Page 3 of Hard Crush


  The irony isn’t lost on me. I’m the one who stays. But tonight I can’t get to the south exit fast enough. A minute later, I’m crossing the faculty lot, heading toward the lone car still parked there, when the sound of my name bouncing off the concrete walls brings me around.

  Hank.

  I quickly wipe my eyes before turning back to him, but one look and already I can feel that fortress inside me starting to crumble. He’s coming around the side of the building at a jog, a sense of urgency in the way he rakes his hand through his hair.

  Why did he have to come back?

  “You’re ruining my escape,” I say as he closes the distance between us.

  “Yeah, sorry about that.” He stops in front of me, his brows knit together in a scowl that makes me itch to brush my finger across the furrow. He shoots a quick look over his shoulder and I remember the press out front.

  This isn’t the shy boy who was mine ten years ago. He’s the confident man the whole world wants a piece of.

  “Abby, what happened?”

  I turn toward the track behind us, willing the ache in my chest away. Wishing I had the words to answer him. But I don’t know what happened, because I’m over him… no matter what it feels like in this moment. I am.

  “Abby,” he says again, his voice low, pleading. “Look at me.”

  I want to hide, to stop this humiliation before it gets any worse, but when he touches my arm, I can’t help but turn back to him.

  “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t be out here. I’m fine, I just—” I pull an uneven breath, glancing back at the school before meeting his eyes. “It’s hard seeing you again… maybe because I used to be the one who knew you best, but now I feel like I know you least of all.”

  Hank’s mouth curves into an understanding smile. Looking up at the night sky, he rocks back on his heels. “I imagine you still know me better than you think. Better than most people, probably.”

  Standing like this, in the quiet night behind the school, just the two of us, I can almost believe him. “Maybe.”

  Hank stares a second longer before seeming to make up his mind. “Well then maybe you’d be willing to postpone your escape for a few minutes to find out. Take a walk with me and catch up some more?”

  “You didn’t come to the reunion to take a walk with me. Everyone’s inside.”

  “I didn’t come to see them.”

  He doesn’t mean it the way it sounds. Only standing beneath the quiet night sky in the place where he used to be mine, it would be so easy to let myself believe he did.

  Whether I’m over him or not.

  “I’d like that, Hank.”

  And then, just like ten years ago, we’re walking toward the track. No discussion about our destination, just the both of us heading to the place where we spent so many nights walking and talking… Until the walking and talking hadn’t been enough, and we found someplace quiet and private to do more than talk.

  I can’t believe I’m thinking about those nights, or how my belly does this little flip when I do. I glance away, hoping the lights from the school won’t be enough for Hank to see the silly blush burning up my cheeks.

  “What’s that look all about?”

  So much for that. The guy’s always been the observant type.

  “Just funny to be here with you. Takes me back, is all.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “So where do you want to start?”

  “Anywhere but the Men’s Health spread,” he groans, giving me the sheepish smile I can’t believe Hank Wagner, tech god, still pulls off. And seriously, for being one of the world’s biggest brains, what does he think is going to happen when he says that?

  “Hank, now it’s the only thing I can think of.” I laugh. “And can I just say, I was impressed?” Me and all of my girlfriends, my mom, and Helen too. Maybe Helen most of all.

  Wiping a palm over his mouth, he cuts me a narrow look that makes me laugh all the harder. Because if I’m not mistaken, this time he’s the one with a blaze burning across those chiseled cheekbones.

  “Thanks for that,” he says, and I turn around so I’m walking backward and don’t have to miss a second of this big, strapping man’s epic squirm.

  “Seriously though, how did that happen?”

  “All the muscles? For the girl who knows me best, surprised you don’t remember that I lift weights when I’m working out a problem.”

  My mouth drops into a gape and I must stop walking, because then Hank is right in front of me, his big hands on my arms as he propels me back into step again.

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” And if I live to be a hundred, I don’t think I’ll ever forget watching Hank lift weights while he quizzed me for our econ final senior year.

  “I eat a lot of lean protein,” he offers, clearly delighted to be teasing me.

  Shaking my head, I meet his eyes. “I never in a million years would have thought you’d sign on for something like that. Which isn’t to say that I and probably ninety percent of the female population don’t appreciate it. But how?”

  “Would you believe it was a favor for a friend?”

  Actually, it’s probably the only explanation I’ll believe. It makes sense in the context of the guy I used to know. Generous to a fault. Loyal to the end.

  Walking together with him around this track, I feel the loss of him from my life.

  We talk some more about the usual things, his parents and mine. About his move back to Chicago a year ago and what it’s like being back in the Midwest after so long out east.

  He asks whether I have a boyfriend but then changes the subject as soon as I bring up his love life.

  And all the while, I keep stealing glances at him, mentally cataloging what’s the same and what’s different.

  The high-end wardrobe, edgy eyeglass frames, and perpetual shadow of scruff across his jaw are new.

  He might be a couple inches taller. That lanky frame has filled out, broadening him through the shoulders and chest. Even without the skin-and-sweat magazine spread burned into my mind for all eternity, I can see from the fit of his shirt how muscular he is.

