Page 13 of Time For Us

“Say something, Lucas,” I choked out.

His eyelashes parted, the night turning the blue depths dark. I couldn’t read his expression, but he didn’t look happy. My body went cold.

I blurted, “Just forget it. We’ll pretend this never happened.”

His warm fingers caught my arm as I turned, drawing me back to face him. A sigh feathered along my cheekbone.

“Is this what you really want?” he asked with strain.

Swallowing hard, I looked into his eyes. “Yes. But is it what you want?”

He moved a step closer, until his chest, still damp from the lake, grazed mine. An uncomfortable ache unfurled in my breasts, then zinged down between my legs.

“Lucas?” I whispered.

“Shut up, Celeste. I’m going to kiss you now.”

When his lips touched mine, the world tilted. The laws of gravity changed, growing dense at my feet and thin at my head. He made a noise that sent shockwaves through my body, then his strong, bare arms came around me, pulling me up to my tiptoes.

The sweetness of our kiss shifted to something dark and needy. His hand cradled the back of my head, angling my mouth, and the first touch of his tongue on mine lit fireworks in my body. I clutched his shoulders, his back, my hands moving restlessly over muscle and warm skin, overcome with the primitive desire to be as close to him as I could possibly get.

I was glad he was more experienced—that this wasn’t his first kiss like it was mine—because I had no idea what to do, no idea anything could feel this good.

Suddenly, Lucas tore his mouth from mine. For three perfect moments, we stared at each other, our panting breaths mingling in the space between swollen lips.

Then his head jerked up.

“What—”

“Shh.”

A second later, I heard it—giggling and soft voices, growing nearer. Then we heard the distinctive laugh of a counselor we knew delighted in catching campers doing things they weren’t supposed to.

Lucas moved fast, grabbing my dress and tossing it to me. “Go, Peapod.”

“But—”

He hauled me forward and kissed me hard, then pushed me toward the trees. “Hide until they pass, then get back to your cabin. Don’t worry, this isn’t finished.”

Warmth pulsed through me. “Okay.”

I went.

Lucas knew the probability of both of us sneaking away was next to nil. We’d be heard. But I was smaller and light on my feet. I hid and listened as the counselors found him. They lectured him on what it meant to be a junior counselor, a role model for the younger kids. Within a few minutes, though, Lucas had them laughing.

I slipped away into the night.

I don’t know what else happened that night, but something changed. The next morning, Lucas was different. For the first time in our entire friendship, he didn’t smile back when I said good morning. He barely looked at me.

And when he threw his arm around Sally Harper, whispering something in her ear that made her blush, I felt a stabbing pain in my chest I’ve never forgotten.

Not because I haven’t felt that pain again in my life—I felt it magnified a thousand times over when I opened the door twelve years ago to two men in uniform. But because we always remember our firsts.

7

Sipping coffee at my kitchen table and absently nibbling a piece of toast, I attempt to clear the fog from my brain by arming myself with memories. Good ones, this time. Of the brief, happy life Jeremy and I shared, but mostly of the awesome human we made.

Saturday mornings without Damien are weird, and it doesn’t help that I barely slept. Even weirder, he’ll be thirteen soon and entering eighth grade in the fall. It seems like just yesterday he was toddling around in diapers, making mud pies in my parents’ backyard and then smearing said mud all over my legs.

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