Boy Next Door (Parkside Avenue Book #2) by Raquel Lyon

ground, in order to spread out the blanket, and beckoning Cora to
sit down.
    “Are you sure we should be having
alcohol?” she asked, over the sound of the cork popping.
    “Still hung over?”
    She watched the red liquid fill
the glasses. “I meant with the bikes,” she said, accepting her glass and staring
into it. “What if we get stopped by the police?”
    I cracked a smile. “What, drunk
in charge of a bicycle?”
    “It happens. I’ve seen it on
television.”
    “Yeah, if you’re a pisshead.
Seriously, you looked drunk enough, wobbling all over the road, on the way
here. I doubt anyone would notice the difference.”
    Cora pretended to take offence,
affording me a small slap to the thigh, as she sipped on her drink and sloshed
the liquid around her mouth. “Mmm, this isn’t bad.”
    Wine was wine to me. I couldn’t
tell good from bad and, given the choice, would have preferred a beer or whisky,
so I downed mine in one gulp and laid back, letting the warmth radiate around
my stomach.
    The sun twinkled through the
canopy of leaves over our heads. Life was good. Only one thing could make it
better, and I could feel the weight of her stare. A huge grin stretched across
my face.
    “What are you thinking?” Cora
asked.
    I turned my head. “Do you believe
in heaven?”
    “Why do you ask?”
    “Look.” I pointed up to the tree.
    Cora shuffled her bottom down the
blanket to lie beside me. “What am I looking at?”
    “I was thinking the sun looks
like angels’ wands twinkling.”
    “Angels don’t have wands.”
    “They did in my school plays.”
    “Were you an angel?”
    I smiled at the irony. “I’ve
never been an angel. I was usually a sheep. I did once get promoted to a wise
man, but I dropped the gold on Baby Jesus’s head and it didn’t go down too
well.” Her laugh surfaced again, and I felt her walls crumbling. “What about
you?” I asked, rolling over to face her.
    “What about me?”
    I propped up on my elbow and
studied Cora’s face. Her cheeks were flushed from the exercise; her eyes
reflected the twinkles. She was my angel. “Tell me about your childhood.”
    “I was the Virgin Mary.”
    No surprise there. “Teacher’s
pet?”
    “Teacher’s daughter.”
    “Mother or father?”
    “Father. My mother has health
problems. She hasn’t worked for years.”
    “I’m sorry.” Without thinking, I
snapped off a long blade of grass and rolled it between my fingers. “What about
siblings?”
    “Just me.”
    “What was that like?”
    “Quiet. Lonely at times. But I
had a lot of friends. I was happy.” I trailed the grass up her arm and she
shivered.
    “Are you cold?”
    Her eyes flicked to mine. “No.
Why do you ask?”
    “No reason.”
    I wanted to kiss her so fucking
badly. I wanted to touch her for real, not with an inanimate object but with my
fingers running over her silken skin, exploring places left untouched for too
long. Screw that. I didn’t just want it, I needed it, and the way she was
looking at me told me she wanted it just as much as I did—even if she was still
refusing admit it. But I was afraid to spoil the moment. It was too perfect. Her
hard edges were softening but I wasn’t sure she was soft enough. The grass
continued its journey across her enticing slice of bare stomach. Her lips
parted and a puff of breath shot out, quickly replaced by a sharp intake. Yeah.
She was soft. I leaned closer, until my nose was inches from hers. Maybe this was the moment.
    “Don’t,” she said.
    “Don’t what?”
    “Kiss me.”
    “Who said I was going to kiss
you?”
    “Weren’t you?”
    “I thought about it.” I must have
thought about it over a thousand times, since I’d first laid eyes on her. “Who
wouldn’t?”
    “Well stop thinking about it.”
    “Why?”
    “You know why.”
    A haze of moisture glistened over
her perfect cupid’s bow, inviting me to run my tongue over it. Lips like hers
deserved to be kissed. If it were up to me, I’d keep them