by Geneva Lee
“You know why,” I say, advancing on her until she’s pressed against the elevator’s steel paneling. Her hands grip the bronze safety railing. “You’ve wanted me to kiss you since you saw me at the funeral.”
“You think I wanted you to kiss me?” she scoffs in a breathy voice. I’m close enough to feel the betrayal of her rapidly beating heart.
“Yes, you did want to kiss me. Just like you want to kiss me now. Just like you wanted to kiss me every day for the last five years.” I angle my head until my lips are hovering a breath away from her earlobe. “Isn’t that true?”
“I don’t want to kiss you,” she whispers. “Not then. Not now. Not ever.”
“Do you know how to tell when someone’s lying?” I murmur in her ear. “Their pupils dilate, they breathe faster, but most importantly, their heart speeds up.”
“Maybe I’m just scared of you,” she says, even as she moves almost instinctively closer.
“You should be,” I agree, “but you still want to kiss me.” My mouth moves across her jaw gliding toward her lips. As it reaches them, the elevator dings, jolting us apart when it comes to a stop. Adair turns her head, saved by the interruption, and darts out of the doors as they open.
I’m right behind her, catching her hand before she reaches the building’s entrance.
“What are you doing?” she hisses.
“We have a date,” I remind her.
“No one’s around. We don’t need to pretend,” she says, stopping to jerk her arm free.
“There’s a whole city that needs to believe this,” I say flatly. “Besides there’s somewhere I want to show you.” The Adair I’ve been around since I returned to Tennessee has been stuck in high heels and dresses, forced to play the part of the grieving daughter and doting family member. The Adair standing before me now, in blue jeans and sneakers, reminds me of the girl I met at Valmont years ago.
“Do I need to change?” she says as if reading my mind.
“You’re perfect,” I say without thinking. “But I might need to.”
She crosses her arms, rolling her eyes as she scans my three-piece navy suit. “Do you think?”
“What? Embarrassed to be seen with me looking like this?” I tease.
“I think that’s a trick question.” Her eyes don’t meet mine, but pink circles bloom on the apples of her cheeks. She’s learning — adapting to this new version of who we are. We’re not 18 anymore. I’m not the poor boy, riding on her credit card. I’ve changed. I’m a man with money and means now. She knows it. What she wants to know is how much of that boy is left.
Adair follows me out to the valet, careful to keep a safe distance. She doesn’t hide her surprise when my car is brought to the entrance.
“Nice ride,” she says.
“I knew you would prove.” I help her inside, playing the part of the Southern gentleman. It’s not something I was born to and I’m unlikely to make the effort often. Tonight though? Two can play this game. I’m Satan himself, offering her the forbidden fruit she can’t stop drooling over.
Circling the car, I slide into the driver’s seat. Adair’s fingers skim over the wood appreciatively. We came from different worlds. Hers one of diamonds, debutante balls, and silver spoons. Mine? All I’d known was the street, how to survive the foster care system, how to leave the ones who hurt you behind and live with the scars of them. Now I’ve learned the language of her world. I’m fluent in her tongue: luxury. But we both know I’m not a native speaker. I wasn’t born to her world. She wouldn’t lower herself to mine. Maybe she thinks I’ve come back to show her that I belong now.
She’s wrong.
That’s not why I came back, I remind myself. Why is it so hard to remember that when she’s around?
“What does my brother want to talk to you about?” she asks.
“No business talk,” I tell her. “This is a date.”
“You’re really going to act like this is the real deal, aren’t you?”
“You bet.” I flash her a smile, and despite her best efforts, she grins back.
“So, what are we going to talk about?”
“There was a time we had plenty to talk about,” I remind her.
“Times change,” she says softly.
I clutch the steering wheel a bit tighter. Like it or not, we aren’t the same people we were back then. So much has happened to both of us. I’m not eager to share the last few years of my life with her. She’ll expect me to make amends. I don’t owe her—or anyone else—an apology.
I decide to focus on her. “That reminds me. Poppy said you’re not riding anymore.”
She flinches in her seat and, for a second, I glimpse her there, hiding behind the wall she’s built between herself and everyone else.
“You used to love to talk about your horses,” I remind her.
“I fell,” she says. “It was serious. I had to have surgery.” Each word comes out haltingly as if she’s choosing them very carefully. That’s how she works. She decides what to show others. It’s why we didn’t work.
“When was this?” I might have respected that years ago, but I have no patience for it now.
“A couple years ago.” She turns to stare out the window, and for a moment, I’m somewhere else in a different time, wondering how to reach the girl who’s right next to me. Maybe I never reached her then. Maybe I’ll never reach her now.
“And you still can’t ride?” I ask, trying to make sense of the skeletal information she’s giving me.
“It hurts,” she whispers. “There’s nerve damage. I can only last a few minutes before it’s too much.”
“So you gave it up entirely?”
“Wouldn’t you?” she says.
“I guess I’d steal a few minutes of happiness over losing something I loved entirely.”
“I guess we’re different people.” She’s back behind her wall completely now.
