Mixtape: A Love Song Anthology

by Nikki Sloane, Elle Kennedy, KL Kreig, Leslie McAdam, Lynda Aicher, Mara White, Marni Mann, Rebecca Shea, Saffron Kent, Sierra Simone, Veronica Larsen, Xio Axelrod

  I can't hear Gabby's conversation, but it looks like the guy is sweet talking her into giving him her number. She takes his phone in her hand and starts punching numbers in.

  Gabby's not one to give random guys her number. She's either genuinely interested in him or too tipsy to care. Either way, these guys are goddamn predators. No way in hell I'm letting him or anyone else put their grubby hands on her.

  “Where are you going?” Remi calls after me, but I'm already halfway to the bar.

  I catch the tail end of Gabby's conversation.

  The guy is saying, “ . . . maybe sometime this weekend? Tomorrow?”

  “I don't know . . . maybe.”

  She's smiling in a way that makes me want to throw her over my shoulder and take her the hell away from here. I set my hand on her lower back, instead. She turns defensively then relaxes when she sees it's me.

  “Let's go dance,” I say.

  Her eyes go wide. “Dance? But you never want to dance.”

  “I do now.”

  “Excuse me,” the guy says. “We're in the middle of a conversation.”

  I look him dead in the eyes. “Yeah, and now it's over.”

  He straightens and for a brief second, I think he's about to take a step toward me. But he sizes me up in a glance and seems to think better of it.

  Gabby lets out a small drunken laugh and sets her hand on my chest, as if to calm me.

  I'm fine. I'm not worried about this guy.

  Gabby downs the shot she just ordered and says, “I gotta go, Ron.”

  But the guy frowns after her. “It's Jordan.”

  Gabby gives Ron-Jordan a thumbs-up as I guide her away. We step back inside from the patio, to where the music is loud and the floor crowded with people dancing.

  “I love this song,” she says. With her hands up in the air, she moves her body to the rhythm.

  And I stare after her.

  I've seen her dance before. But there's something different about tonight. Maybe it's the low pulsing of the lights overhead. Or the people crowding around us. Or the way she's completely unaware of me staring at her ass as she swings her hips to the music.

  Or is she moving like this because she knows I'm watching?

  I take a step toward her and lower my lips to her ear. “We need to talk.”

  Her body goes still, then she spins around to face me.

  “Talk? I thought you wanted to dance.”

  “Not until we talk about your dreams.”

  Her eyes round and she quickly brings her hands up to cover her face. From behind her palms she says something that sounds like, “I'm going to kill Remi.”

  I take her hands in mine and gently pull them away from her face. She still avoids my eyes, instead staring squarely at my chest. All around us, people are dancing, but we're standing still, somehow knowing we're at the edge of an abyss and neither dares to look down.

  The music makes it hard to think. But maybe that's for the best.

  Slowly, Gabby's light-brown eyes peer up at me, her face flushed with color.

  “I don't want to talk about it,” she says.

  “Why?”

  “Because, Dean, I love you.”

  My heart stops, just for a moment, before I realize she's not saying the words I think she's saying. She's not confessing being in love with me. She's reminding me she loves me in the way I've always known she has . . . as a friend.

  I swallow.

  “I know, Gabby. I know.”

  “I don't want things to be weird . . . I can't imagine a world where you aren't in my life,” she sighs, then puts her arms around my shoulders. “Can we not talk about this? Can we just dance?”

  I move in close, setting my hands on her hips. Tilting my face down, I press my forehead to hers.

  She shuts her eyes.

  The way her scent stirs in my chest scares the shit out of me. Because I want to sink my hands in her hair and pull her lips to mine.

  We dance. Too slow for the music. Too slow for the crowd. We dance to the strange silence between us, where neither of us is quite telling the truth.

  Finally, I move my lips to her ear.

  “I want you, Gabby. I want to be with you.”

  The words escape my lips in a soft whisper, but they leave a burning behind in my chest.

  Gabby shakes her head. But she doesn't pull away. She leans into me, bringing our bodies flush together as we sway softly to a different tune than everyone else.

  This has always been us, creating our own reality, far from the reach of the world.

