Barefoot in the Rain - Roxanne St. Claire Page 0,1

friend’s loft.

And she had, so many, many times.

“Your mom will miss you,” he said, his voice surprisingly tight.

“My mom…” She wanted to say mom would be fine, but they both knew better. “Was born without a spine.”

“Which means she’ll miss you even more.”

“I’m not the parent-pleaser you are, Will. Well, I can’t please him, obviously, and I don’t need to please her. She refuses to leave him and, you know, half the time I think she feels like she deserves what she gets.”

He didn’t respond; what could he possibly say? Jocelyn’s dad was a ticking time bomb and no one ever knew when the fuse would blow. All they knew was that her mother would end up bruised. Or worse. And, honestly, it was only a matter of time until that fist made contact with Jocelyn.

“But I do have a spine,” Jocelyn said, lifting her chin. “And next week can’t come fast enough for me.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Sadness? Pity? Longing? “I wish Miami didn’t start a week earlier than Florida.”

“You’re ready,” she said. “You’ve outgrown the shrine.”

He laughed at her favorite name for his loft. Did he know that when she said that, she meant a different kind of shrine—a sanctuary? That was what it was for her. This second-story suite might be his workout room and bedroom, but it was her safe harbor; the sight of his gazillion trophies and framed newspaper articles always made her feel safe and secure from the mess next door that was her home.

Or maybe it was just the broad, strong shoulders of a boy who always let her lean on him that made her feel so safe and secure here.

She realized he was looking directly at her, his expression serious, his hand still resting against her neck.

“What?” she asked.

Without answering, he tunneled his fingers into her hair, inching her closer. “It’s our last night, Jossie,” he whispered. “And I’m going to miss the hell out of you.”

Warmth curled through her, unholy and unfamiliar—no, it was familiar enough, especially in the last few months They’d been dancing around this all summer, both too scared to tear the safety net of their friendship and do what they were thinking about constantly.

They’d almost talked about it. Almost kissed. Frequently touched. And every time they parted, Jocelyn felt twisted and tortured and achy in places that had never ached.

His Adam’s apple rose and fell as he tried to swallow. Unable to resist, she touched that masculine lump on his throat.

“When I met you, Will, you didn’t have one of these.”

A smile threatened. “I didn’t have a lot of things I have now.”

“Like this manly stubble.” She brushed her hand along the line of his jaw, his soft teenage whiskers ticking her knuckles.

“Or these massive guns.” He grinned and lifted his arm, flexing to show off a very impressive catcher’s bicep.

Then his eyes dropped from her face to her chest. “Speaking of things someone didn’t have.”

She felt her color rise and, oh, Lord, her nipples puckered. There was the ache again.

“Will…” She looked down, directly at the sight of a shockingly big tent in his jeans. He hadn’t had that when he’d moved in seven years ago.

She stared at the bulge, her throat dry, her chest tight, her hands itchy. Dear God, she wanted to touch him.

“Jossie,” he whispered, trailing a finger up her throat and across her bottom lip, sending fireworks from her scalp to her toes and a whole lot of precious places in between. “I don’t want to leave without…”

She looked up at him, his face so near now she could count his sinfully long black lashes. “You think it’s time…” She took a slow breath. “That we…”

“It’s not about time,” he said, a hitch in his voice nearly undoing her. “You have to know how I feel about you.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I’m your best friend,” she said quickly. “The girl next door. The only person in town who doesn’t swoon at the sight of your number thirty-one on the cover of the Mimosa Gazette.”

She thought he’d smile, but he didn’t. Instead, he closed his eyes. “You’re so much more than that.”

Was she? God, she wanted to be. She really, really wanted to be. But if this friendship was ruined, then what?

They’d hugged a million times. They’d kissed on the cheek. They even made out a few times when they were fifteen, but then he started dating some dimwit cheerleader. Everything physical had stopped, but their friendship and his unspoken offer of an