“I’m so suing you for sexual harassment,” I joke as I lie back and stare up at the sky. He laughs a genuine laugh and my chest tightens. Damn. I really like his laugh.
Looking down at me, he leans forward. “You have something right . . .” His thumb grazes the corner of mouth, wiping away a spot of ketchup. Sucking it off of his thumb, he smiles. “Lucky ketchup.”
Warmth, once again, inflames my cheeks as I dart my eyes away from him. Why was that so hot? George lies down beside me and when his arm rests against mine, tingles surge through me again. I shouldn’t be reacting this way to him. I’m only meant to help him so Ike can crossover, not to mention the feelings I’ve developed for Ike. I’m seriously messed up in the head. I mean, what kind of person develops a crush on a set of brothers, let alone with a dead one in the mix? But I can’t deny I’m drawn to the McDermott twins. In Ike, I crave his warmth and good heart. In George, I crave his likeness, the understanding we share. Glancing around for Ike once more and not seeing him, I try to relax even though I’m worried sick that he’s disappeared.
George and I fall into an easy conversation. We share stories about our childhoods, our brothers, and George fills me in on the town gossip, which is sad. His seeing Misty and getting beaten up by Roger is the most dramatic thing to happen in Warm Springs in years.
When he drops me off back at the motel, we stand awkwardly at my door. “Thanks for joining me today, and I’m sorry I was such a dick last night or . . . well, every day since we’ve met.”
I laugh. “I’m glad we’re friends now, George.” And it’s true. He’s a good guy once he lets his guard down, but the thought of us being true friends simmers in my mind. I’m lying to him about everything; about who I am, and how I came to be here. When the truth comes out, it won’t be pretty. Another awkward second slips by before he leans toward me, making my breath hitch. Is he going to kiss me? Oh God, no . . . but yes. Do I want him to? I think I do. Licking my lips, I prepare myself for his mouth to meet mine, closing my eyes. But when his warm mouth brushes gently across my cheek, my eyes fly open, embarrassment flooding me. Did it look obvious I wanted to kiss him? I am mortified.
The corners of his mouth are turned up as he pulls back, and I know he’s laughing at me on the inside. I did look obvious. Son of a bitch.
“Not yet, Charlotte, but soon,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. Is he implying he plans to kiss me soon? That has to be what he means. Before I can play dumb and ask him what he meant he turns to leave, calling over his shoulder, “See you tomorrow, Charlotte.” Then he climbs in his Bronco and drives away.
There’s still no sign of Ike when I enter my room and guilt slithers through me. He really is mad at me. Shit. My heart twists at the thought. I just want to help him by helping George. I should’ve told him my plan. He’s right. George could have been really hurt. Shit. He was hurt. With a few hours to kill and no one to talk to, I decide to take a nap before heading over to the Mercers’ house for dinner. But my sleep is unsatisfying. It’s the kind of sleep where you dream so vividly it feels like you’ve never slept a wink.
I don’t remember the entire dream, but what I do remember is George walking up to me, his dark eyes hungry with desire. My body instantly reacted; my breath coming out in quick pants, my sensitive nipples hardening, wetness pooling between my legs, and heat blanketing me everywhere his gaze lingered on me.
When he whispered, “Charlotte,” and pulled me close, I whimpered. Yes, whimpered. And when his lips met mine, something in me ignited. His body pressed to mine, his arms holding me close as I threaded my fingers in his hair and ran my hands down his back. But when he pulled away, everything came to a halt. It was Ike staring back at me, smiling in that way he does that makes my insides liquefy.
And then, I woke up.
Even though it was only a dream, my mouth feels swollen as if the kiss was real. Touching my fingers to my lips, I brush them softly.
“Hi,” Ike says, and I gasp, jolting upright on the bed. “Dude, you have got to stop sneaking up on me like that. You scared the bejesus out of me.”
“Sorry,” he replies and smiles slightly. He’s sitting in the pleather chair, elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced before him.
“Where have you been?” I pull my legs up and sit cross-legged.
“Why? You miss me?” He waggles his brows and I snort.
“I was worried you were still pissed at me. Ya know. Over me leaving that letter for Roger. I’m sorry, Ike. I should’ve told you before I did it.”
Ike sighs and rubs his hand over his head, his dog tags jingling as he moves, slouching back in his seat. “I’m not mad. It looks like it worked. I’m madder at myself.”
“For what?” I question.