When You Come Back to Me (Lost Boys 2)

I directed James back to the Whitmore residence where he’d driven me months ago on Homecoming night. As I did then, I had him park a short distance away to wait for me. I walked toward River’s house under a heavy sky that threatened rain, my nerves lit up like a switchboard.

He might not even be home. Did you think of that? You’re going to leave the book with his dad, perchance? “Hi, Mr. Whitmore. Your son tongue-fucked me at school the other day and now I’m thoroughly ruined. Here’s a car book. Have a nice day.”

Suddenly, I was at the front door and knocking before I could talk myself out of it. River answered.

He had on jeans and a tight-fitting dark green sweater that was smooth over his broad chest and highlighted every muscle in his arms and shoulders. But it was his smile that automatically came over his face when he saw it was me, that was my undoing. I felt it in every damn molecule of my body.

River Whitmore is one big warning sign.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I parroted back.

“You want to come in?”

“Is that wise, given your predicament?”

“My dad and sister are out shopping. Mom’s asleep.”

“Just for a minute. I can’t stay. I have…a lot of stuff to do and…”

Jesus, I was rambling. I never rambled.

River grinned like a bastard and opened the door to let me in, then shut it behind me. We stood in the wide entry, him on one side, me on the other. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, unnerving me with his relentless good looks. The long sleeves of his sweater were pushed up, and a large silver watch was strapped around his wrist, making his forearms obscenely sexy.

“I didn’t know if I was going to see you again,” River said, keeping his voice low. “You bailed fast the other day.”

The other day, he said. Casual and plain, as if it hadn’t upheaved my life in every possible way. And maybe his too. His first kiss with a guy.

And it was with me.

My composure returned on a tide of arrogant pride. “I suddenly remembered an urgent appointment and had to run out.” I held out the bag. “This is for you.”

He pushed off the wall, took it, then retreated, both of us staying in our corners while a sucking pull, like a tide, wanted to crash us together again.

River took the book out and let the bag fall. “Holy shit, this is awesome,” he murmured, flipping through the pages. He raised his eyes to mine. “Thank you.”

I tucked my hands into my coat pockets to give them something to do that wasn’t grabbing him. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” he said and tucked it under his arm. “Hold on a sec.”

He left the hall entry and took the stairs up two at a time. I sagged against the wall and scrubbed my hands over my face.

“Leave,” I whispered. “Leave now. Save yourself…”

River came back holding a rectangular box with Montegrappa embossed in gold.

“I didn’t have time to wrap it,” he said, handing it to me and resuming his lean against the opposite wall.

I wondered if he’d had the same aversion about unwrapping gifts while someone watched. If so, it’d be one of the few things we had in common.

He’s the calm. You’re the storm. This is never going to work…

Quickly, I opened the box to another glossy wood box inside. In that was a Montegrappa fountain pen in deep blue with a gold-plated nib. The pens weren’t cheap—and the idea River had spent a few hundred dollars on me brought back that weak-in-the-knees-my-heart-is-going-to-burst fe

eling I’d had in the band room.

“Hold this for me, would you?”