  His smile is the same, but his laugh is deeper, taking on a low rumble I can practically feel moving through me.

  And those eyes, well, they’re harder than they were in high school. Wiser. More confident and knowing. But when Hank looks at me like he is now, all I can see is the boy who used to be mine.

  Only that boy is gone.

  And too soon, this man in his place will be too.

  As if to underscore the point, he pulls his phone from his pocket, signaling to give him a second while he answers the call from his security team. He tells them where he is, but that he’d like some privacy, so to keep their focus on keeping the press where they are out front. He won’t be long.

  I stop at the edge of the track.

  “Abby?”

  It’s now or never. “I hate how things ended between us. I hate how I ended them. After so much good.” So much love. “It wasn’t fair and I’m sorry, Hank. You deserved better.”

  He swallows, his head dropping forward so that fall of overlong hair blocks his eyes. “None of that matters. It’s just good to see you.”

  HANK

  COME ON, ABBY. None of that matters now.” Somehow, we’ve gone from talking and laughing, and Abby giving me the broad strokes of the years since that brutal goodbye, to her primed to say it again.

  Christ, I’m not ready.

  I want more of her laugh, more of her smile. More pretending that last day ten years ago didn’t happen. I want the easy company I never seem to find with the women I meet these days. Not that I’ve really been looking for that kind of connection, but hell, stumbling onto it with Abby again like this makes me not want to give it up. Not quite yet, anyway.

  We’re almost back to her car, and there’s this pressure in my chest that’s getting worse the closer we get.

  “Do you really need to leave?” I
look around the empty lot like it might hold the key to hanging on to her a few more minutes. “It’s still early. We could go back inside and—”

  She’s shaking her head, looking up at me with a bittersweet smile that doesn’t offer much hope.

  “You should go back, but I think I’m good. I’ve wished I could tell you how sorry I was for so many years, and now that I’ve finally had the chance, I’m not sure I have it in me to make a bunch of small talk with people I didn’t know that well the first time around. Besides, I’m having brunch with the friends I really wanted to see tomorrow.”

  “Oh I see how it is… the friends you want to see?” I tease, needing to lighten the mood, to see her smile. Just one more time.

  I hate the idea that she’s been carrying around so much guilt about the way our relationship ended. Yeah, it was shitty and rough and nothing I saw coming. But we were kids, despite what we believed at the time.

  And I’ve never felt like there was any bad blood between us, just a bad breakup and a broken heart or two. It happened. And it was a hell of a long time ago.

  “You’re more than welcome to come,” she offers with a smile not quite bright enough to ease the ache in my chest.

  “I’ll be on a flight to Switzerland at six a.m.”

  We stop at her car and she nods. “That old excuse.”

  I take her hand and remember the thousands of times I’ve done it before. “I’m glad we got to talk. It’s been too long.”

  A few strands of her hair catch in the breeze and I tuck them behind her ear. Only just like with hearing my name and holding her hand, the tactile sensation from the soft strands between my fingers stirs up memories I thought safely put to bed. It gives me ideas I shouldn’t be considering.

  “Hank?” Abby whispers, quiet and confused. “What are you doing?”

  Losing my mind. “Giving us a better goodbye.”

  My fingers curl in so the backs of my knuckles stroke her soft cheek. This is so messed up. I know what I’m doing is wrong, but she’s looking up into my eyes.

  I kiss her.

  By adult standards, it isn’t much of a kiss. A single brush of my mouth against hers and a lingering contact I’m not quite ready to give up. And yet that barely-there kiss has my heart slamming against my ribs and fire racing through my veins.

  Christ, it’s like I’m fifteen again. Except instead of this being my first kiss with Abby, it’s our last, and I don’t want it to end.

  I’m not talking about not wanting it to end like I didn’t want all the other Abby stuff to end before.

  No, this is different.

  I. Don’t. Want. This. To. End.

  But too soon, that soft clinging contact is gone, leaving only the warmth of her breath against my lips.

  One breath.

  Two.

  Three.

  I open my eyes, realizing I’m not the only one still holding on. Abby’s free hand, the one that isn’t still trapped in mine, is wrapped around my tie.

  She hasn’t let go.

  A shadow passes over her eyes. “You’re not in Chicago for good.”

  She isn’t really asking, but she wants to hear me say it anyway. She wants to remind us both that fundamentally nothing has changed. That we need to stop this before it goes too far, and hell, I know she’s right.

  “I’m not. Tomorrow’s just a business trip, but all indications are I’ll be out of Chicago in a few months if this deal goes through.” And even if it doesn’t, there will be something else. There’s always something else.

  It’s the deal breaker that lost me this woman ten years ago. After the way Abby grew up, she couldn’t watch me leave and she wouldn’t wait for me to come back. I didn’t understand until it was too late the first time around, but now I do.

  And with her in my arms, it’s good that neither of us loses sight of the fact that this fundamental difference between us hasn’t changed.

  She nods her understanding, and I wait for her to take a step back, for the shake of her head and quiet laugh. Only it doesn’t come. Instead, her eyes drop back to my mouth and the world around us starts to slow. Because I know that look. I fucking love that look.

