This Summer Will Be Different(65)

His lips press together as he stares at me. “That bothers you.”

I blink. Once, twice, a third time. Felix steps closer. I’m looking straight into his eyes, trapped. I want to reply, but I don’t trust myself to sound steady.

“It does,” he says. “I can tell. But I want to know why. I thought this was about having fun, Lucy.” He studies my face and takes another step closer. “That’s what we’ve agreed to from the beginning. That’s what you wanted.”

I wipe the rain from my eyes. “Well, it’s not fun for me anymore.”

He brushes a piece of hair away from my face, and I turn my cheek. “Lucy.” The gentlest Lucy. The word echoes around us, reverberating over the fields, rolling around with the thunder.

“Don’t Lucy me. Don’t say my name like that.”

“How do you want me to say it?”

“Truthfully. Like I’m just a hookup. Like I’m the person you sent that stupid thumbs-up emoji to. Like I don’t mean anything to you.” My voice breaks, giving me away.

“You’re upset about an emoji?” He’s fighting back a smile, and it only makes me angrier. “Lucy,” he says again. It’s a hopeful Lucy. A Lucy that sounds a lot like delight.

“That,” I say. “Don’t say my name like that. Like I’m important. Like I make you happy. Like we’re friends. I know I’m insignificant. I know you’ve been dating other women, and whatever! I don’t care.” I throw up my hands to underline the lie. “We went a year without speaking. We’re not friends. I get it. We’re not anything.”

Felix takes another step forward, crowding my space, suddenly serious. “Friends,” he says. “Is that what you thought we were?”

I stare at him, breathing heavily, not sure what to make of the way his gaze heats. It’s fastened to mine, snapped in place like the final puzzle piece. I swallow. “I thought we could be.”

“Lucy.” It’s a growl, a vibration deep in his chest. “I don’t want to be your friend.”

I jerk my head back, but Felix’s hands come around my face as he captures my mouth with his. His grip falls to my waist, hauling me tight against him. He sucks on my bottom lip, groaning. Despite common sense, the sound is my undoing. My lips part, letting him in. I curl my fingers into his hair, locking him to me, and our kiss becomes an urgent collision of hot tongues and wet flesh and frenzied fingers. The warmth of his mouth, the taste of him, sends a shudder through my body. He pulls back only enough to rest his brow on mine, eyes closed. His nose brushes mine, and he swipes his thumbs over my cheeks.

“What is this?” I whisper. “What’s happening right now, Felix?”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry. I thought you realized. I thought that’s why you left so suddenly that morning a year ago. It hurt. That’s why I didn’t take you to the airport. That’s why I dated women who weren’t you this past year. I’ve been trying to get over you, Lucy. You mean so much to me that I can’t think, can’t even breathe properly, when we’re together.”

He inhales through his nose, steadying himself. I can feel the restraint in his body, like he’s barely holding himself back. His gaze finds mine. It’s burning.

“Tell me you want me so I can kiss you again,” Felix says. His fingers flex at my sides.

“I want you,” I say. “You already know that.”

He shakes his head slightly, water dripping from his brow. “No, tell me you want me. Not just having sex with me. Me.”

“You?”

“Me.”

Awareness washes over me. “This isn’t just a fun time for you?”

His hands cup my cheeks. “No, this isn’t just a fun time for me.” His eyes are anchored to mine. “If I’m honest, it probably hasn’t been for a while. Last summer, I thought you may have felt something for me, but the way you left . . . I figured I’d been kidding myself. I thought you knew how I felt about you. All that time we spent together. The day on the beach, the night at my house. Lucy,” he says, his thumb tracing my jaw. “Tell me I’m not alone in this. Tell me you feel something, too.”

I survey last summer with new eyes. How Felix freed up one of the cottages for me. Filled the fridge. Got the wine I like. Hugged me at the airport. Held my hair back when I was sick. He stayed with me. Checked in on me. And then there were the hours we spent together in his bed. You, he kept saying to me.

I’ve buried my feelings for Felix in a secret garden beneath my rib cage. I didn’t think he’d done the same.

“I did,” I whisper. “Last year, I felt it, too. You’re not alone,” I tell him. “I want you, Felix.”

His fingers tunnel into my hair, a smile forming on his lips. He kisses me, sweet.

“For more than one night, Lucy,” he says. “I want you for more than one night.”

“For two?” I grin.

“More.”

“More,” I agree. As soon as the word leaves my lips, his are on mine. But kiss isn’t a strong enough word for the way Felix claims my mouth. It’s sucking and biting. His tongue, indecent. His hands, gripping my backside, moving me against him.

“You,” he says. “You feel like you were made for me.”