I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I was the one who told him no, who didn’t want whatever it is Hank thought we might be able to have. So why can’t I get him out of my head? Why do I keep hoping that maybe there will be another totally justifiable reason he’ll need to get in touch with me… and I’ll get to talk to him again?
It’s self-defeating and stupid, and I know better.
The cars rush past and Wilson says something about the chicken dinner.
Even if Hank did call, it wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t change anything. Hank isn’t the kind of guy who sticks around. He’s the kind of guy who leaves to conquer new worlds and change the landscape of the one we know. And he’s the kind of guy you want to be doing it, because he cares.
“What did you think, Abs?”
My head snaps around, and I realize Wilson has asked me a question, and on the night he deserves my focus above all others, I haven’t even been listening.
I’m a terrible friend, and I open my mouth to say so, only to have him cut me off.
“Whoa, check out the wheels. That’s one of the new Verge models. I didn’t think they were even selling them yet.” Wilson’s hand is at the small of my back, and he’s eagerly guiding me across the four lanes of stopped traffic toward the other side of the street. I can’t miss the car in question. It’s low and sleek and looks a little like the lovechild of a spaceship and a Lamborghini, but it’s the man standing beside the open passenger door I can’t take my eyes off. He’s helping the woman I’m pretty sure is on the billboard behind me from her seat, but his eyes are locked on mine.
“It’s Wagner,” Wilson whisper-yells into my ear as he propels us closer. “And holy shit, he’s with Anastasia. Did you know they were dating? Can you introduce us?”
It’s one of those moments where time slows to a crawl, the cacophony of Saturday night in the city muffles into a dull roar, and you watch helplessly as the train you’re riding thunders toward an imminent wreck. Hank has seen me. And more than that, he’s seen me see him.
“Umm, I—”
Anastasia leans into Hank, her sheer, asymmetrical dress hinting at the body I’m pretty sure every hetero boy in my classes have screenshotted on their phones. Her long fingers wrapping over his shoulder suggesting an intimacy I wish I’d missed.
This is why he didn’t call.
Hank catches that marauding hand in his and sidesteps into our path. “Hey Abby, thought that was you.”
He’s so casual, meeting me with an easy smile, while I’m about two seconds from needing a paper bag and a dark corner to back into.
Because Hank is on a date… with the most beautiful woman in the world. Officially. She has a magazine cover with the title to prove it. And I’m wearing a dress I bought off the clearance rack three years ago.
It’s grueling.
I swallow my rising panic and muster a tight smile. “Hank.”
This shouldn’t feel like a big deal. He’s on a date. So what? Magazines and celebrity TV have been confronting me with his romantic escapades for years. And heck, it’s been over a week since we agreed to take a step back.
A week.
Totally a reasonable period to get back on that horse. Especially since there hasn’t been anything real going on with the one that threw him.
Hank looks between Wilson and me, his dark stare hardening as it drops to the hand Wilson still has at my back.
“Wilson. Big date tonight, you two?”
My breath rushes out on a nervous laugh.
Wilson’s eyes crank to me, wide with shock, before he looks back to Hank and laughs. “Umm, no, not really. I mean—”
“Wilson won an award tonight. I went with him for the banquet.”
The model holding Hank’s hand looks as bored as I feel uncomfortable.
This can’t go on much longer, only it feels like there must be something that needs to be said to resolve the tension and free us up to go on our way. Words have always been my friend, there and at the ready, but as we stand here occupying this square of sidewalk, my tongue feels like it’s weighted with the same marbles that have taken up residence where my mind used to live.
“Congratulations, Wilson.” Hank releases his model’s hand and slips an arm around her back. She tucks herself in to his side, snuggling closer like she just signed a three-year lease on the space. And I don’t like the unfriendly way seeing it makes me feel.
“Forgive my manners—this is my friend, Annie.”
