Sweet Summer Love (The Sweetest Thing, #3) Read online

  “Wait...but you obviously found out at some point that I was pregnant. When did that happen?”

  The anger and resentment from Carver is palpable. “When I came home for Christmas break that year. I was searching my dad’s office for tape to wrap my mom’s present and I opened one of his desk drawers and came across a file labeled L. Shaw. I was curious why the hell my dad would have a file with your name on it. He had all these email print-outs, and legal documents pertaining to your pregnancy. And the subsequent adoption. Apparently, he wanted to ensure he had everything in writing in case you ever came back to extort us.”

  Carver looks at me with sorrowful eyes. “The minute I read those emails, I confronted him. And then I tried to call you. And email you. God, Lo. I tried everything to track you down.”

  “Oh.”

  Carver’s voice is raspy. “He called you horrible names, Logan. He made up awful lies about your intention. I’ll never forgive him for that, Lo.”

  The sting still hurts, knowing that someone could think such awful things about me. I’m surprised when I glance to my thigh to find Carver’s large hand resting on the top of my leg. His warmth radiates through my yoga pants and my tummy does a nervous flip.

  “I’ve been called far worse. It’s no big deal.”

  Which is true. My dad, brothers and friends at school called me so many variations of the word whore after finding out about my pregnancy that I’d become immune to it. It hurt, but I always knew the truth about who I was. I wasn’t who they proclaimed me to be. I didn’t sleep around, hook up randomly for attention, or get knocked up by some stranger. And I certainly didn’t get pregnant and give up my future scholarships in order to trick a guy for money.

  I was in love with my baby’s daddy.

  “I confronted him right away, Lo. I fought for you. For us. But my dad told me it was too late. Things had already been handled and that I should just let you go. Move forward with the plans for my NBA career. He told me I’d soon forget about you and that you’d do the same.”

  He runs his hand roughly through his hair, shifting the hat on top of his head. His voice is gravely and full of emotion. Tortured.

  How can I not forgive this boy? This man who stood up for me. Who hadn’t left me behind on purpose.

  Pushing the cap back down over his head, so most of his face is hidden, he continues.

  “In the early days, the thought of you moving on with another guy drove me fucking crazy. I tried to contact you. But after so long, after never hearing back, I just stopped. It was useless.”

  My heart lights up with joy knowing that long ago, the boy I loved tried to find me. Tried to track me down to be there for me. In my darkest hours, I had always hoped and prayed that he would find his way back to me. That he could come rescue me like a Knight in Shining Armor to whisk my baby and me away.

  But then my heart plummets, remembering the reality of how desperately alone I truly was. No family. No boyfriend. No support. The only thing I had was the staff at Grace Homes, the home for pregnant teens where I lived for just under a year. Until my child was born and I gave him up – as planned – for adoption.

  “I wish things had been different.” I whisper. “I’m sorry it happened that way.”

  Silence descends upon us again as I pull off the highway toward the North Cascades National Forest. We drive a few more miles until I park at the ranger station in Verlot, where we register for our hike.

  As we walk back to the car, Carver stops me by gently grabbing hold of my wrist, the warmth of his touch breaking the remaining ice left around my heart.

  “I’m the one who’s sorry, Lo. I wish I could turn back the clock. I’d have worked hard to have found you sooner. We’ve missed so much. Time I can never get back with you. I would have handled it differently. Everything would be different now.”

  Chapter 10

  Carver

  Whether it’s from the confessions in the car on our way here, or just being outdoors and surrounded by the stillness of nature, I feel like a completely different person then I was eight hours ago.

  Or four years ago.

  Logan and I have been hiking up the damp, mossy trail leading up to Lake 22 for the last forty-five minutes. It’s a five-and-a-half-mile round trip, with an elevation gain of thirteen hundred fifty feet. We’ve been making the steady climb up the rocky shale paths, crossing rickety wood bridges over flowing creeks bursting with melted-snow run-off. It’s beautiful and makes me remember how much I’ve missed the Pacific Northwest. The desert of Arizona is beautiful, but nothing compares to the thick undergrowth of the rain forest at the base of Mount Pilchuck.

