“You know August was always a sweet brother until he got around you,” she said, quirking her eyebrow at me.
I waved her comment away. “He was doing big brother all wrong. It was his job to torment you. I just helped him find his true calling.”
“Did you ever,” she murmured looking down.
I frowned, hating that the humor left her face, and wondering what she meant? Was August still tormenting her?
Hoping to bring back her smile I said, “You know, that balloon thing was so I could see you in a wet t-shirt.” Okay, so maybe sexual innuendo wasn’t the best idea, especially since I was her boss now, but I said the first thing that came to mind.
Her lips twitched up slightly. “Pervert.”
I laughed, feeling heat come to my cheeks. “I was nineteen. I think pervert is the definition of a nineteen-year-old boy.”
She snorted. “Oh please. The girls in high school were practically throwing their panties at you.”
It was true that I had an easy time with the ladies, but that had mostly been sex. April had been so much more.
“I wasn’t in high school then,” I pointed out.
“Well then, I guess, you’re welcome.”
I arched a brow.
“You got your jollies off of soaking me with water balloons. You should thank me for giving you your sexual rise.”
I laughed. “You’re right. Thank you. It was very pleasant, if I remember correctly.”
“You’re welcome.”
I held up my wine glass. “To old memories and making new ones.”
She smiled, but her eyes held wariness as she held up her wine glass and clicked it against mine. I felt like I was in a losing battle trying to bring back the past. Perhaps that was the problem. The past was gone. But if that was true, why did I want her as much now as I did then. More than I’d ever wanted anyone. Was cupid fucking with me again?
10
April
Going down memory lane felt very dangerous. The minute I asked if he remembered about the wine and going to the river, I felt panic. That night had been a shift in our relationship. We’d gone from having a summer fling to talking about staying together when I went to college. He told me he loved me. We’d made love. The expression on his face now told me he was remembering all that too, and as wonderful as it was, it wasn’t something we needed to go over again. The past was dead and gone. At least it should be. But the mixture of longing and sadness in my heart as I remembered that night told me Jude was still in there.
I was relieved when he brought up the water balloon ambush, as that was before he and I were a thing. Of course, then he admitted that he’d wanted to see me in a wet t-shirt, which was news to me. When we’d gotten together before, he told me he’d had more than friendly feeling for me for some time, but never elaborated.
I wondered if his return to Bismarck meant he’d reach out to August again. I hadn’t mentioned seeing Jude to August, mostly because the last time we talked about Jude, August was being an asshole. But maybe Jude had contacted August. I knew why August wouldn’t tell me about seeing Jude. He wanted us apart. Wanted Jude away from Maya. Oh God, I was as bad as August where Maya was concerned. Except it was Jude’s decision to leave us, I reminded myself.
“Have you talked to August?” I asked, sipping my wine.
His expression fell, and I felt bad for that. I realized I was starting to enjoy myself. Enjoy my time with Jude.
“No. I think it’s safe to say that that bridge is burned.”
“But not ours?”
His jaw tightened. “I don’t think August was ever really my friend. You, I believe you loved me. Once.”
I looked down, having trouble dealing with the intensity of the moment. Especially the “once” comment. I was sure I still loved him, but we were well past making us work, which was the real tragedy.
“I think August was your friend. He just…my parents’ death and the responsibility…he didn’t handle it well.” I don’t know why I was defending August, except that he was my brother, and I did think he struggled to take on everything after our parents died. Of course, now, eight year later, he could relax, especially where I was concerned, but he never did.
Jude shrugged, using his fingers to turn his wine glass by the stem. I’d effectively turned an enjoyable conversation into a downer. Then again, this was our history too. Not everything was wine and roses. Even so, while it was dangerous to relive the love, there was no need to rehash the bad either.