  But Jesus, this has to be a mistake. We aren’t teenagers. We aren’t starting something new.

  So what am I doing, uncurling my fist to sift my fingers into the dark silk behind her ear? Using that hold to tip her head back? Waiting until her heavy-lidded stare finds mine again?

  What am I doing?

  Only it doesn’t matter what I’m doing, because then Abby is the one tugging at my tie to bring me closer. She’s the one murmuring her agreement that this is a much better goodbye a scant inch from my mouth.

  She’s the one short-circuiting my brain, and now the only thing I’m thinking is that I can do much, much better.

  This time when my lips meet hers, there’s nothing barely-there about it. I kiss her hard, gathering her close, then closer still as she opens beneath me with a shuddering gasp I feel all the way through me.

  Her fingers knot in my hair, then race over my shoulders and neck. Christ, her touch is electric, building the charge in my chest by the second.

  We’re breathless and frantic. Devouring each other with a hot need that edges the line of control.

  Just another minute and we’ll stop.

  Just another taste.

  My hand wraps in her hair and she moans around the thrust of my tongue.

  Yes.

  The part of my brain that’s still functioning is rolling through the data…

  We’re in a parking lot.

  The press is camped out on the other side of the school.

  I don’t do serious, and this is the girl I learned how to love with.

  We should stop. No maybe about it.

  But Abby’s breasts are pressing into my chest as she wraps her arms around my neck, and now there’s another part of my brain speaking up… and this is the part I know better than to listen to. It’s the part that dirty-talked me into climbing up the old oak outside Abby’s bedroom window… when her parents were home. It’s the part that swore up and down security wouldn’t notice if I let myself back into the lab at MIT after hours just to finish my experiment. And right now, it’s casually noting the parking lot is empty.

  It’s asking me why, if the press knew we were back here, they aren’t calling my name to score a frontal face shot.

  “Hank,” she gasps, and there’s no more mental chatter. I press her against the car, pinning her with the weight of my body.

  Her fingers tighten in my hair, and she opens wider to my kiss. I’m bowing over her, reaching for the back of her knee and bringing it up along my side so I can run my hand higher.

  Her skin is so smooth…

  Higher.

  So soft…

  Higher still.

  So warm…

  I’m grazing the edge of what feels like the same style of cotton bikini panties she used to wear.

  Holy hell, those panties.

  I remember the press of my tongue against the damp cotton, the taste of her soaking through, making me so hard I nearly spilled in my jeans. I kiss her harder. Deeper.

  She’s making these little needy noises that have quite literally become the stuff of my fantasies. Like ten years’ worth, accumulating from the last time I heard them. They’re doing something to me that takes my control.

  I want more.

  I want her breath fracturing at my ear as I tease her. I want the hot clutch of her body around me as I sink deep. I want those aquamarine eyes locked with mine as I make her come.

  A peal of feminine laughter cuts through the night air, and we freeze.

  Abby’s eyes pop wide open, holding with mine for a panicked beat before we jerk apart.

  Using my body to block hers, I search the distance for the source of the laughter.

  And then I see it—him—them. It looks like Mitch Reider headed toward the bleachers with some blonde I can’t identify giggling i
n his arms.

  Shoving my hair back from my eyes, I let out a relieved breath.

  “It’s just Mitch, and I don’t think he saw us.” But he sure as hell saved us. I owe the guy, big.

  We’re in a goddamned parking lot.

  Exposed for any reporter or passerby.

  A hairsbreadth from having sex in or against an early-two-thousand-model sedan.

  What the hell are we thinking?

  I turn back to where Abby has already adjusted her dress and mostly smoothed her hair. But one look at her kiss-swollen lips, curved with the barest hint of a smile, and I know exactly what I was thinking. Because I’m thinking it again. “Come back to my place.”

  I can push my flight back. Hell, maybe cancel it altogether.

  Taking a deep breath, Abby peers up at me, opens her mouth, and then quietly laughs, looking away.

  Which doesn’t bode well for my plans to see her hair spread across my pillow when the sun streams in tomorrow morning.

  She tries again and this time manages the words. “Thank you for our better goodbye.”

  ABBY

  MY HANDS ARE shaking as I pull out of the faculty lot, Hank’s reflection shrinking in my rearview mirror until he turns and walks back toward the party.

  He asked me to go to his place.

  Not the house down on Third where we used to drink Cokes in his mom’s kitchen and play dirty Scrabble in his basement. He hasn’t lived there since the summer after he left for college and even then he was only back for a week before he left again for an internship at NASA. As with the scant handful of other visits, I didn’t see him, but I knew. And two years later, the Wagners were gone, and for the past seven years that house belonged to another family with another life I wasn’t a part of. But my memories of that time… in that space… are perfectly preserved.

  I don’t want to see where he lives now. I’m possessive of my memories. Of the moments I keep tucked away in my mind, and don’t want to risk them by introducing a new setting.

  Even if it’s only for a night.

  Because of course it would only be one night, no matter how good being with Hank felt.

  While almost everything between us has changed, one thing hasn’t: Hank is the guy who leaves. And after how long it took me to find my life here, I can’t let it go. I don’t want to.