Tell Me Again

by Michelle Major

  Something had changed between her and Trevor during the flight. It was more than a physical awareness or the lingering memory of the way she’d felt about him years ago or the more recent knowledge of how good it was to be in his arms. She’d realized she liked him. Really liked him. The man he’d become—still honorable to the core if a little rough around the edges.

  Sam understood rough edges. She had more than her fair share.

  He’d come with her to Houston, despite one of the worst cases of flying phobia she’d witnessed and even though she’d given him no indication that she wanted or needed him there.

  She did. Want. And need.

  That had become all too clear when the front desk clerk at the hotel had asked whether they wanted one room or two. Her first instinct had been to blurt out one room. To take this opportunity and spend the whole night in Trevor’s arms. She yearned for that like a sailor watched for the harbor after months at sea. He’d immediately answered two, and she didn’t argue, too embarrassed to think she was on her own in pining for something more.

  A knock at the door had her whirling around. She opened it a crack to find him standing on the other side.

  “I was going to call,” he said with a small smile, “but that seemed silly.”

  She took a step back, her breath coming out in shallow pants, ready to invite him into her arms, her heart, and her hotel bed. Get a hold of yourself, she admonished silently. This is not your first time at the rodeo.

  Ok, this wasn’t even her tenth time at the rodeo. If she had a nickel for every random hotel hook—

  Nope. She moved forward again, keeping the door partially closed, just like her heart.

  Trevor didn’t seem to notice. “Would you like to have dinner tonight?” He cleared his throat and added, “With me.”

  “Sure. I think there’s a restaurant in the hotel—”

  “Not the hotel,” he interrupted. “A restaurant downtown. I texted a friend who used to live in Houston. He recommended a place a few blocks from here.” He bent a few inches so they were at eye level. “I’m talking about a date, Sam.”

  “A date,” she whispered, feeling like a fool for repeating his words. Feeling like an even bigger fool when the butterflies in her stomach morphed into something more intense. So intense her heartbeat thundered against her rib cage. “Ok,” she said on a squeak when she realized he was still waiting for an answer.

  A wide grin spread across his face, and he fist-pumped the air before casually running a hand through his hair. “Great,” he said. “Great.”

  At least she wasn’t alone in her unexpected reaction to the day.

  “I’ll pick you up in an hour,” he told her.

  “At my hotel room door?” she asked with a smile.

  He frowned as if searching for a better idea.

  “Here is fine,” she told him, earning another grin.

  She stepped back into the room and stared at the closed door for a few seconds before grabbing her bag and tossing it onto the bed. A date. She wasn’t prepared for a date. She’d packed for an evening of room service, cable TV, and an early bedtime before tomorrow.

  She’d finally spoken to Whitney’s grandmother, who seemed grateful that Sam was flying down for the funeral and hadn’t mentioned the possible implication of the camp’s involvement in Whitney’s tragic death.

  Brandon had also called, and she was going to his house in the morning to drive to the funeral with him and his mother. If Sam had guilt from the tragedy, the boy’s was tenfold. He’d only been able to speak a few minutes before dissolving into racking sobs. Through the phone Sam had heard someone shouting at him to “man up.” She figured it must be one of his older stepbrothers and mentally dared whoever it was to give the grieving teen a hard time in front of her.

  But that was tomorrow, and tonight she had a date. She hadn’t been on a real date in years. It had been easier to avoid men altogether than to explain she was no longer the wild hell-raiser they expected.

  She took a quick shower and then examined her minimal wardrobe choices. She had a black suit for tomorrow and decided to pair the silk camisole with her clean jeans—thank you, Lord, that she’d packed a pair with no paint stains. She threw a cardigan over the tank top and slipped her feet into black heels.

  By the time she was dressed, her hair was partially dry so she blow-dried it the rest of the way and applied a little makeup. Normally she didn’t wear any, but she suddenly felt too exposed with a bare face.

  Not bad, she thought, as she looked at the finished product in the mirror above the bathroom sink. Also not who she once was.

  The way she looked had defined her for so many years and it was difficult not to focus on the tiny lines fanning out from her eyes and the slight pull to her mouth as harbingers of her inevitable fading beauty. Would she ever look in the mirror and see the woman beneath the surface?

  The knock at the hotel door pulled her out of her musings. She dropped the tube of lipstick onto the counter, grabbed her purse and room key, then hurried to the door, drawing in a deep breath as she opened it.

  “Hey,” she said, her voice embarrassingly breathless.

  “You look lovely,” Trevor told her, his eyes never leaving her face.

  She stepped into the hall, the door closing behind her with a gentle click. “You, too,” she told him. “I mean, you look nice. Not exactly lovely. Maybe lovely.”

  She was babbling. Great. Trevor was so handsome in a white oxford shirt that made his skin look even more bronzed and sharpened his vivid blue eyes. He smiled and took her hand, lifting it to his mouth and brushing a soft kiss across her knuckles.

  “Are you hungry?”

  A simple question but somehow the words seemed to convey more than they should have. She almost lost her balance as she took a step forward, then righted herself and laughed. “I spent years parading the catwalk in heels. You’d think I’d be better at it.”

