I glanced at the digital clock on the stove. It was just after five, which gave me plenty of time to get ready and maybe sneak in some meditation. I wanted to feel completely at ease with myself going into tonight. “Sounds good. I assume casual?”
“Considering I haven’t worn a tie in about eight years, that’s a safe assumption. I don’t even think I own a pair of pants that aren’t jeans.”
I was curious. “What happened eight years ago?”
“My grandfather died.”
“I’m sorry. I know you were close.”
He shrugged. “He was a good guy, the only one in my family I could talk to. He understood me, for some reason. Or at least he didn’t judge me for being unlike my father or my brother.”
I nodded slowly, picturing the silver-haired man I’d met a couple times. “He was the gunpowder guy, right?”
“Sort of. That’s how his family made their fortune, anyway, but he’d sold that business before my father was born, and invested all his money in the stock market.”
“Smart.”
“He left me a lot. Of money, I mean. Much more than he left anyone else.” All the light had gone out of Dallas’s eyes. “I don’t really get it.”
“He must’ve trusted you to do the right thing with it.”
“Or he thought I needed it more than anyone else because I wouldn’t ever make anything of my life.”
Our eyes met, and for a moment I saw the boy that he’d been, always so hurt by his family’s disapproval. “I don’t believe that for one second.”
“Yeah, well, you were like him. Always thought the best of me.”
I tried again, like I always had. “Let me ask you this. Did he put up a lot of barriers between you and your inheritance? Put a lot of conditions on it?”
Dallas shook his head. “Not one. It was mine almost free and clear.”
I lifted my shoulders. “There you go. He trusted you.”
“Thanks.” He smiled and pushed away from the counter. “I should get going. See you at eight?”
“Sounds good.” I walked him to the front door, and he gave my upper arm a squeeze before heading out to his rental car. I watched him get behind the wheel and pull away, still a little in shock.
Dallas Shepherd, after all this time.
I walked back into my flat, closing the door behind me. Grabbing my phone from my purse, I floated, trancelike, through the living room, down the hall, and into my bedroom. I’d planned on calling one or both of my sisters, but instead I lay on my back on top of the covers, set my phone aside, and placed my hands on my stomach. My body had that fluttery, weightless feeling I used to get before going on stage, a combination of nerves and excitement. But I didn’t have anything to be worried about, did I? Tonight wasn’t going to be a performance. I didn’t need to impress him. And it was only natural that a little desire for him lingered. I’d always liked his light eyes. And his agile hands. And his full mouth. His muscular body. His sense of humor. His dimpled chin.
But it wasn’t a big deal. I wasn’t concerned that he would take advantage of it. He hadn’t even tried to give me a hug.
I frowned. Maybe he didn’t find me attractive anymore. Maybe he had a girlfriend. He’d said he wasn’t married, but he never said he was single. A sudden rush of jealousy stole my breath.
Which was ridiculous.
Dallas and I hadn’t been together in twelve years. Did I think he’d been celibate all that time? Of course not. I hadn’t, either. But I didn’t like thinking about him with anyone else, so I made up my mind not to do it.
I wouldn’t think about him with me, either. I wouldn’t think about his hands or his lips or his tongue or his cock, the way he’d touched or tasted or moved, the words he’d whispered in the dark.
Let me do this to you.
God, I can’t get enough.
You know I love you.
But of course, then there were the words he should have said but didn’t.
I’m leaving tomorrow.
I don’t have a choice.
This is goodbye.
For a fleeting moment, my throat was tight, and I was that seventeen-year-old girl again. Left behind. Confused. Broken.
I swallowed hard and closed my eyes, forcing myself back to the present.
Tonight wasn’t about rehashing the past; it was about making peace with it, so I could stop having that stupid dream. We weren’t rekindling an old flame. We were reconnecting as friends.
I wouldn’t let him get to me.
Four
Dallas
I lay on the bed in my hotel room, staring at the ceiling but seeing only her.
She was even more beautiful than I’d remembered, and yet she looked exactly the same. Huge brown eyes, porcelain skin, a dusting of freckles across her tiny nose, adorable heart-shaped face, that perfect round mouth that used to drive me wild. When we started dating, at sixteen, she claimed she’d never even been kissed.
I’d fixed that in a hurry. And then some.
She might have been shy and inexperienced at first, but she had a dancer’s intuition and knew how to move her body instinctively. I bet she still did.
Stop it. Don’t think about her that way.
I hadn’t planned to ask her to dinner. I’d gotten off the plane this afternoon, rented a car, and driven straight to her house without a clue what I was going to say to her except I’m sorry for being a dick and Please forgive me. All I’d hoped for in return was to hear her say she didn’t hate me and that she was happy.
