting our first kiss on a sidewalk, surrounded by people.”

“It’s not our first kiss,” I blurted, pointing out the massive blemish on our history. Making out with August while Finch had dealt with his condom had been the world’s worst first kiss.

Way to go, Gwen.

His attentions drifted over my shoulder, tilting up to the cloud-dotted sky. He closed his eyes. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Here we were—touching, flirting, finally on the same page—and I go and mention my WTF.

But a second later, he shrugged a shoulder. “You have a point.”

He leaned down and kissed me softly, a reverent touch that had me rocking on my heels. My belly dipped. We both moaned. Tingles cascaded down my spine.

August’s lips were on mine, where they were meant to be.

Our hands moved and heads tilted, a natural shift that allowed us to open to each other. Open to our past. Accept it. Move on. I clutched the sides of his T-shirt, my fingers curling into the soft fabric. Mine. August was finally, maybe, almost mine.

He cradled my neck, tugged my hair. His breath filled my lungs, sweet and hoppy with the tang of beer. Deeper. Hotter. We were putting on quite the show.

When his tongue skimmed mine, I whimpered.

I’d never whimpered when kissing a man. My skin had never felt like it had shrunk, every inch taut and aware, my clothes and underwear suddenly suffocating. And wet. The damp heat between my thighs engulfed me. He pulled back too soon.

My eyes fluttered open. August came into focus, the street around us reminding me where we were, and of the task ahead of us. Still, I didn’t move. “I’m scared to leave this spot.”

He rested his forehead against mine. “Why?”

“This could be a dream. I could lose you again. I just…I don’t think I can handle that.”

He smoothed my hair and kissed the sensitive skin by my ear. “It’s not a dream, Possum. And if this is one of your stupid pranks, I’ll fill your bed with spiders.”

I shivered involuntarily.

“But that was…” His breath skimmed my lips once more.

“Yeah, it was,” I agreed. Everything.

He stared at me a beat longer, then scanned the street. He cleared his throat. “Your car or mine?”

I was about to say, either as long as we get naked in the backseat . But such extracurriculars would have to wait. This was Mission Find My Dad, and Badass PI partners didn’t mix business with pleasure. “Let’s meet there, in case we have to split up to chase different leads. It’s an artsy center in the Tenderloin. My mother danced there or something. She referenced a guy who would watch her some days and pick her up.”

Instead of agreeing, he frowned, and my stomach sank. Was he having second thoughts? Was he suddenly overwhelmed? “What is it?”

He toyed with my fingers, dragging his thumb over my cuticles in seductive half-moons. “Nothing. I’ll follow you.”