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Her eyes fall to my leg. I catch how her tongue darts over her lips when her gaze briefly lingers on my thighs before she finally looks down at my foot. Clearly, I haven’t been as good at hiding my discomfort as I thought.

As it turns out, Josie knew more than I wanted to admit. I don’t like sand, and spending days on my feet, in the desert, has reminded me why that is. I’ve done my best to hide it because I don’t want anything to take away from this weekend for Josie. I didn’t spend weeks, months, and years doing PT to live a normal life, for it to hold me back now.

For most of the weekend, I’ve been able to manage the soreness, or so I thought. Between the amount of time I spent on my feet, sweating after holding Josie on my shoulders a few times so she could see over some asshole in front of us, and the stupid sand, I’m glad I packed extra liners because I needed them.

“Just sore. It’s not a big deal.”

“Well, I don’t believe you.” She grabs my hand and turns, yelling and waving ahead toward the rest of our group. I see Grace leave the others and bound our way. I shrink into myself because extra attention, especially because of my leg, is the last thing I want to deal with.

“Josie, please,” I whisper-shout. “I mean it. I’m fine.”

She huffs in amusement and turns to face me. “Yeah, you will be. Trust me, okay?”

She squeezes my hand, and I nod. Then she pulls at the corner of one of her pasties right before Grace reaches us.

“Hey. What’s up? Everything alright?” She looks between us, before her inspecting gaze lands on our joined hands. The corners of her lips curl up into a warm smile.

Josie nods eagerly. “Wardrobe malfunction.” She points to the glittery silver star pastie she nearly just pulled off. “Sweat, glitter, sand, and glue don’t really mix.”

Grace laughs. “Oh yeah, pasties and piercings are tough enough as it is. I’m surprised either of ours have stayed on as long as they have today.”

“We’re going to run back to the van. We won’t be too far behind.” She points that sweet smile back at Grace, and unlike my poor attempt at trying to lie a minute ago, Josie is much better at it. Grace just turns, nods, and heads back up the path toward the party tent.

Josie lied on my behalf. I love her for knowing that I don’t want any attention, and also hate myself because she had to hide something from her friend on my account.

Once Grace has caught up with the others and I know she can’t hear us, I loop a finger into the elastic waist of Josie’s hot pants and tug her to me. “You know you didn’t have to do that.”

She smirks and reaches up to cup my jaw, letting her thumb linger in the groove of my dimple. “Oh, you silly boy. You still haven’t learned, have you?”

“Learned what?” I drop a hand to her lower back and pull her closer.

Her innocent smirk morphs into something devious. Her dazzling eyes bore into me, and under the moonlight, her glitter-flecked cheeks and lip gloss make her glow like the mischievous siren that she is.

“That I’m always going to do what I want, and you’re not going to stop me.” She puffs out a contemplative sound and strums her fingertips over my exposed collarbone.

Then, like the desert breeze itself—wild and unpredictable—she starts down the path toward the campground. “Are you going to come with me? We need to get you glammed up to party tonight.”

I shake my head before I start gingerly walking after her. There’s no chance in hell that I’m not going to follow her tonight. That’s what I should have done so many years ago. It’s what my heart wants me to do now, I just don’t know how to and not hold her back.

I’ve never wanted to hold her back.

And I certainly won’t start now.

CHAPTER 41

JOSIE

Why Did You Never Come?

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I let my feet swing back and forth while I watch Sly. He’s on the bench that runs along the side opposite the sliding door. Watching him hunched over and taking off his leg shouldn’t be playing with my emotions the way it is, but that’s exactly what it does.

Maybe it’s because I dare to let myself think about what it would have been like if we had spent the last ten years together—like this, even if it was only weekends or vacations like we talked about. Would there have been moments like this? The what-ifs are enough to make my heart ache.

Looking at him now, it’s hard to remember that a few weeks ago, I truly believed I hated him. I was mad—no, furious—at him. I loathed him and the way he made me feel.

In this compact space, even from my bed, I’m close enough that I can see the corners of his eyes crinkle as he focuses and unties the laces on his other sneaker. I wish the bench was wide enough to sit next to him and lean into his body so I could get another hit of that intoxicating blend of tanned leather and mint.

This scene should definitely not make me want to giggle, but there’s something about the way he has to keep ducking to not bonk his head on the cabinet above him. Cohabitating with a six-foot-four brute like him was not a design consideration when custom-building my van.