But before I could think too long on it, there he was. Taller than the rest of the group, his sandy blond hair shining in the sun, getting lighter by the day.

He waved good-bye to the group he was chatting with, then jogged over to my Jeep.

“So mysterious,” he said, sidling up to the window. Looking left and right (to make sure no one was looking?), he leaned his head in to kiss me once, twice, three times. “Where are we going, Sugar Snap?”

My toes pointed involuntarily and the engine revved, a consequence of being called by my nickname. Chuckling, he backed away, hands held up in an I give gesture.

“Get in,” I said. “And buckle up.”

“So this is where you brought all of the boys to have your wicked way with them in your younger days.”

We’d turned off the main road into the woods, onto a dirt path barely large enough for my Wagoneer to fit down without snapping off a few branches here and there. I was pleased to see no other cars here when I parked, and I led him a few hundred yards or so to the clearing above the clearest, and coldest, swimming hole for miles.

Starting as an underground spring, the water forced its way up through the rock underneath, creating this beautiful little pool ringed with huge craggy boulders, some rough and pointed, some flat like giant platters. The pool was somewhat oblong, more like a tube than a circle, hence the name. Since it was smaller than some of the other swimming haunts near town, it usually wasn’t as crowded.

And today, we had it all to ourselves.

As we admired it from above, what he’d said finally registered. His eyes were full of fun and mischief as he gazed down at me, waiting expectantly for my answer.

“I never brought boys here, mister. Not for wicked ways or any ways.” I punctuated my statement with a smack on his buns.

“Oh, I find that hard to believe,” he teased, returning the buns smack. “Come on, you can tell me. Teenage Roxie, with her legendary culinary skills, must have made a helluva picnic to tempt the boys out to skinny dip.”

I thought about it for a moment. How perfect that version could have been. Snapping a red-and-white checkered tablecloth onto the grass and wildflowers. Sitting with The Chad Bowman crisscross applesauce while we ate tiny sandwiches and talked about . . . whatever we would have discussed.

It was hard to put myself in an imaginary memory with my former A-number-one crush, when I had my current A number one here in the flesh.

“That wasn’t me,” I explained, pulling him close and tucking his hands around my lower back. He slid his palms into my back pockets like they did in every eighties music video on MTV. Back in the day when MTV actually ran videos. “I was shy. A people watcher who kept to myself. I didn’t turn into a brazen hussy until after I left Bailey Falls.”

I nipped his chin with my teeth, earning two firm bum squeezes. “And speaking of brazen hussy, I’m down with creating some wannabe superhorny teenage memories right here and now. Interested?”

A deep, searing kiss was the answer. Interested.

We climbed carefully down the rocky path. He was all chivalrous with his “Oh, let me help you down” hands that landed and lingered on my backside. Or the casual lean-in that brushed against the side of my boob, which I didn’t immediately lean away from.

We just couldn’t keep our hands off each other. And I was quickly becoming addicted to that comfortable sweetness mixed with steadily growing passion. It was going to be hard to cut myself off cold turkey at the end of the summer.

I leaned into his shoulder to smell the summer on his skin.

Wella, wella, wella, huh.

I was addicted to all things Leo. Right now, as we picked our way down across the rocky shale, I settled on his fingers. Tan, strong, and all man. Not the manicured, pristine, hand-creamed-to-hell fingers that most of the guys in Los Angeles had. These were callused and hardworking, and of the earth.

And at the moment, they were toying with the hem of my shorts. The frayed bits that dangled against my legs were a particular favorite of his. He wound them around his index finger as we walked, and the contact points became little fiery spots that sent tingles up my spine and down my shorts.

And lately, his hands had been coming into contact more often. For obvious reasons, sure, but it was more. When he wasn’t playing grab ass or boobie graze, there’d be the lightest brush here. The softest touch there. It felt like he was unaware that he was doing it too, like the zing he got from making contact surprised him just as much as it did me.

We carried on until finally we cleared the trees, where the stillness reined in our silliness.

“This is perfect,” he said, pulling me in front of him to rest his head on my shoulder.

A dragonfly bounced along the water, sending tiny ripples through the blue, inviting water. We had the place all to ourselves. Suddenly seized by inspiration, I smiled. Brazen hussy reporting for duty.

I turned within his arms, blinking innocently up at him. “Stay,” I instructed with my index finger in the center of his chest. Curiosity shone in his eyes. He looked like he wanted to ask what I was doing, but he didn’t, letting me run the show.

I kicked off my flips, sending them sailing under a nearby tree. My thin white tank was next, sliding over my head. Leo’s eyes narrowed as he took in my barely there bikini, red and white polka dots that tried, almost unsuccessfully, to cover my sudden inspiration. Slipping out of my shorts to expose another part of barely there, I was delighted when his face changed from expectation to deep satisfaction.

I turned away toward the water, peered over my shoulder with a secret smile, and saw Leo standing stock-still, answering my smile broadly. His hands fisted at his sides as he watched me tug at the string on my bikini top, exposing myself to God, country, and dragonflies. I let the tiny triangles slide down my heated skin into the gravel and dirt, and his breath caught. He took a tiny step forward before catching himself. He was letting me do this at my pace, and looked like he was enjoying every single second of it.

I took a step toward the water. I heard him take a step behind me. When my toes hit the water, I almost jumped out of my skin. I’d figured it would be warmish given the time of year, but this was downright nippy—and visibly nipply.

I moved deeper into the water, the coolness slipping up over my shins, my knees, halfway up my thigh—then I stopped and took another look back at Leo. It was like a game of Red Light, Green Light. For every step I took into the water, he stepped further down the rocks. When I stopped, he stopped. When I turned this last time, letting him sneak a peek at what the trees were already familiar with, he stopped so short he had to pinwheel his arms to keep from falling. Jesus, if tits could do this to a grown man, what would happen when I . . .

I took hold of the strings on either hip and tugged.

I’d seen Leo move quickly before, but he was about to break the land and sea record for getting naked and into the water. Jeans and boxers were gone together in a tangle as he hopped on one foot while he toed off his boots simultaneously.

He winced when he hit the water, but didn’t lose momentum. His shirt was still on, as if he’d forgotten he was wearing it. Ripping it off, he threw it behind him, landing on a rock with a wet thwap.

“You shouldn’t tease a guy, Roxie,” he warned, pulling me to him so quickly that the water splashed up between us, wetting his face and eyelashes.

Now pressed together, very wet and very naked, he gave me a very specific once-over. The kind that you give someone you want to devour. I’d volunteer for a devouring. As he smoothed his wet palm over my hair, my eyes closed at the light touch. I leaned into his warmth, unable to stop the smile that took over my face. My eyes flittered open, blinking against the sunlight, and I sighed in contentment.