Nine years of nurtured anger tangled with this thing. This gripping attraction and wistfulness—a deep missing of this woman from my life.
We were fifteen then, and I’d wanted to kiss him. I was one day from twenty-eight now, and I wanted to devour him.
We were perfect, a little messy and a lot wild. There were no rules for August and me.
Gwen was the only woman I’d ever imagined in my future. The only one I wanted in my bed now. Today. This minute.