  The smell of the woods alone is like breathing life into your lungs. It fills you with a peaceful serenity where everything is washed clean. Like there’s no problem too big that can’t be solved out here. It brings to mind one of Henry David Thoreau’s poems, where you should treat this time as a blessing in your day.

  My boots are muddy and wet, and my breathing ragged, as we continue our assent. Sweat drips down the center of my back from excursion. As an athlete, I’m in damn good shape. I work out six days a week and take good care of my body.

  It’s not the exercise that’s the problem. It’s not what has my heart chugging like a freight train as I follow behind Logan up the trail. The real reason for my shortness of breath is walking four feet ahead of me.

  Her ass in tight black yoga pants.

  I’m not sure how much longer I can handle watching her ass swish and sway with every step. I might just break down, fall on my knees behind her and roughly grab a handful of ass cheek, begging her to stop the torment. It’s driving me out of my fucking mind.

  Something has shifted between us since our car conversation. It was cathartic. The burden that once weighed me down like an anchor was lifted and I finally feel free. On top of the world. Ready for something...anything...

  Logan’s demeanor toward me has changed, as well. She’s been laughing with me – or at me. She smiles more. I’ve also caught her staring at me when she thinks I’m not looking. And it makes me want to wrap my arms around her and never let go.

  Logan stops so abruptly at a curve in a switchback, I have to place my hands on the back of her shoulders to avoid plowing into her. She jumps and then seems to relax under my touch. I let go just as quickly to avoid any unnecessary touching, but not before I feel how small she is underneath my hands. Delicate as a petal, yet strong as a hemlock limb. She’s feminine, yet toned. She feels fan-fucking-tastic under my touch.

  I’ve always loved that about her. Logan Shaw was a force to be reckoned with back in our teens, and drew me in with her unwavering confidence and lack of bullshit. She wasn’t one of those vapid teenage girls who fussed over her hair and make-up. Every part of her personality was bright, beautiful and buoyant. Even a sky full of stars couldn’t outshine her on even her worst day.

  “Whoa,” I manage to say as I catch a whiff of her sweet, fragrant scent. “Is something wrong?”

  Logan bends down at her hips, giving me an amazing view of her ass. Oh fuck. I want to pull down those pants and spank her bare ass so we both light up from the burn. I manage to fold my hands into fists, commanding them to stay at my sides.

  She trudges up a bit further, but not before I notice she’s limping. She finds a spot to sit down on a large rock in the side of the hill.

  “I’m okay. I just have a Charlie horse cramp. I just need to stretch it out for a second.”

  Squatting down in front of her, I grab underneath the leg she has stretched out and I gently shove away her hands from her calf and begin massaging the tense muscle. It’s knotted tight, so I know she must be in pain. She moans – either from the pain or maybe from my touch. I hope it’s the latter.

  “Is this okay?” I ask, not wanting to spook her with the intimacy of my touch. But it feels amazing. She feels amazing.

  As a teenager, Logan was incredibly athletic and beautiful. Lean, limber and full of endless en
ergy. Not much has changed, it seems. Her body is spectacularly toned.

  “Do you get these often?”

  She nods her head.

  “Yes. I’m probably just dehydrated from drinking too much last night, and not enough water.” She smiles with a remorseful glint in her eye. “I suppose you’ve had your fair share of sports injuries out on the court.”

  This is the first time she’s ever brought up anything related to my basketball career. Usually when I’m with a girl, that’s the only thing they want to talk about. Like I’m nothing more than just a ball player. A commodity.

  Logan has never really known me in that aspect of my life. Our relationship was so compartmentalized – there was our life at camp and our lives outside of camp. We lived in a bubble.

  “I’ve been lucky,” I smirk, squeezing a spot on her leg that she seems to like, if her gasp of breath is any indication. “Until recently with the tooth and nose break. But I haven’t broken anything else.”

