When You Come Back to Me (Lost Boys 2)

“What’d you find?” I asked. “Anything good?”

I didn’t actually give a shit; when River started to answer, I swooped in, capturing his mouth in a deep kiss.

Instantly, every sensation I’d been starving for rocketed through me. The clean taste of him, the roughness of his stubbled cheek, the warm softness of his tongue sliding against mine.

He answered my kiss immediately, as if he’d been waiting for it too. The book tumbled from his hand and he grunted, gripping me by the lapels of my jacket and pressing me against the bookshelf hard enough to make it shiver. His mouth invaded mine, another resuscitation after drowning in a lake of alcohol for a year.

My hands went everywhere, over his broad back, into his hair, greedy to touch him. I felt the heavy hardness of an erection grow in his jeans and press against my own.

A store clerk cleared his throat delicately in passing, and River wrenched himself from me.

“Fuck,” he gasped breathlessly, his mouth reddened, his hair askew. His gaze bore into me, frustrated and heated at the same time. Then he bent to retrieve the book off the floor, slammed it on the little table, and stormed toward the exit.

I smoothed my rumpled clothes and followed him through a side door that led to a cobble-stoned street.

“I didn’t want to do that,” he said. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“Your dick told me otherwise,” I said, then flinched at his murderous gaze. “Sorry. Can’t help myself.”

“Neither can I, that’s the problem. I can’t let you go. And I don’t want to. But Christ…” He became still, his eyes hard. “I can’t kiss you when you fucked someone else just last night.”

My arms dropped, and shame rushed through me like a wildfire. The sun was starting to sink, casting shadows over the cobblestone streets.

“Who is he?” River asked, his voice low.

“You really want to talk about him?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“He’s no one. A good guy,” I amended. “But he won’t last. Like the others.”

“Others.”

“Yes, others. Lots of others. Because that’s what I do.”

My words struck River hard and I hated myself more.

He stared at me, then barked a short laugh. “God, I’m a fucking idiot. I thought maybe you needed me. That it meant something that you sent me your books. But no, nothing’s changed. Except you’re over here living it up while I’ve been a goddamn monk, jerking off to you every night.”

I sucked in a breath, the truth hitting me as hard as mine had hit him. “No one?” I gritted my teeth. “I never asked you not to see anyone. I’ll never—”

“You’ve never asked me for anything, and you never will. Yeah, I remember your little mantra.”

I stared back, desperate to harden myself against him. “What do you want? Why are you here? To bring me

back with you?”

“Why not? What are you doing here, except drinking yourself stupid and fucking everything that moves?”

“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing.”

River scrubbed his face. “Christ…Holden.”

“What am I supposed to do, River?” I shouted. “Go back with you and do what? I’ll be the same mess there I am here.”

“You can get help. You can try again.”

“Yeah and while I’m stumbling around, flailing and falling down, what are you doing? You’re picking me up while taking care of your sister and dad and keeping the shop running at the same time. Like fucking Atlas, carrying all of us on your back. What about you?”