Wilson is doing that goldfish thing again, but the look on his face is pure delight as he pumps Annie’s hand. “Such a fan of your work.”
He is. I’ve seen her picture on his phone too.
“And we’re a fan of yours. Education is important.” Hank widens his stance on the sidewalk like he’s settling in.
The move draws my eye and I can’t help but catch the details I missed on the first pass. He’s dressed in a charcoal suit that fits him so perfectly, it looks like it was sewn while he was wearing it. Beneath, his black shirt is open at the collar and fitted down his flat stomach.
Hank’s voice drags my attention back up his body to the eyes that are watching mine and the smile that, until this very minute, I’ve always loved. Now it just looks smug. Granted, in an incredibly sexy way, but still.
“Say, Annie and I are just heading in for some dinner. Why don’t you two join us to celebrate Wilson’s big win. My treat.”
I’m already shaking my head, because what in the hell is he thinking? “We just ate. But don’t let us keep you from your date.”
Only then Wilson’s stepping into the divide, his body language transforming two distinct groups into one. “We could stick around for a drink, though, right, Abs? I mean this place is supposed to be nuts, like it’s a two-hour wait for a table even if you get here when the door opens.”
Hank nods, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. “Yeah, Abs, one drink. For old times’ sake.”
Right then, I hate everyone. Wilson, Annie, the couple seated in the window who have no idea what’s transpiring on the other side of the glass. And Hank most of all.
“Why not?” I agree, seeing there’s no way out. “It’ll probably be another ten years before we see each other again.” Though I’m already feeling a cold coming on for that twenty-year reunion.
“You think?” Hank asks dryly, not looking back as he leads our small group into the restaurant. “I don’t remember swearing another oath.”
I stop where I am, momentarily stunned because it’s the first time Hank has brought up the way our relationship ended.
Wilson and Annie don’t notice. Annie because she’s studiously avoiding the conversation, and Wilson because the guy is completely starstruck. But I can’t miss the humor missing from Hank’s words. Or that this is the moment he’s chosen to toss them at me.
Why now?
Why when he’s clearly on a date with another woman? A supermodel rumored to have dated Prince Harry at one time. God, I need to stop reading the tabloids at the checkout.
We’re seated in a semiprivate alcove off the main dining room. Hank is across from me, the both of us quiet as Wilson peppers Annie with questions. Hank’s eyes are on mine, but it isn’t until our drinks are served that he asks, “So this is a first date?”
I cough up the swallow of wine I so desperately needed. I already told him it wasn’t, but the way he’s looking at me, it’s like he’s… jealous.
My eyes cut to Annie and I give myself a mental slap, because get real.
Wilson laughs and pats my back. “Nah, you’ve got it wrong. Abby and I are just friends. Coworkers who help each other out in the plus-one department once in a while. Family weddings, awards banquets. That kind of thing.”
I’m relieved enough by his answer to try for another sip of wine, but then Hank comes back. “But you want more, right? I mean she’s beautiful and funny and that laugh. You know what I mean about that laugh, because I saw you when—”
I choke out, “Han
k,” putting an end to this nonsense. He’s done talking, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off Wilson. He hasn’t even blinked.
Turning to Wilson, I try to make light of this madness with a roll of my eyes. “Hey, we ought to be getting back.”
“You haven’t even finished your drink.”
Hank echoes his protest. “Yeah, you haven’t even finished your drink.”
I smile at Annie, who hasn’t looked up from her phone in ten minutes. I don’t smile at Hank. “You’re right. And I’m still dying to hear about you and Annie. What a breathtaking couple you two are together. I bet the press can’t get enough of you.”
Annie’s head comes up and she’s suddenly engaged. “Are they here?” she asks, and then, noting the way Hank’s mouth turns down, rests her hand against his chest. “We’ll just give them a few photos, yes? A couple of questions, but we won’t confirm anything. Should you request additional security at your apartment for tonight?”