  My fingers dig deeper into the knotted tissue and it begins to release under my ministrations. I move my hands a little further up her leg, just underneath her knee – maybe testing how much latitude she’s going to give me.

  I like this connection we have and I don’t want to let it go. It’s like we’re in our own little universe under the canopy of the Alderwoods and Red Cedars. Cocooned in a place where it’s just the two of us and no one else. No history. No past. Just the here and now.

  Logan fixes her gaze on my mouth and the corners of my mouth edge up into a smile.

  “God, I feel awful for not asking, but how is your tooth doing?” She asks.

  I release her foot and place it on the ground, leaning in so that I’m now crouching between her legs.

  “I’ll let you examine it if you want.”

  I’m getting all up in her space, using my flirtatious line to see how far it gets me. I place my hands on the top of her thighs, and allow my fingers to spider-crawl up to her hips. My fingers find purchase in the softness at her rear and dig in as I jerk her forward to bring her in to me. Her sharp intake of air has my dick turning as hard as the rock she’s occupying.

  Her eyes go wide, but close on a moan as I press my lips into hers for a taste.

  She tastes of mint, dewy rain and mountain air. Everything I love and have missed since I’ve been away.

  My mouth aligns with hers and I search for any reason I should stop, but come up empty. I bring one hand up to the back of her head, tilting her face to the side, as I take deeper possession of her mouth. I close my eyes, allowing my tongue to slide through her soft, wet lips and delve into her mouth. She meets me there, her tongue sweeping over and tangling with mine.

  It’s like memories of camp fires.

  Of dark summer nights.

  Of rushing waterfalls.

  It’s like coming home.

  The kisses I’ve shared with other girls since Logan can’t hold a candle to this feeling. There’s no comparison. When we kiss, it’s like dynamite. Explosive and detonating. It’s like the bite and sting of the waterfall across my back, covering me from head to toe in tingling exhilaration.

  The trail has been mostly deserted in the last hour, save for a few groups of hikers, but somewhere in the not-so-far-off distance, we hear the sounds of laughter and voices getting closer. They could be just around the bend. It doesn’t worry me in the slightest, but Logan breaks the kiss.

  She leans back, her breath choppy. I blink a few times, watching her chest heave and her eyes morph from a hazy heat to cold, alert awareness.

  I don’t want to lose the physical contact with her, so I glide my hand down her arm to grasp her hand. As I stand, I pull her up alongside me. She appears unsteady and a little weary as she glances down the trail for any sign of oncoming hikers.

  “They aren’t too close.” I explain, reading her thoughts. She shakes out her leg, stretches it and continues her climb once again without a word.

  I have to say, I’m a bit stunned by her reaction. The aloofness is a sudden departure from what we’ve been sharing thus far. Before she gets too far, I reach for her hand, threading my fingers through hers to stop her progression. Her head wrenches behind her, capturing my gaze with hers.

  “Why’d you stop?”

  “We’ve still got a ways to go if we want to summit the top before lunch.”

  I could care less about breaking any speed records on this hike, I want to get back to more kissing.

  “I want more of that,” I say, and I know she understands I mean her kiss.

  Her expression is a mix of weariness and hope.

  She shrugs nonchalantly and grins. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

  Then off she sprints up the hill, leaving me behind to run after her.

  Just like our summer four years ago.

  I’ve never chased after a girl before. She’s the only one. And this isn’t the first time I’ve had to run after her.

  This time I resolve to chase her until I can pin her down for good.

  ****

  “Hey, wait up!” I yell after Logan, as she takes the rickety steps up to the top with grace only granted to gazelles.

  She stops for a second, turns her head and grins.

  “Can’t keep up with a girl? That’s just sad, Edwards.” She taunts.

  It’s exactly the ammunition I need to push forward with lightning-fast speed that I only reserve for the basketball court. In under two-seconds I’ve reached the precipice, grabbing her around the waist and spinning her around as she screams in joy.

