That’s it. I want to ride a train. With you. Everywhere.
I glanced back at the house.
God, I love her. I really fucking love her.
It physically pained me to spend any time away from her. I had to force myself to go home every day, because if I didn’t, I’d never leave. She was my addiction.
A probably unhealthy addiction, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to be with her. As days passed, it became harder and harder to hide my feelings for her—if I ever hid them well to begin with.
I’d had it bad for Audrey ever since we met our freshman year of high school. My parents put me in private school for elementary and middle school, but I talked them into letting me go to public high school like my brothers before me.
Audrey sat in front of me that first day in math class, twirling her ringlets around her index finger and generally driving me to distraction. She dressed like the schoolgirl she was, with knee-high socks and Mary Jane shoes, short skirts, and tailored button-down shirts, long hair swinging behind her as she walked. She somehow nailed the look so it wasn’t nerdy, but rather innocently sexy. Dark academia. Like she lived in the hot version of Dead Poets Society.
She loved tweed coats and cuffed pants and newsboy hats and wanted to design her own clothes in a similar style. With her beauty and style, no wonder she was noticeable. If she deigned to give you her attention, you’d die happy. Or at least I would.
Audrey was simply the most attractive girl I’d ever seen—always had been. But beyond her looks, I loved how much she cared about her family. And the variety of her interests—eating world cuisine, sampling every single form of candy ever made, repeat-watching Peaky Blinders. Spending the afternoon planning our future together engraved her even deeper upon my heart.
As much as I fantasized about grabbing her and shoving my tongue down her throat, that wasn’t the way to make her like me. For almost four years, my tactic had been to go achingly slow, hoping she’d want me anywhere near as much as I wanted her.
For years, I’d thought she only wanted to be friends. But lately it had seemed like she’d been flirting. The way she’d tossed her hair just now. God.
Maybe I did it wrong, though. Maybe my kiss sailed in from nowhere, judging from the surprise in her eyes when I pressed my lips to hers. I couldn’t kiss her longer, though. Couldn’t risk Chief Staunton seeing us tangling tongues. Not when I’d overheard his keep-the-door-open lectures before. I wouldn’t do that to her.
I got in the MLR, my Mobile Living Room—so named because the bench seats of my oversized Barney-purple truck could probably hold a dozen people—and started the engine.
That girl had started my internal engine long ago. Fuuuuck.
Shifting into reverse, I backed away from her house. Her parents, Tim and Denise Staunton, were the second owners of a 1970s tract home with a two-car garage and a lawn mowed short in front. It still had the original avocado green and harvest gold kitchen appliances. Amazing that stylish Audrey came from a complete time warp. Or maybe that explained why she wanted to update historical clothes for today.
I drove along the valley, then turned and climbed the vineyard-covered hills. Oak trees and pines dotted the landscape, breaking up the neat lines of the grapes, which were laced with bright yellow mustard flowers. Soon, I’d have a view of all of Merlot.
But I ignored the scenery. Marring my replay of our first kiss was an increasingly sinking sensation in my gut.
She hadn’t kissed me back, and I kept debating whether I’d fucked up. I hoped I hadn’t.
When I came to a stop sign, almost home, the silence in my truck startled me. I chuckled. I was so distracted, I’d forgotten to turn on any music. As usual, I’d only thought about her.
I’d put off kissing Audrey for so damn long because she was too important. She needed a forever guy—and I was all-in—but I didn’t want to push her before she gave me a signal she was ready.
That didn’t stop my subconscious making her star in all my dirty dreams, though.
I wasn’t biding my time until she spread her legs for me. Nothing like that. I just was genuinely okay with taking it slow.
Because we had all the time in the world. There was no other girl for me. Period.
Although I was getting pretty antsy to kiss her again. And maybe do more, if she wanted to.
And therein lies the problem.
I made my way home, parked in the six-car garage, and strolled inside, the roll-top door shutting behind me. My parents’ house smelled like butter, potatoes, and lemony chicken, mixed with vanilla and sugar. Home.
Entering the kitchen, I threw my backpack down on a bar stool and went to the fridge for a drink.
My mom turned around from her station at the island counter where she iced cookies. Mom had a blonde bob and wore a crisp chambray shirt over jeans. Her apron said Lemieux Catering.
“Hi, Tate. How’s Audrey?” Mom asked, giving me a quick peck on the cheek as I passed.
My brother Perry didn’t turn around, continuing to stir something in a copper pot on the stove. Staring at his face was like looking in the mirror in two years.
He loved food almost as much as she did and was always trying recipes with her. At twenty, his metabolism was high enough—plus he played enough club soccer—to keep the rich food from showing on his waist.
“You mean his girlfriend?” Perry snorted, then reached for the salt.
“Shut up,” I said, gulping a cold glass of water. I dug out my phone and checked for any texts from Audrey. None.
I’ve got it bad.
My mom grinned. “I know you aren’t telling me to shut up.”
I snorted when I realized my words could be misconstrued. “God, no, Mom. Not you. I’m talking to that tool over there.” I pointed my cell phone at Perry.
“Boys.” She clamped her lips together, suppressing a smile.
“She’s fine, by the way.” Audrey was way more than fine, but there was no way I’d let my mom know that.
“Are you dating or no?” Perry looked over his shoulder.
“No.” I managed to not say it like a question. He’d asked me before, and I usually answered with more certainty.
I mean, were we dating? I’d never asked her out. I just hung out with her. I did things for her.
But I barely touched her because I needed to be very careful with her.
“So, you won’t mind if I ask her out?” he asked breezily, and I growled low in my throat.
“Perry!” Mom’s eyes flashed fire at him. “Don’t provoke your brother.”
“It’s literally my job to provoke my brother,” he insisted, laughing hard into the copper pot. “Forgotten middle brother needs to assert himself sometimes.”
“Who’s the middle brother?” My oldest brother Bert walked in, a clone of my dad, with darker hair than mine.
I drew the best straw for names. My brothers were named after our grandfathers. Not sure where Mom got the name Tate, but I’d take it over Perry or Bert.
“Me, asshole,” Perry said without heat.
“Language,” Mom said, shaking her head and reaching for more frosting. But I knew it didn’t bother her.
In this house, we never censored ourselves. Mom focused only on important things like avoiding broken bones and ensuring we all went to the dentist. She’d let go of micro-control a long time ago. Our only house rule was, “don’t swear where Grandma can hear.”