  “I’ve got you,” he said quietly and they headed for the elevator.

  “Would you rather take a cab?” he asked when they exited the hotel’s front doors. “We can go easy on your feet.”

  “Let’s walk.” It had been warm when they’d landed in Houston a few hours earlier, but now that the sun was setting the air had cooled slightly and the scent of flowering trees lingered on the breeze.

  “Spring is a few weeks ahead here,” she murmured, enjoying the buds blooming on the trees that lined the sidewalk. Cars streaked by and people just getting off work hurried past on either side of them.

  Trevor continued to hold her hand, using his body as a shield when the crowd on the sidewalk would have jostled her.

  “The snowstorm put everything on hold in Colorado,” he answered. “Even Mother Nature. It’s been warm enough this week that spring will be there soon.”

  She clapped a hand over her mouth as a giggle bubbled up in her throat.

  “Are you laughing at me?” He steered her toward a green awning hanging off a redbrick building around the corner.

  “We’re talking about the weather,” she said, and didn’t bother to hide her smile. “Everything there is between us, and we’re talking about the weather.”

  “Weather is underrated,” he told her, leaning so close that his breath tickled the sensitive curve of her ear. “Especially a night as perfect as this.”

  He held the door open and she walked through, the smell of garlic and spices making her mouth water. The hostess seated them at a small table in the corner of the restaurant and a waiter arrived almost immediately to take their drink orders.

  “Do you even notice it anymore?” Trevor asked when they were alone.

  “What?”

  “People staring.”

  She glanced around and met the curious gazes of the couple sitting a few tables over. They looked away quickly, heads bent together as they whispered.

  “Sometimes I do,” she admitted. “But I’ve trained myself not to look. Besides, I’m getting old enough to be
irrelevant.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. He didn’t laugh often, and it softened his features to reveal the boy she once knew. “That will never happen. Even if you weren’t famous, you’re too beautiful not to notice.”

  “I can blend in if I want.”

  “Like a peacock in a barnyard of chickens.”

  She made a face. “I don’t think of myself like that.”

  “That’s one of the things I liked about you when we were younger. You didn’t rely on the way you looked.”

  “Are you kidding? I was five foot eleven and flat as a board freshman year of high school. The only thing I could rely on was having to wear jeans that were too short and the boys calling me ‘giraffe neck.’”

  “Your neck is perfect.”

  She let her hair fall forward over her shoulders. “When I was modeling, it wasn’t really me.”

  “You said you saw Bryce when you looked in the mirror after she died, but it wasn’t her on those covers and in fashion shows. The success belonged to you, Sam.”

  “Maybe, only I never believed my own hype. I faked it better than Bryce because I wanted out of Colby more than I wanted to take my next breath. But I never felt totally comfortable in front of the camera or with the attention fame brought. In my head I created a different persona, a woman who loved people looking at her. Pretty much the exact opposite of me.” She traced her finger over the rim of the water glass. “That woman made the way she looked into something powerful, a way to manipulate the camera to her own end. It was all smoke and mirrors. I fooled everyone.”

  “You wouldn’t have fooled me.”

  “That’s not true.” She did a little pantomime, sucking in her cheeks and flashing a bit of attitude. “It’s like an on-and-off switch,” she told him. “In the end, even I stopped knowing the difference between where the make-believe piece ended and real life began.”

  “Show her to me,” he murmured.

  “Who?”

  “The other you.” He leaned forward. “I want to prove to you that I can see past whatever mask you try to use. There’s something between us that neither one of us can deny. I know you, Sam, and this is about you trusting me as much as it is me trusting you.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  She watched him for a couple of long moments, his gaze steady on her. It had been years since she’d accessed the identity she’d created to survive a world in which her face was a commodity.

  That piece of her was a coping mechanism, a way to grieve the loss of the symbiotic and sometimes competitive relationship she’d had with her twin. She didn’t have an identity of her own, so she’d created one, then had quickly come to hate what people expected from her when she took on that role. Hated who she became.

  In truth, she’d come to hate herself and that had been a big piece of why she’d worked so hard to reinvent her life. When she’d first come to Colorado, she’d feared what would happen if she allowed herself to forget the difference between real and make-believe. She might be taking on a role, but Sam had learned the hard way that the consequences of her actions were all too real.

  But she was sick of pretending that side of her had been totally obliterated when she’d walked away from her old life. Power was a heady thing, and she’d learned to wield it like the sharpest sword in the king’s collection.

  “I can’t be that person with you,” she said softly.

  “Why?”

  She swallowed. “Because you matter.”

  Before he could answer, the waiter returned to the table. As he set down her wineglass, she looked up and he winked at her. He was young, handsome, and confident in his ability to charm the customers he served. She couldn’t mistake the invitation in his dark brown eyes as he lingered a moment, his fingers on the stem of the crystal glass.

  Trevor cleared his throat and the waiter placed a bottle of beer and a chilled pint glass on the white tablecloth. Those couple seconds of distraction were all she needed to get into character.

  “Is there anything else I can get you?” the waiter asked.

  She allowed the sweater to slide off her shoulders, leaning forward a few inches. “What did you say your name was?” She tugged her lower lip between her teeth as she waited for an answer.

