enough that every extra ounce showed.
Muscle tone was pretty much
nonexistent.
“It’s so good to see you, Jaime,” he
said. “You look great.”
“You too,” I said before I could stop
myself. I didn’t want him to think I still
cared—in fact, I wanted him to know I
wasn’t fooled by his charm. I wasn’t that
silly little girl anymore, the one who’d
doodled his name in her notebooks and
blushed when he said hi at school and
cried herself to sleep when he asked
another girl to his prom. That silly little
girl was gone, and in her place was a
confident, smart, professional woman
who knew her worth and, even better,
the truth about love. No more stars in her
eyes.
But why did he have to be so hot?
OK, pull yourself together. No
drooling.
“I’m so glad this worked out.” Quinn
let me go but stood too close, his feet
planted wide and his arms crossed over
his chest. He wore jeans, a gray knit
pullover that hugged his muscular chest
and arms, and his feet were bare. His
hair was damp and messy on top, just
like it had been the last time I’d seen him
in person. His full lower lip made me
want to bite it. Maybe even draw blood.
“Sorry, I just got out of the shower,”
he said sheepishly, ruffling his hair.
“Want to come in and catch up? Or
maybe go out for a drink? I just need to
throw some shoes on.”
“No.” Trying desperately to shove
the image of him in the shower from my
mind, I elbowed past him and trudged up
the stairs. My cheeks were hot, which
meant they were probably turning
scarlet. They ruined my poker face every
time.
“Come on, it’s Friday!”
“I have work to do.”
He was naked
a few minutes ago. And wet.
“Did you have a bad day?”
“No.”
Rivulets of water streaming
over those muscles.
“You already have plans tonight?”
“No.”
Steam rising as he stroked
himself beneath the spray.
“You don’t love me anymore?”
I froze as the shower fantasy
exploded into bits, replaced by a
humiliation that paralyzed me, one foot
on the top step, one hand on the banister.
Slowly, I turned my head and glared at
him over one shoulder.
Now the grin cocked up on one side.
“Because you used to, you know. You
told me.”
“You need to forget about that.”
“Have you?”
“Yes,” I snapped. “That was a long
time ago. Back when I was young and
impressionable and believed in love.”
His brows went up. “You don’t
believe in love anymore?”
“Not the romantic kind. That’s a
fantasy used to sell things like lipstick
and roses and diamonds.”
“Pretty jaded for twenty-seven,
aren’t you?”
I resumed heading up the stairs. “I’m
not jaded, Quinn. I’m just a realist.”
And
I’ve been burned before, trusting guys
way less attractive than you.
He said nothing more, and I let
myself into my flat. As soon as the door
was shut behind me, I leaned back
against it, exhaling and fanning my face.
He still got to me. That was
so
aggravating
.
I mean, how was I supposed to sleep
at night? Quinn Rusek was one fine
piece of man candy, and I had a sweet
tooth for him that wouldn’t quit.
But he’d made fun of me! Again! A
nice guy would have at least pretended
not to remember what I’d said. Or
maybe apologized for humiliating me. Or
not have brought it up at all!
What an asshole.
A hot asshole—the worst kind.
Curse you, Alex, and your generous
heart.
And curse you, Quinn, for getting
under my skin again. You stay away
from me.
But a traitorous little part of me
hoped he wouldn’t.
(Bet you can guess which part.)
THREE
QUINN
DAMN, she was gorgeous.
Standing there at the bottom of the
steps, I couldn’t stop smiling. I heard the
door to her flat slam shut and then a
thump, as if she’d collapsed against it.
Poor thing. I probably shouldn’t have
brought up the night she told me she
loved me, but she was acting so cool,
brushing me off like that. If it wasn’t for
those flaming red cheeks, I might have
thought her disinterest was genuine and
just let it go.
But I hadn’t been able to resist trying
to get a rise out of her—to see if that girl
I knew was still there underneath that
frosty exterior, the little spitfire with the
big eyes and bigger mouth, the one who
believed me when I told her hanging by
her knees from a tree branch would
stretch her bones and make her legs
longer, the one who’d gotten so mad
when she found out I’d made it up that
she’d stomped on my foot, told me she
hated my guts, and vowed she’d never
talk to me again. (She lasted two days.)
Recalling the way she’d stomped up
the stairs just now, I laughed a little.
Oh
yeah, she’s still there.
And what about that girl who’d
followed me into the bathroom and put
her hands on me…was she still there?
The one who had no idea how tempting
she was, how badly I’d wanted to kiss
her, how uncomfortable I’d been with
the feelings I had for her. I’d practically
lived at the Owens house growing up—
Alex was my closest friend, and Jaime
was his younger sister! A good friend
just didn’t do that. And Mr. and Mrs.
Owens had been so generous to my
mother and me. For fuck’s sake, they
were paying more than half my college
tuition. Even at eighteen, I was old
enough to recognize there was a line
there that should not be crossed.
But God, I’d wanted to. I’d wanted
to cross that line with every part of my
body, hard and often. I’d thought about it
for months, been tempted a million
times. In fact, I’d almost asked Alex if
he’d be OK with my asking her to the
prom, but chickened out. Instead I’d
asked Danica Newman, and while she
blew me at the hotel party afterward, I
imagined she was Jaime and came so
fast I almost forgot to give a warning.