But there was something so damn irresistible about her. Once I saw her, talked with her, I wanted more. You didn’t take one bite of the most delicious cupcake in the world and put it back in the box—you ate the whole thing.
You stay away from her cupcake.
I frowned. My conscience had been sounding all kinds of alarms ever since I left her house. But I hadn’t asked her to dinner to get her into bed. I just liked being around her. I mean, yes, I was still attracted to her and wished that things could have been different between us. My feelings for her had never gone away. But things were the way they were, and I couldn’t change them. I’d had her. I’d fucked it up.
There wasn’t time for a second chance.
Then it hit me—the perfect idea for tonight. I nearly laughed out loud, it was so damn brilliant. But since it would require some legwork to pull off, I needed to get started on it. Propping myself up on some pillows, I reached for my phone and made a few calls.
An hour later, everything was in place. I’d had a stroke of luck in that one of the managers here at the hotel turned out to be a former classmate and football buddy. He was more than willing to help me—for the right price, of course. What I was asking for wasn’t easy. It would be a little costly, but it would be worth it, and I couldn’t help feeling pleased with myself as I tucked my credit card back into my wallet. While it was open, I pulled out the folded piece of paper I’d carried with me for the last twelve years and opened it up.
I remembered the night I’d drawn it like it was yesterday. It was fall of our senior year, right before my parents made the decision to send me away. We were sitting in my car in her driveway, and she was upset with me because I’d been suspended from school and wouldn’t be allowed to attend the homecoming dance, which would have marked our one-year anniversary.
I didn’t really give a shit about the dance, but it was important to her, and she was important to me. The disappointment in her face was like a knife to the heart. She sat there trying not to cry and asking why it was so hard for me to stay out of trouble, her lower lip trembling. I said I was sorry and promised to make it up to her, but secretly I was thinking how pretty she looked when she was sad. I’d just picked her up from the ballet studio, and her hair was up in a bun. Her shoulders were bare. As she talked, I probably should have been listening to what she said more closely, but I found myself memorizing the angle of her jaw, the shape of her head, the curve of her mouth, the fullness of her lashes.
Later, I went home and stayed up half the night drawing her in my sketchbook, trying to capture the perfect blend of beauty and heartbreak I’d seen in her expression, almost as if she already knew I was a lost cause. I’d planned on giving the drawing to her as a gift, but the next day my parents informed me of their decision about boarding school and I forgot about it.
“Considering I haven’t worn a tie in about eight years, that’s a safe assumption. I don’t even think I own a pair of pants that aren’t jeans.”
I was curious. “What happened eight years ago?”
“My grandfather died.”
“I’m sorry. I know you were close.”
He shrugged. “He was a good guy, the only one in my family I could talk to. He understood me, for some reason. Or at least he didn’t judge me for being unlike my father or my brother.”
I nodded slowly, picturing the silver-haired man I’d met a couple times. “He was the gunpowder guy, right?”
“Sort of. That’s how his family made their fortune, anyway, but he’d sold that business before my father was born, and invested all his money in the stock market.”
“Smart.”
“He left me a lot. Of money, I mean. Much more than he left anyone else.” All the light had gone out of Dallas’s eyes. “I don’t really get it.”
“He must’ve trusted you to do the right thing with it.”
“Or he thought I needed it more than anyone else because I wouldn’t ever make anything of my life.”
Our eyes met, and for a moment I saw the boy that he’d been, always so hurt by his family’s disapproval. “I don’t believe that for one second.”
“Yeah, well, you were like him. Always thought the best of me.”
I tried again, like I always had. “Let me ask you this. Did he put up a lot of barriers between you and your inheritance? Put a lot of conditions on it?”
Dallas shook his head. “Not one. It was mine almost free and clear.”
I lifted my shoulders. “There you go. He trusted you.”
“Thanks.” He smiled and pushed away from the counter. “I should get going. See you at eight?”
“Sounds good.” I walked him to the front door, and he gave my upper arm a squeeze before heading out to his rental car. I watched him get behind the wheel and pull away, still a little in shock.
Dallas Shepherd, after all this time.
I walked back into my flat, closing the door behind me. Grabbing my phone from my purse, I floated, trancelike, through the living room, down the hall, and into my bedroom. I’d planned on calling one or both of my sisters, but instead I lay on my back on top of the covers, set my phone aside, and placed my hands on my stomach. My body had that fluttery, weightless feeling I used to get before going on stage, a combination of nerves and excitement. But I didn’t have anything to be worried about, did I? Tonight wasn’t going to be a performance. I didn’t need to impress him. And it was only natural that a little desire for him lingered. I’d always liked his light eyes. And his agile hands. And his full mouth. His muscular body. His sense of humor. His dimpled chin.