Hank blinks, and for once in this nightmare evening, he’s looking anywhere other than at me.
It’s not supposed to hurt.
I have no right to be mad.
Hank is not mine.
But then I’m seeing his hands on her in my mind, hearing her name in that low gravelly way he says mine when his mouth is next to my ear and our bodies are pressed close.
I down half my wine in a single swallow and set the glass gently on the table, despite the way my fingers are shaking.
“Sounds like you guys have some strategizing to do. Annie, it was great to meet you. Hank, good luck with the press and have a wonderful time tonight.”
THE DRIVE BACK to Bearings only takes about forty minutes without the rush-hour traffic and, after a thankfully quiet ride, Wilson pulls up to my apartment. It’s nearly 9:30 and all I want is to escape. Go hide in my apartment and maybe have a little cry.
“Congratulations again on the win tonight,” I say, opening the door. The dome light blinks on overhead, casting the interior in an eerie glow. “See you Monday.”
I start to step out to the curb, but then Wilson’s hand catches mine and he pulls me back in.
“Hey, hold up a minute.”
I sit back and bite my lip, waiting. I’ll die of embarrassment if Wilson asks me if I’m okay about Hank and Annie. He had to see how awkward it was. And after how long we’ve been friends… he had to see how much it was eating at me.
“Wilson, I know tonight was a little crazy, but can we please just—”
His thumb grazes my knuckles, and my words cut off, my eyes snapping to where he is still holding my hand. When I look up, dread spills into my belly, because Wilson is staring at my mouth and in the next breath, he’s moving in.
ABBY
I HAD A glass of wine poured before I set my bag down or kicked off my shoes, but now even with my generous pour and half the glass gone I still haven’t caught my breath.
My apartment isn’t big enough. I’ve been storming from one end to the other for twenty-five minutes and with each pass, my need to strangle Hank Wagner is only getting worse. Kitchen, living room, bedroom, living room, kitchen…
How dare he?
I have my phone out ready to call, but again I slap it down on the counter—I mean, gently, because it’s my new phone and I’ve started reading on it—and turn on my heel, ready to wear a hole through the living room floor when a knock at the door stops me in my tracks.
Eyes narrowed, I glare at the door.
It’s not Helen. I know her knock.
It’s not Wilson. He wouldn’t be back.
If Hank were any kind of normal person at all, it wouldn’t be him either. But he’s not. Not even close.
I stalk to the door, that powder keg of agitated hurt and frustration within me ready to blow.
“What, you didn’t bring Annie along?” I demand, yanking the door open, ready to lay into him. Only Hank is already striding past me.
“She was bored, so I took her home.” He scans the space behind me. “How about Wilson? He cowering in your bedroom, wrapped up in some pink shorty robe, maybe?”
I cough, unable to believe this guy’s nerve.
That’s it. Match, meet fuse.
“Yeah, but he’s not cowering. He’s resting up for round two, since he just did me against this door you’re about to walk out of.”
I don’t know what I was thinking saying it. Why I’d go there. But then I don’t know why Hank is here in the first place.
The only thing I do know is that this cocky piece of work doesn’t believe me for a second. Which is miraculously, even more insulting than everything else he’s pulled tonight.
“This door?” he asks, kicking it closed without a backward glance. He tugs me toward him and spins me around so my shoulders meet the panels of the door I just slandered.
“Yes,” I bite out.
“And not a hair out of place. Which would confirm just exactly the kind of ho-hum performance I’d expect from Wilson. In fact, I might even feel sorry for you if I thought there was a chance in hell it was true.”
“What makes you so sure it isn’t?”
Hank plants one hand above my head, his arm straight, jacket hanging open. “Reason one, because of that half-empty pint glass of Chardonnay.”
“It’s half-full and a Pinot.”
The look he gives me says, Ooh, burn.
