“Yeah,” he says. My eyes meet his dark green eyes, and my heart skips instantaneously. We stand there, eyes locked together, and it’s like I’m back there, behind the garage with him, in the one place and time where everything felt right.
There’s no denying it. He does. He knows me better than anyone.
He says to me, “Like right now, I think you need a burger.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Is that so?”
“Definitely.”
I look around. “Well. There’s a good place down the street.” I take his hand and guide him gently down the street, all the stress leaving my body. “You’ve never walked the Freedom Trail, have you?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t even know what that is.”
“Oh, well, you’re in for a treat then,” I tell him.
Four years ago, Dax and I didn’t get much chance to be alone. Friesville may have been a small town, but we lived in fear of people find out about us. Though we never really discussed as much, I was afraid of what my parents and friends would say, and I think he didn’t want his friends to think he was softening, knowing he was actually spending time with one of those lily-white good girls who wouldn’t give it up for just anyone.
So I’d lie and tell my parents I was working late at the yearbook office, then scuttle over to the garage. Sometimes he’d grab a blanket and we’d head out to the field behind the garage. Out there, we didn’t have to worry about getting in trouble. We’d lie down on the grass dotted with bright yellow dandelions, arms and legs tangled together, trading secrets and kisses, my whole body buzzing with unbridled excitement.
It was a word that people would never associate with Dax Harding. Romantic. I freaking loved that he could be romantic with me.
Now, that same feeling of exhilaration surges through me. It’s a perfect, quiet Sunday afternoon. The sun is shining like crazy, making the harbor glimmer like diamonds. Tourists are out strolling and enjoying the beautiful weather, and we melt right in with them. We’ve been up and down the aisles at Quincy Market, through Faneuil Hall, and now, we’re stopped for burgers at the Black Rose.
Dax leans back in his chair, relaxed, so I relax, too. It’s nice, not worrying who will come through the door. No one at the tables surrounding us even gives us a second glance. When it’s just the two of us, away from Friesville, it’s easy to think we could be a couple.
I realize that for the first time, I’m actually enjoying Boston.
I don’t want to go back.
My face must cloud over at the thought, because Dax takes a swig of his Guinness and nudges me. “What?”
He does know me, even after all this time. I can’t keep anything from him. “I was just thinking how much fun we’ve had.”
He laughs. “Then why’d you look like your dog just died?” He drums his fingers on the table and leans forward. “We don’t have to go back yet, girl.”
I take a sip of my beer. I haven’t been drinking it, so it’s warm. “Yes we do. My parents--”
I stop.
I’m an adult. I don’t have a curfew. I even have my own apartment. I wrote them a note and told them where I’d be. I can take care of myself, and make my own decisions.
And right now, all I want to do is be with Dax.
I take a big gulp of beer, then toss my hair, embracing that feeling of freedom. “You’re right. Let’s not go back yet,” I tell him.
So we don’t. We spend a long, leisurely afternoon in the darkness of the Irish Pub, filling each other in on what we’ve missed the past four years. He tells me about his father, who has gotten so bad with drinking that he barely gets out of bed anymore. He tells me about his brother, Cal, who finally got caught dealing heroin. I tell him about college, and eventually, like I suspected, the conversation swings around to my college exploits, or lack thereof.
“School was really busy,” I explain to him. “Trying to keep the grades up for law school. I never really had time for a social life.”
He laughs. “You make time for that. All work and no play . . .”
I roll my eyes. “Right. You’re such a social butterfly. You’ve always been tied to the garage. You used to make time for one thing, and one thing only.”
“I’m a red-blooded man, I’ll admit,” he says, a proud grin on his face. But it dissolves suddenly. “I just can’t believe a girl like you wasn’t beating boys off with a stick, Katydid.”
“No,” I whisper. Even with courage of three beers in my system, his gaze makes a blush crawl across my cheeks. Yes, there’d been a few guys, but it never really went anywhere. I always found my books to be more entertaining. Now that I think of it, though, none of those guys ever stood a chance, because none of them ever made me feel the way I felt with Dax.
I flash back to that white-hot electricity sparking through my every nerve as his tongue circled my breast, and I feel a low, soft tingling between my thighs.
My entire body is alive now, begging for him, every last inch of me wanting to reach across the table and bridge the distance between us. All I want is his hands and mouth on me.