Page 24 of Some Like 'Em Burly
“We could go one night,” I say, as casually as I can manage. Meg raises an eyebrow at me, then goes back to scowling at her thumb. “There are more laid back dinner cruises—ones where you don’t have to dress up. Should I book for us?”
“Yes please,” Clem whispers, practically vibrating on her section of rickety bench. She’s gazing up at me like I’m her hero—like I just offered her the world on a platter. In the moonlight, her freckles are nearly invisible, scattered over her nose and cheeks like her own private constellation. My chest puffs out.
“No thanks,” Meg says, and my gut sinks. “You two go ahead, though.”
…Could we? Would Clementine want that?
“I’ll pay my half,” Clem says in her usual hushed tone. Like she doesn’t want to disturb anyone; like she doesn’t dare take up space in the world. Well, that settles it—and she’s definitely not paying.
“Okay, then.” My knuckles rap against wood. “I’ll book for us two. It’s a date.”
The words slip out unbidden, just a natural turn of phrase, but they hang in the air between us like flashing neon billboards.And it’s a warm summer night, but between one breath and the next, I’m clammy and cold.
Branches creak in the breeze. The pool water sucks on the tiled walls.
“Gross,” Meg says mildly, and I glance over quickly, but she’s still absorbed in her wax. Doesn’t actually look mad. “You two should get a room.”
My laugh is humorless.
I check Clementine next. Her cheeks are pinker than before, but she gives me a shy smile. Don’t think I freaked her out either with my clumsy words, so…
Okay. Okay.
“Sure you don’t want a riverboat dinner?” I ask Meg, nerves churning in my belly, because a whole evening alone with Clementine means a lot of temptation. And it’s crazy, but I swear Clem wilts a little at my question, sagging in my peripheral vision.
That makes no sense. She’d hardly prefer to be alone with me.
That’s the wishful thinking of an old man.
“Nope,” Meg says, finally flicking her wax thumbprint back into the candle jar. It holds its shape for a split second, then melts away, and the smile my daughter gives me is so sharp, it reminds me of that gator. “You two have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
There are barely any things Meg wouldn’t do, and we all know it. Clem puffs out a strained laugh, but she won’t meet my eye now. Did I hurt her feelings? Did she want to be alone with me?
God. It’s already been a long day, and I can’t parse any of this.
“Anyone want dessert?” The bench creaks as I push to my feet, pulse hammering. “I’m in the mood for toffee.”
Clementine
Dear diary,
Duke made toffee apples last night and we all ate them out in the garden. I made such a mess of myself, smearing toffee over my cheeks and chin, and Meg nearly peed herself laughing at me.
Duke didn’t laugh. But he did smile, reaching over the picnic table to clean my chin with his thumb, and the second he touched me, I went so still, practically panting with longing.
Every part of me zeroed in on his skin against mine. I couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything except listen to the thud of my heartbeat in my ears as he wiped away the toffee, so gentle and kind.
And lord, his big hand. His thick, strong fingers.
Now, as I replay the moment in my head, I’m adding a few extra details.
Like: what if I caught his wrist between my hands, and sucked the toffee off his thumb? Closed my lips around the knuckle; scraped the pad with my teeth? Flicked out my tongue, brazen as anything, and met Duke’s dark eyes across the table? What would he do?
Obviously, none of that really happened. And anyway—his daughter was right there. My best friend.
Ugh, I’m the worst.
But daydreams don’t count, right? And as long as I keep these thoughts trapped on paper, no one ever needs to know about my off limits crush.