Our circumstances are different. We’ve become unrecognizable in some ways. But, no matter how high she builds her fortress or how carefully she wears her mask, I see what she’s trying to hide. She’s still there: the girl who broke my heart.
“Come up with me?” I ask as I pull into my reserved spot under Twelve and South.
She looks as if she’s considering this request, her eyes darting to the elevator at the corner. “I’m not sure you can be trusted in enclosed spaces.”
“I’ll be good,” I promise.
“Maybe I should just—”
“I’m sure Zeus would like to see you,” I say. Bringing up the dog is a stroke of genius, because she’s out of the door before I finish the sentence. She keeps her distance from me, walking with a healthy space between us.
“Keep your hands to yourself, Ford,” she warns as we step inside the elevator.
I draw a cross over my heart before hitting the button for the penthouse. We might be on opposite sides of the elevator, but I still feel the energy pulsing between us. I don’t have to press against her to feel her heart racing. A small bead of sweat trickles down her forehead. It’s hot but not quite summer yet. No, there’s another reason she’s heating up. When she thinks I’m not looking, she dares a glimpse in my direction. What would she do if I closed the space between us and pulled her against me?
She’d let me. I know it. But I’m not giving her the satisfaction of making the first move. Adair will wind up back in my bed—of that I’m certain. When she does it, she’ll practically crawl there and have no one to blame but herself.
When we reach the top, we both move to exit at the same time. I stop, reaching an arm across the threshold to prevent the doors from shutting. “After you.”
She looks as though she doesn’t quite buy this gentlemanly act, but she does a good job pretending not to care as she saunters out. As soon as we reach my door, there’s a scuffle of claws on the other side. It seems my new roommate has heard me come home.
“Zeus,” Adair coos, tapping the wood as I slide my key into the lock. “H
e’s not in a kennel?”
“He doesn’t need it,” I say.
“You’re taking your apartment into your own hands,” she warns.
“Oh, I know that. He already chewed up one of my slippers. We had a long talk about being a good boy.”
“Did he give you any pointers?” she asks dryly.
Zeus greets us by bounding onto his hind legs and licking each of us in turn. He bounces happily between us, looking overwhelmed with joy to get both of his favorite people in the same place.
“Did you miss me?” She scratches his ears and earns another kiss. “I missed you.”
“I see where his loyalty lies. Sit Zeus.”
He immediately drops to the floor, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. His head tilts back and forth like a metronome as he looks between the two of us.
“So you’re getting through to him,” she says with approval.
“We worked on it. It’s all about mutual respect.”
“Is it?” She laughs at the idea as she kneels down to him. “Well, whatever you’re doing he seems happy. I can’t believe he doesn’t need a kennel.”
“I couldn’t bear the thought of putting him in a cage,” I say quietly. I know too well what it’s like to be locked away because no one can bother to teach you better.
“Thank you for adopting him.” She lifts her face from the top of his head, eyes shining before she shakes off the emotion she’s accidentally shown. “I’ll hang with him while you change.”
“You could have adopted him,” I point out.
“Ginny wouldn’t allow it,” she murmurs. “She didn’t want him around Ellie. She said his breed couldn’t be trusted.”
“A dog is only as good as he’s allowed to be,” I say softly. She opens her mouth to respond but I’m already turning away. So that’s why Zeus was homeless. He wasn’t good enough for the MacLaines. Another thing we have in common.
In the closet, I pull out a pair of faded Levi’s and a black T-shirt. Slipping into the clothes is like slipping into an old version of myself. I slap some cologne on in the bathroom and brush my teeth. Staring back at my reflection, I see someone I barely remember.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, are you going to start writing poetry next?” I ask myself. “She hasn’t changed. Remember that.”
Now that the pep talk is over, I head out to find Adair and Zeus hanging out on the sofa.
“He’s not allowed on the furniture.” I tell her.
“Does he know that?” she asks, but she pushes him off to the floor. “Sterling says no.”
Zeus slides down and gives me a pitiful whimper.
I cross my arms. Unbelievable. I adopted the dog, but somehow he still seems to belong to her. “Now you’re going to make me the bad guy?”
“I think you can do that all by yourself.”
We stare at each other for a minute without blinking before I walk toward her. Adair’s body goes rigid with expectation, but I stop and call Zeus. “Be a good boy while I’m gone?”
I never break eye contact with Adair as I stand up and head toward the door.
“Do you need to walk him?” she asks.
“I have a girl who comes by to do that,” I explain. “He just went out an hour ago.”
“You have a girl?” She raises an eyebrow.
“A dog walker. It’s nothing nefarious.” I open the door for her.
“Good.” She walks through the open door. “We need to make this look realistic, right? I can’t have people thinking that you’re playing me.”
“We can’t have that,” I agree. She’s going to make me work for this.
Even on a Tuesday night, the Barrelhouse is full. I can’t help but be reminded of an old country song when I survey the crowd. Everyone here is looking for love in all the wrong places. It’s obvious that some of the groups are friends, just out for a night on the town, but there’s a fair number of singles hanging out at the bar, engaging in small talk, casting glances at other parties, hoping tonight’s the night they find true love. It’s not my usual scene, even if I know the owner.
“I haven’t been here in forever,” Adair says, looking around.