  “What were you saying about my manhood, Miss Shaw?”

  My hand is on her hip as she slides down my body. I know she must feel my bulge. It’s not exactly easy to hide in my nylon running shorts. Logan places her feet on the ground and turns back to me.

  Without a word, she leans in and kisses me solidly on the mouth. She clasps her hands behind my neck, as they feather into my hair. My own hands graze lazily down her back and grasp her ass, which is the most perfectly heart-shaped ass I’ve ever felt. Much less seen. She arches her back and presses firmly into my cock, which twitches upon contact. Begging for friction.

  We continue to kiss, sampling each other’s lust, swallowing the other’s moans. The sun is high in the sky overhead, burning holes into the tops of our heads, intensifying the heat that already exists between us.

  Logan pulls back with a gasp.

  “No one else is around.” She whispers conspiratorially – equal parts mischievousness and shyness, her bright blue gaze never wavering.

  I confirm the truth by scanning the top of the plateau overlooking the lake. It’s quiet and serene from this vantage point. There’s no one else around, as all the other campers are off doing their extra-curricular activities elsewhere, whereas we snuck off to be alone.

  I raise my eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? What did you have in mind?”

  She giggles and shrugs her shoulders, blushing as red as the beak on the Red Nosed Pecker.

  “I want...to do something.”

  Ah, hell. I’m praying I know what she’s interested in doing, but I don’t want to get my hopes up.

  In my dreams, we’ve done everything under the sun sexually; but in reality I’ve only gotten to second base with her. Our camp schedules are typically chocked full of activities and chaperones, leaving us little alone time. And at night, our bunks are heavily watched for any illicit goings on between the young, horny teenagers looking to cop a feel out in the woods.

  This is our second summer together. We’re both still virgins. She’s told me she doesn’t have a boyfriend at home – which I find impossible to believe. I’ve hung out with girls during the school year, but I’m not interested in dating. None of my high school buddies know anything about Logan. She’s my secret. Not because I’m embarrassed by her. I just don’t want anyone to know how whipped I am over a girl I barely know and only see two-weeks a year.

  But the moment we reunited a week ago, after nine long months apart, we p
icked up right where we left off. I wish I could describe the feeling. Logan just burns me up from the inside.

  Truthfully, I hate the arrangement she made me agree to at the end of last summer. She said it would be too difficult to commit to a long-distance relationship during the school year; we’re free to date or mess around with anyone we want without feeling guilty.

  I thought things would change between us after that much time apart. But the minute we saw each other again, it was like no time had passed and the previous nine months didn’t exist.

  “What is it that you want to do?” I ask hesitantly, praying that she wants the same thing I do.

  She bites her lower lip as I grab hold of her hand and walk her over to a patchy area for us to sit. We place our backpacks on the ground, as I pull the water bottle out and take a swig, offering her one. She accepts, taking a long swallow as I watch her throat bob up and down. It gives me way too may dirty thoughts.

  She recaps the thermos and looks down at her feet. “I want to touch you.”

  I try to swallow, but it gets stuck in my throat. The water spills out of my mouth as I turn to stare at her wide-eyed.

  I mean, fuck yes. I want her to touch me, too. Duh. But did I accidentally misinterpret what she meant?

  “Um, exactly what part of me do you want to touch, Lo?” I whisper, careful not to choke on the words.

  “You know...” she acknowledges, drawing out the O and tilting her head down to my lap.

  I try to remember how to breathe. In. Out. Inhale. Exhale. I have a choice to make. It’s a fork in the proverbial trail.

  What if she just wants to touch me once? Like at a petting zoo when they take out the boa constrictor and the kids get to feel it. They think it’s cool and scary, and want to be brave, but then as soon as their fingers touch the scaly skin, they turn and run screaming.

  If that happens once Logan touches my boner, I’d be screwed. I’m a sixteen-year-old boy who’d be left with a killer boner that I’d have no way to relieve. Would she even understand the amount of pain I’d be in? Forget about hiking down the mountain.