He braces with his other arm, boxing me in. “Two”—he lets those hard eyes roam over me, slowly skimming down my body, leaving a tingling, sensitive path in his wake before coming back up—“I know exactly what you look like after getting screwed against a door. And this isn’t it.”
God, and now I’m thinking about that weekend his parents were out of town senior year when we had his house to ourselves. How we tore at each other’s clothes, panting and pulling, and then—
“And three”—he glares down into this small space he’s created for us, eyes blazing—“you don’t even want to know how many laws I broke to get back here fast enough to make sure he didn’t have a fucking chance.”
This from the man who’d been on a date with the world’s most recognizable woman?
“Then you’re a little late,” I bite back.
I can actually feel the breath stop moving in Hank’s chest, feel his muscles locking down one at a time.
He swallows.
“What do you mean?”
I close my eyes, my anger pushing to the surface again. “He was my friend, Hank. For years that’s all he was. And then one damn drink with you and suddenly he’s crossing all the lines. Because of you.”
Hank’s body goes rigid and his eyes turn to coal. “What lines?”
This is the voice of a man whose decisions change the world.
“The trying-to-kiss-me lines!”
I’m still backed against the door, with Hank’s body so close that, with every breath I take, my breasts make contact with the solid muscles of his chest.
“Trying?” His thumb brushes along my bottom lip, slow and soft, with just the barest hint of pressure. Just enough to make sure I’m aware of exactly what he’s doing.
Heat spills through my center and my breath shallows.
“I didn’t let him. It’s never been that way for me with Wilson. Just like I told you.” My voice is quiet, my reaction to this man making me forget everything except what it used to be like when he touched me.
Almost everything.
I plant my hand against the center of his chest and narrow my eyes. “What about your date?” I ask, finding the hard edge I thought lost just moments ago. “Did Annie let you kiss her?”
The challenge ought to be enough to push him away, put him off balance. But instead Hank seems to relax, the corner of his mouth curving. Like maybe he was waiting to see if I’d want to know.
“No. I took her to a hotel and didn’t even wait for her to get checked in.”
Now he’s just trying to sweet-talk me. “I bet she didn’t like that.”
I shou
ldn’t like that.
“No, she didn’t.” He pushes against my hand, leaning closer to run the bridge of his nose along the side of mine.
“Good.”
I can feel his breath over my mouth and jaw, the heat of his body seeping into me, and then that last bit of distance between us is gone. His lips meet mine in a bruising crush, so hot and hard that I’m opening beneath him on a greedy moan.
This is crazy. Nothing’s changed since that night at the lagoon, but all I can think about is how badly I want this man… The tight grip of his fingers sifting into my hair and clenched at my hip… The pull of my body against his…
How much it killed me to see him with someone else.
I clutch at his shoulders and his tongue pushes past my lips, stroking into my mouth like a slow claim. It’s one I shouldn’t let him make, but God, I don’t want this to stop.
I’m drowning in the feel of his arms around me, the hard press of his body against mine, and the ragged quality of our breath when he breaks away.
“I went nuts seeing you with him.”
His mouth is at my ear, the gravelly confession vibrating through my chest, my belly… lower.
“It wasn’t a date.” I slide my fingers into his hair, knotting in the dark strands I’ve always loved to touch. Tightening. “But yours was.”
He pulls back to look at me. “It was a mistake.” The apology he doesn’t owe me is there in his eyes. “I thought going out with her would get my mind off you. But we hadn’t even made it to my car before I realized I was wrong.”
“Why?”
He returns to my ear, brushing his lips against it. “Because thinking about you is the best part of my day, Abby.”
They’re words I want to hear more than I should, but they terrify me because where does that leave us?
Only then, he’s kissing down the line of my neck again, flicking his tongue and pulling at the sensitive skin with soft draws I feel deep between my legs.
“Hank.”
His answer comes hot against my ear. “It doesn’t matter whether I’m the guy I was ten years ago or the guy I am today. Neither one of us can let you go.”