  But Gabby doesn't respond to my words. Even with her arms around me, even with her body pressed to mine, her silence stings. I swallow back my disappointment. Then I remember she's had too much to drink.

  This isn't the time.

  This isn't the place.

  So, we dance.

  I try to focus on the here and now. How she feels incredible in my arms. How I've said the words I was afraid to say, and yet I haven't lost her. Even though she's still not mine.

  God, I want her to be mine.

  But her delicious scent is shrouded by the smell of liquor and after we dance for a while, Gabby stumbles off for another drink. She's trying to avoid the conversation, I know she is. But she's going to make herself sick.

  Finally, I say, “Let's get you home.”

  We go find Remi, who tells us she wants to stay longer.

  Gabby holds onto me as we make our way back through the dance floor and out of the bar to flag down a cab.

  It's on the ride home Gabby does something crazy.

  She stares at me. Hard. Her eyes reaching into mine, eclipsed by a lust I've never seen on her before. An intoxicating look that makes me want to fuck her right in the back of this cab like a goddamn animal.

  “Fuck it,” she whispers, moving in on me.

  “Gabby . . .” I suck in a breath.

  One of her hands is on the back of my neck, keeping my face on hers, but her other hand is smoothing down the front of my shirt, wandering dangerously close to the belt of my pants.

  In a far-off voice, she says, “Let’s do this. Right now . . .”

  She's drunk, so far gone.

  I take her hand in mine to stop her from reaching too low.

  Even as the world spins from the rush of her touch. The way she's staring at me.

  Goddamn it.

  The cab comes to a stop at her place. I walk her to her door and help her find her keys in her bag.

  The street lamp overhead casts her perfect face in beautiful shadows. I want her so bad it's ripping me at the seams not to take her right here on her front steps.

  She brings her arms up around my neck and presses her body against me again.

  “Don’t you want to?” she asks. “Don’t you ever think about us?”

  I don't know how long we stand there, bodies flushed and pulses racing.

  I swallow back my hesitation.

  “You're all I fucking think about, Gabby.”

  Her reaction is slow, like she isn't sure if she imagined me saying it. But I can see the moment the words click into place. Her eyes light up the night. She pulls up on her tiptoes and tries to kiss me, but I take her face in my hands and lower my forehead to hers.

  This isn't how I want our first kiss to be.

  A drunken mistake on her doorstep.

  “You're drunk, Gabby.”

  “I'm fine, I promise,” she breathes. “You should come in.”

  I have to shut my eyes before I answer.

  Because . . . fuck, I can't believe I'm about to turn her down.

  “I think you should get some rest.”

  She looks like she might argue with me, but she doesn't. I keep my hands deep in my pockets as she opens her front door and walks into her entryway.

  When she turns to look at me one last time, there's a tangible promise in the air between us . . .


  It's not too late to change your mind.

  I want to come in. So fucking bad.

  There's something about her tonight, about the uninhibited way she's looking at me, that's ripped open a possibility I don't want to touch if it means it won’t ever go beyond just one drunken night.

  I'm in love with her.

  I've known it for a while.

  “Goodnight, Gabby,” I say.

  I head back to the waiting cab, telling myself nothing will change come morning time.

  I'm going to show her what we can be.

  One night—that's all this is.

  Except it’s not.

  I had no way of knowing as I walked down her front walkway, I was about to lose her to someone else, forever.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Dean

  I walk down the hall, loosening the knot of my tie one millimeter at a time. Not that it makes a difference—it's not the collar of my shirt strangling me, or the fact I'm wearing a suit in the middle of the summer.

  It's the idea of seeing Gabby in a wedding gown.

  I'm halfway to her suite when a shadow crosses my peripheral and Jordan appears in front of me, frowning in his four-piece suit.

  “Where are you going?” he asks.

  “I'm going to see Gabby.”

  He straightens. “No, I don't think so. You can't just go in there and—”

  I take a step forward and Jordan pulls back a fraction.

  “Get out of my way, Jordan.”

  “No.” He sounds firm, but his Adam's apple bobs in a swallow, making the teal bow-tie he's wearing quiver.

  My hands are curling into fists at my sides. I can't help but consider how good it would feel to drive my fist into the side of his weak jaw.