But it wasn’t a big deal. I wasn’t concerned that he would take advantage of it. He hadn’t even tried to give me a hug.
I frowned. Maybe he didn’t find me attractive anymore. Maybe he had a girlfriend. He’d said he wasn’t married, but he never said he was single. A sudden rush of jealousy stole my breath.
Which was ridiculous.
Dallas and I hadn’t been together in twelve years. Did I think he’d been celibate all that time? Of course not. I hadn’t, either. But I didn’t like thinking about him with anyone else, so I made up my mind not to do it.
I wouldn’t think about him with me, either. I wouldn’t think about his hands or his lips or his tongue or his cock, the way he’d touched or tasted or moved, the words he’d whispered in the dark.
Let me do this to you.
God, I can’t get enough.
You know I love you.
But of course, then there were the words he should have said but didn’t.
I’m leaving tomorrow.
I don’t have a choice.
This is goodbye.
For a fleeting moment, my throat was tight, and I was that seventeen-year-old girl again. Left behind. Confused. Broken.
I swallowed hard and closed my eyes, forcing myself back to the present.
Tonight wasn’t about rehashing the past; it was about making peace with it, so I could stop having that stupid dream. We weren’t rekindling an old flame. We were reconnecting as friends.
I wouldn’t let him get to me.
Four
Dallas
I lay on the bed in my hotel room, staring at the ceiling but seeing only her.
She was even more beautiful than I’d remembered, and yet she looked exactly the same. Huge brown eyes, porcelain skin, a dusting of freckles across her tiny nose, adorable heart-shaped face, that perfect round mouth that used to drive me wild. When we started dating, at sixteen, she claimed she’d never even been kissed.
I’d fixed that in a hurry. And then some.
She might have been shy and inexperienced at first, but she had a dancer’s intuition and knew how to move her body instinctively. I bet she still did.
Stop it. Don’t think about her that way.
I hadn’t planned to ask her to dinner. I’d gotten off the plane this afternoon, rented a car, and driven straight to her house without a clue what I was going to say to her except I’m sorry for being a dick and Please forgive me. All I’d hoped for in return was to hear her say she didn’t hate me and that she was happy.
But there was something so damn irresistible about her. Once I saw her, talked with her, I wanted more. You didn’t take one bite of the most delicious cupcake in the world and put it back in the box—you ate the whole thing.
You stay away from her cupcake.
I frowned. My conscience had been sounding all kinds of alarms ever since I left her house. But I hadn’t asked her to dinner to get her into bed. I just liked being around her. I mean, yes, I was still attracted to her and wished that things could have been different between us. My feelings for her had never gone away. But things were the way they were, and I couldn’t change them. I’d had her. I’d fucked it up.
There wasn’t time for a second chance.
Then it hit me—the perfect idea for tonight. I nearly laughed out loud, it was so damn brilliant. But since it would require some legwork to pull off, I needed to get started on it. Propping myself up on some pillows, I reached for my phone and made a few calls.
An hour later, everything was in place. I’d had a stroke of luck in that one of the managers here at the hotel turned out to be a former classmate and football buddy. He was more than willing to help me—for the right price, of course. What I was asking for wasn’t easy. It would be a little costly, but it would be worth it, and I couldn’t help feeling pleased with myself as I tucked my credit card back into my wallet. While it was open, I pulled out the folded piece of paper I’d carried with me for the last twelve years and opened it up.
I remembered the night I’d drawn it like it was yesterday. It was fall of our senior year, right before my parents made the decision to send me away. We were sitting in my car in her driveway, and she was upset with me because I’d been suspended from school and wouldn’t be allowed to attend the homecoming dance, which would have marked our one-year anniversary.
I didn’t really give a shit about the dance, but it was important to her, and she was important to me. The disappointment in her face was like a knife to the heart. She sat there trying not to cry and asking why it was so hard for me to stay out of trouble, her lower lip trembling. I said I was sorry and promised to make it up to her, but secretly I was thinking how pretty she looked when she was sad. I’d just picked her up from the ballet studio, and her hair was up in a bun. Her shoulders were bare. As she talked, I probably should have been listening to what she said more closely, but I found myself memorizing the angle of her jaw, the shape of her head, the curve of her mouth, the fullness of her lashes.
Later, I went home and stayed up half the night drawing her in my sketchbook, trying to capture the perfect blend of beauty and heartbreak I’d seen in her expression, almost as if she already knew I was a lost cause. I’d planned on giving the drawing to her as a gift, but the next day my parents informed me of their decision about boarding school and I forgot about it.
