A Bad Day for Sunshine (Sunshine Vicram #1)(89)

“Sunshine,” he whispered, a playful grin lighting up his agonizingly handsome face.

But just when her fingers brushed across the jug, he moved it out of her reach.

She laughed softly and leaned farther. “Don’t you mean moonshine?”

“No.”

He moved the jug out a few more inches, and she barely kept her balance, almost falling on top of him. But he wasn’t going to let her off that easily. He wrapped an arm around her and caught her to him. She landed on top of him, and humiliation burned her cheeks until she realized he’d done it on purpose.

“You’re drunk,” she said, trying not to giggle.

“Not yet, but I’m getting there.”

He pulled her down to him, and even though she’d never kissed a boy in her life, she knew instinctively to put her mouth on his. To drink. To savor. He tasted like alcohol and cinnamon and fire, because that was what rushed through her veins and burst inside her.

She gasped from behind the kiss, and he grinned. Pulled her closer. Angled his head and slid his tongue deeper inside her mouth. She was so lost in the heady sensations washing over her, she hadn’t noticed his hand sliding down her back. Cupping her buttocks. Slipping between her legs.

She stilled and he stilled and it almost became awkward, until he asked, “Is this okay?”

Is this okay? Was he serious? All her schoolgirl fantasies were coming true in one fell swoop. Hell yes, this was okay. But she didn’t want to seem too eager. Too zealous. Too inexperienced.

She cleared her throat softly and whispered, “Yes. It’s okay.”

He kissed her again, then parted her knees with his to give himself more access, and she sucked in a sharp breath when he began to massage her through her jeans. Waves of pleasure crashed into her and around her and through her, the feeling so intense she feared she would climax right then and there.

“Wait,” she whispered against his mouth.

He stopped and squeezed her ass before resting his hand on it to give her time.

While she lay panting in a sea of desire like she’d never known, he seemed to barely be fazed. “Will you remember this in the morning?”

“Depends on how far we take it.” He said it with a wicked smirk, but she also saw a warmth in his eyes. A teasing sincerity. And something else. Hope?

“You Sunshine?” a boy asked. He stood over them wearing a red-and-gold letterman’s jacket.

Sun scrambled off Levi and smoothed her clothes. “Yes. Why?”

“Does he belong to you?” He pointed to Quincy.

“Oh no.” She ran to him. He was leaning against a tree, puking his guts up.

By the time she got him in the car, he’d passed out, and she almost groaned aloud. Her one chance, and Quincy had to give beer a try for the first time in his life, though certainly not the last.

She looked past the bonfire at Levi. He sat against a tree and took a huge swig of the moonshine. Then he looked back at her and raised the jug as though in salute.

She sought him out the following Monday at school. As a senior, she rarely saw him, so it took some effort to hunt him down. Not that she didn’t know his schedule by heart.

She saw him standing with a group of upperclassmen and gathered her courage. Taking it one step at a time, she walked right up to him, but he only spared her the briefest of glances before looking away. As though he didn’t see her. As though she were nothing to him.

She stopped mid-stride, humiliation rushing over her like a wildfire. He hadn’t remembered. Or, worse, he remembered and was hardly impressed.

From that moment on, she did everything in her power to avoid him, both her heart and her confidence shattered.

But that was a long time ago. In the two years after the kiss and before her abduction, they’d adopted somewhat of an antagonistic attitude toward each other. Hers was a classic defense mechanism. His was much simpler. A complete and utter lack of interest.

Shaking off her feelings for him, she walked into the station with a text from Royce Womack. She could only hope he’d have news on the nervous Book Babe, Darlene Tapia, and why she was behaving as though she were trading government secrets for knitting yarn. She was just about to call Royce when Quincy walked into her office.

He leaned against the desk she sat behind. “You know, we’ve talked almost every day for the past fifteen years, and yet we’ve never talked about . . . it. About what happened.”

She put her bag in a desk drawer and turned to him. “And that’s why we’ve talked almost every day for the past fifteen years.”

“Good to know. So, no hits on the partial print.”

“Damn. Any tips at all?”

“Just the usual BS. Poor Anita is fielding most of them. Price was helping, but he got called out to a possible break-in.”

“Where?”

“Well, they’ve mostly been taking the calls in dispatch, but they get up and walk around every once in a while. Get some coffee. Hit the head.” When her expression changed from deadpan to an even deader pan, he said, “Out near the Hudson’s on Route 4.”

“See? Was that so hard?”

“How’s the sprout?”

Sun leaned back in her chair. “I think she’s going to be okay. You?”

“I’m good. Thanks.”

She blinked, letting the fact that she was not impressed shine through in stunning Technicolor.