We were fifteen then, and I’d wanted to kiss him. I was one day from twenty-eight now, and I wanted to devour him.
Nine years of nurtured anger tangled with this thing. This gripping attraction and wistfulness—a deep missing of this woman from my life.
We were perfect, a little messy and a lot wild. There were no rules for August and me.
Gwen was the only woman I’d ever imagined in my future. The only one I wanted in my bed now. Today. This minute.