But that was as close as I’d ever thought
I’d get to the real thing.
So of course when she came on to
me in the bathroom during the party, I’d
reacted badly. I hadn’t meant to laugh,
but what else was there to do? I was off
guard and nervous and so fucking turned
on, I couldn’t help it. It was so unfair,
like God was testing me, seeing if I was
really worthy of her family’s generosity.
The
one
girl I couldn’t have was the one
I wanted, and there she was with her
hand on my dick, her perfect tits filling
out that red bikini, and that pouty little
mouth begging to be kissed (seriously,
the number of times I’ve jerked off to the
memory of her in that red bikini is
staggering). I’d been so close to giving
in.
And then she told me she loved me,
and I lost it.
It was just so sweet, and her eyes
were so sincere. She
trusted
me. She’d
have done anything I wanted her to.
I couldn’t take advantage of it.
Believe me, in my fantasies, that
night went down a whole different way,
but I stand by my choice to be a
gentleman.
Except now I was being punished for
it!
OK, maybe I shouldn’t have poked at
her just now, but fuck, that’s what felt
natural with us—I hadn’t seen her in a
while, but sometimes being with
someone from your past is like going
home again. No matter how long it’s
been, you don’t forget the way.
I went back into my temporary digs
and sat on the couch, thinking about the
last ten years, and how far from home
they’d taken me. Although modeling had
never been my dream job, I’d jumped at
the opportunity to make the kind of
money the scout had promised—and he
hadn’t lied.
The amount of money I made
shocked me—enough to live well in
L.A. and pay off all my mother’s debt,
make it so she’d never have to clean
houses again (although I couldn’t
convince her to leave her house or her
restaurant job). Enough to cover all her
medical expenses after I discovered how
sick she was. Enough to make the end of
her life as peaceful and full as possible.
But not enough to buy her time.
It made me pause and take stock. Ask
myself some questions.
Life was short—what did I want to
do with mine? What did I want to learn,
accomplish, leave behind? What
memories would I cherish when it was
time to look back? What would matter
most?
The amount of money in my bank
account?
The number of beautiful women I’d
fucked?
The square footage of my house?
As impressive as those figures were,
I realized they’d be meaningless in the
end. And after the bombings in Paris,
where I witnessed firsthand how quickly
and cruelly life can be snuffed out, I
knew I had to change things. I just didn’t
know how.
Alex had been my first call.
We hadn’t been as close in the last
ten years of our lives as we’d been in
the first eighteen, but we had the kind of
friendship that didn’t require a quota of
check-ins or a constant stream of
updates. He might have grown up in a
six-bedroom Tudor with a three-car
garage and a pool in the yard while I
grew up in a tiny two-bedroom
bungalow on a street lined with the
century-old homes of servants from
another era, but we
got
each other.
He’d always be there for me; I’d
always be there for him. Period. I’d
already been planning on coming in for
his wedding, but he’d been the one to
suggest maybe moving back for a time,
or trying school again, and as soon as he
said it, I knew it was the right idea.
The last two months had been a
whirlwind of buying the condo, leasing
my L.A. home, shipping my stuff to
Detroit for storage, cancelling what jobs
I could get out of, moving into a hotel
downtown, and enrolling in a couple
classes at Wayne State. I’d hardly had
time to breathe.
But things were starting to settle a
little, and living here would be so much
nicer than staying in a cold, impersonal
hotel room for the next few weeks while
I waited for the work on my condo to be
completed. I’d jumped at the chance
when Alex offered last week—
especially when he told me Jaime lived
upstairs. I’d been really excited to see
her again.
Clearly, the feeling was not mutual.
I frowned. Should I apologize?
While I thought it over, I returned to
what I’d been doing when I saw her pull
in, which was unpacking the few books,
pictures, and mementos I’d kept out of
storage. A framed photo of my mom
when she was younger, and one of us
together on the beach in La Jolla before
she died. Most of the books were texts
for this semester; I was taking a history
course, a political science seminar, and
a math class.
But I also had my senior year
yearbook, which I’d found while going
through boxes in my mom’s attic last
week. She’d given the little house to her
church in her will, and they used it to
provide housing to women and children
who needed a safe place to stay, which
my mother would have loved. I’d
quickly had all her personal things
boxed and stored in the attic, and I’d
paid for the necessary renovations, but I
hadn’t been back there since she left and
figured it was time to clean out the place
once and for all.
I’d had no idea how much crap was
up there.
I swear to God, you’d have thought
my mother grew up during the
Depression or something. The woman
saved
everything
. It was going to take
me months to get through it all, and even
though most of it would be junk to
anyone else, I didn’t want to just throw
stuff out without looking at it. It hadn’t
been junk to her.
Picking up the yearbook, I sat on the
couch and opened it to the front cover. It
was covered with writing, and I
wondered if Jaime had signed it
somewhere. I didn’t see her name
anywhere in the front, so I turned to the
back, which was also full of signatures,
farewells, and phone numbers, but not
hers. Disappointed, I flipped to the page
displaying her junior year photo and saw