“Really?”
“And you have?” she challenges me.
Jack has the timing of a god, because he chooses this moment to descend upon us. He wraps me in a tight hug, smacking my back with his fist. “I never see you at night. You finally decided to poke your head out of your shell and get a life, huh?”
“I had to make a few friends first.”
“Oh good, she’s just a friend?” Jack eyes Adair appreciatively. He’s seen pictures, but a photograph could never do her justice. “Then allow me to introduce myself. Jack Archer.”
“Adair MacLaine.” Even in the dimly lit club, I can see she’s blushing.
“The Adair?” he asks.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She directs this question at me.
“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” I say to Jack. Trust him to skirt the line. He can be as bad as Luca sometimes.
“He mentioned he knew a girl here,” Jack says smoothly, his charm distracting her easily.
“I did mention that,” I said, “but Adair is more than a friend.” I curl an arm around her waist and draw her to my side. She looks like she wants to protest this but thinks better of it. There’s no mistaking her frustrated silence though.
“She looks like she might still be on the market.” Jack isn’t going to play along blindly.
“Give it up, man. Adair Archer? I don’t think that’s going to work out.”
“I’m a modern guy. She can keep her last name.”
“Do you two want to know how many goats I can bring to the table for my dowry?” she asks dryly.
“And she’s feisty?” Jack’s eyes dance as he crooks his head, a wide grin splitting his mouth. “You might have competition for this one.”
It’s time to change the topic of conversation. “Don’t you have customers to serve?”
Jack tips his head toward the bar.
“Let me get you a drink. I’m just playing with him,” he says to Adair. “Sterling needs a little help with his sense of humor.”
“Truer words have never been spoken,” she says.
I poke her arm. “I’m the one who needs help with my sense of humor? Really?”
“I might die before I see you laugh again,” she says as Jack circles around the bar and pulls out three tumblers.
“I’d ask what your poison is, but this one is on the house, so I get to choose,” he explains. “It’s a local distiller. Best stuff in the state.”
Adair studies the bottle as he pours. “Those are fighting words in West Tennessee Whiskey territory.”
“You’re a West girl?” he asks her as he continues to pour.
“Not really. It’s just what everyone I know drinks.”
What she doesn’t want to say is that the West family and her family go way back and that, like everyone else in Valmont, she’s got some incestuous codependence going with them.
“This is better bourbon. I’d lay money on it that you’d agree,” he tells her, sliding her a glass.
“No thanks.” I hold my hand when he goes to pour mine.
Adair eyes me over the rim of her glass. “Still don’t drink?
“You know that’s for the best.”
“Thank God,” Jack interjects. “I’m tired of wasting the good stuff so that you can just stare at it all night.”
“It’s rude to refuse,” I say to him.
“It’s rude to waste whiskey,” Jack says. He looks at Adair. “Do you know why he doesn’t drink?”
Adair glances at me as if considering her answer before shaking her head. “It’s a mystery.”
I have no idea why she lies. She doesn’t owe it to me to cover this up. She might not know everything—like the fact that I’ve had a drink since I left town. More than one. But she knows why I stopped drinking in the first place. She knows wh
y I hate the stuff. She knows what it does to some people. It’s a lesson we were both taught too well.
But while she understands, she doesn’t take the same approach I do. She toasts Jack, their glasses clinking. Her eyes light up when she takes a sip. “Oh, that is better.”
“I’ll send you a bottle,” he tells her.
“You better not send it to her house. Her family is very particular,” I explain quickly. “You can send it to my place.”
“Can I now?” he says meaningfully.
“Can he now?” Adair repeats with just as significant a tone.
“People are going to know soon enough, Lucky,” I say to her. She freezes at the sound of old nickname on my lips. I take her surprise as an opportunity. “Life has a funny way of working out.”
“Excuse me,” Adair says, looking slightly flustered. I expect her to call me out—to expose the ruse. She doesn’t. “I’m going to use the restroom.”
“Do you know where it is?” Jack asks her.
“I’ve been here before,” she assures him.
I watch her as she disappears into the crowd, heading toward the ladies room. I can’t help admiring her shapely ass as she goes.
Jack whistles. “You didn’t tell me she looked like that. You think she’ll need a rebound guy when you’re through with her?”
I turn blazing eyes on him.
He holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m just joking,” he says, adding thoughtfully, “but it sure doesn’t seem like you are.”
“The plan is the same. I just want to take this slow. Enjoy it.”
“Does she really deserve that?” he asks. It’s the first time Jack has really questioned my plan. He’s never asked for specifics. He’s stuck by my side. Sometimes a person goes through things in life that bind them forever to another soul. Jack and Luca? They’re bound to my soul. We might question each other. We might fight. But we’ll always have each other’s backs even if we have questions.
“Trust me, she does.” My gaze falls on a bottle of West’s behind the bar, and I remember what Money said at the gala—about Oliver and his side gig as a pharmacist. “We have other concerns at the moment.”
I fill Jack in on the particulars. Jack doesn’t have the same moral flexibility as Luca and I do, but one thing we all share is an intolerance of men who use innocent women.