  “Um . . .”

  She flipped her hair behind her shoulders and traced one finger along the delicate bone at the base of her neck. “Yes?”

  He cleared his throat, huffed out a nervous laugh. “I can’t remember right now.”

  She smiled, not her real one, but a slight curve of her lips that told him she was both amused and intrigued by his innocence. “That’s okay, honey.” She pitched her voice low. “We’ll call you—”

  “Done here,” Trevor growled.

  The young waiter blinked as if he’d been woken from a trance.

  With a sigh, Sam wrapped the ends of her sweater tight over the camisole. “Could you give us a few minutes to decide on an order?” She didn’t meet the waiter’s gaze.

  “Sure,” he said quickly. “And it’s Mark. My name is Mark.”

  She nodded and took a long drink of wine as he walked away.

  “What the fuck just happened?” Trevor sounded as stunned as the waiter looked.

  Her gaze slammed into his. “Aren’t you glad you asked to see that?” She leaned forward. She felt dirty and nauseated. At this moment she wanted him to loathe her as much as she’d once despised herself. “My superpower is seducing men. I learned it from my mother, but I took it to new levels. I didn’t know I could control the impulse, so for a long time it controlled me.” She took another slug of wine. “Bryce could do it, too, you know. Hell, of course you do. You are the best example of her particular talent.”

  “That’s not how it happened,” he said quietly.

  “Really? You guys went out for beer and wings one night and decided it would be a great idea to hook up? A little Netflix and chill action?”

  He opened his mouth, shut it again. “What does watching TV have to do with anything?”

  She groaned. “Get with the program, Trevor. You’re raising a teenage girl. Netflix and chill means a booty call. If any boy wants Grace to Netflix and chill, you keep them the hell away from her.”

  “Why not just call it a damn hookup then?”

  “Like you did with my sister?”

  “I was in college,” he said through clenched teeth. “I was studying my ass off and working and—” He stopped and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Fuck.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sam whispered. “What are we doing? We can’t go out to dinner like the past isn’t an ocean between us. Talking about the weather was safer than the rest of this.”

  “No.” He reached forward and took her hand. “I don’t care about the past.”

  “Your nose is growing.”

  “It defined both of us,” he continued, ignoring her snarky remark, “for too long. You are here to grieve a huge loss. But that’s tomorrow. Tomorrow can be about reality. Make tonight about us.”

  God, she wanted that so badly it was like a hunger gnawing away at her from the inside. “Do you think it’s possible?”

  One side of his mouth curved. “Let’s do our own make-believe. We met on Tinder.”

  She snorted. “Hell, no. Tinder is for hooking up.”

  He lifted a brow. “So we’re not going to Netflix and chill?”

  “If this is make-believe, then I’m a nice girl,” she said. She’d meant to make her tone light, but it came out too sincere.

  He pretended not to notice. “You’re a nice girl. You probably work in human resources.”

  “For a university here in town,” she agreed. “And what do you do?”

  “I own a ranch about an hour outside the city.” He smiled. “You’re my first date from an online dating site.”

  “Will there be more?”

  “With you?” he asked softly. “I hope so, although I’m retiring my profile. When you knock it out of the park on the first t
ry, there’s nothing worth swinging at.”

  She knew they were playing a game, but the words still seeped under her skin, lighting tiny sparks of awareness along her nerve endings.

  “Are you ready to order?”

  Mark had returned, his face flushed and his eyes trained on the pad of paper he held. They gave him their orders and he scribbled everything down, offered to bring another round of drinks, and scurried away.

  “You’ve scarred that boy for life,” Trevor said with mild amusement.

  “Not me,” Sam answered immediately. “I’m a nice girl.”

  He leaned forward again, took her hands, and stared into her eyes, his expression as serious as she’d ever seen. “I like you because you’re the woman you are, Sam. You don’t have to pretend to be anyone else for me.”

  She pulled away quickly, rearranged the napkin on her lap. “You don’t mean that,” she said, forcing a laugh. “You can’t mean that.”

  “I do.”

  “Because you want to Netflix and chill?” She gripped the piece of white cloth in her lap for dear life.

  “Because it’s the truth.”

  Trevor hadn’t realized how true the words were until he said them out loud. Sam’s past and the choices she’d made, the things she was so ready to condemn herself for, didn’t matter.

  Who was he to judge anyone? He’d lived his life cut off from emotional attachments. Other than Grace and his nana, he had no one in his life that mattered. He was already damaged from the choices his parents had made, but the pain of losing Sam once, followed by Bryce’s manipulation, had broken something inside him. He’d tried to fix himself by giving Grace the stability he’d craved as a child. He’d made a life for his daughter that was the closest thing to a white picket fence he could create.

  He may not have heard of the term “Netflix and chill” before tonight, but he understood the concept. Casual flings were all he ever let himself experience. He told himself it was because he was protecting Grace, but somewhere inside he knew she was an easy excuse.

  There was no excuse that would hold up against his feelings for Sam. She had as many broken pieces as he did, yet he had a feeling all of their gaps and holes would come together to make something complete.