  Down the hall, a door clicks open and Remi comes running toward us in a long, bright dress. She rushes to stand between us.

  “Whoa, what's going on here?”

  “Jordan was just about to get out of my way so I can go check on Gabby.”

  “If something is wrong with Gabby, I'll be the one to go check on her,” Jordan says.

  Remi sighs, running a palm over the back of her neck. “Okay, listen. Jordan—you can't go in there. You're not supposed to see her before the ceremony, it's bad luck. It's best if Dean goes in and talks to her for a few minutes. She needs her best friend.”

  Jordan's frown deepens. “What exactly is going on with her?”

  Remi's mouth opens, but she hesitates.

  “Uh, you know. Just the normal jitters . . . feeling ugly and all that . . .”

  She's not convincing anyone.

  The worry creeping across Jordan's face tells me we're both thinking the same thing.

  Is Gabby having second thoughts?

  I've spent the last few months parsing every word she spoke, hoping to find evidence she's not as happy as she seems. That Jordan isn't as fucking perfect as he seems.

  But he is.

  The guy's a goddamn saint. He treats Gabby like a queen and has the means to give her everything she deserves.

  And that's where all roads lead . . . Gabby deserves everything. And if she's truly happy—I'm not going to be a selfish bastard and try to stand in her way.

  There's only been a single point of contention in Gabby and Jordan's relationship.

  Me.

  He's bent over backwards to give Gabby the wedding of her dreams. But when she begged him to let me be in the ceremony as one of the groomsmen, he resisted and it caused an argument between them. Gabby only let up when I convinced her I was fine with not being in the wedding party. Secretly, I was relieved not to be. I can think of a dozen torture devices I'd find more pleasant than standing a few feet from Jordan as he marries the woman I love.

  Now Gabby's freaking out? Does this mean she's having a change of heart? I try and fail to push down an idiotic surge of hope.

  Remi sets a hand on Jordan's arm and gives him a reassuring look. “It's going to be fine. This is all normal. Get back to your room and trust me. Okay?”

  Jordan's gaze moves toward me and hardens. But Remi gives his arm another little squeeze and he nods. “Fine.”

  He turns and walks off in the opposite direction. Straightening my suit, I follow Remi to the bridal suite.

  The sitting room is full of women in teal dresses, lounging on any surface they can. Some doing their makeup, others scrolling through their phones.

  “Where is she?” I ask.

  Remi leads me to a set of doors.

  An older woman wearing a teal suit runs up and sets her hand on the door handle.

  “Excuse me, where is he going?” she hisses to Remi.

  I recognize her. She's Jordan's mother.

  “Gabby asked for him,” Remi hisses back, clearly nearing the edge of her patience.

  The woman takes a step back, her face and neck flushing. “It looks inappropriate for another man to—”

  “Oh, for God's sake.” Remi pulls the door open. “I'll be in there too, okay?”

  We step in and Remi closes the door on the woman's red face.

  This room has a king-size bed and sweeping views of Central Park. Gabby is nowhere to be seen.

  Remi sits on the edge of the bed and nods toward the bathroom. “She's in there.”

  The bathroom door is open just a sliver. I rap my knuckles against it, gently.

  “Gabby? Can I come in?”

  There's a soft sigh, then, “Yeah.”

  The bathroom has so many mirrored walls, I'm not sure what I see first. Reflections of tiles, sinks and tan walls. Then comes a small voice from the corner of the room.

  “Hey.”

  Gabby is sitting in the empty bathtub wearing a white robe.

  I unbutton my suit jacket, tug it off and fling it over the white granite counter.

  “Hey . . .” I say.

  Kneeling beside her, I take in her appearance. That's my first mistake.

  I've never seen her look so gorgeous. Maybe it's something about her skin set against the white porcelain of the tub and the white robe, but she looks velvety tan, with a breathtaking glow. Her blonde hair is gathered up in an elaborate hairstyle I couldn't describe if I tried.

  She looks regal.

  Like a fucking queen.

  She's not looking at me, though. She's staring at her manicured hands. A single leg peeking out of the slit of her robes.

  “Gabby, what's going on?”

  She shuts her eyes. “Fuck. Dean, what I am doing? Am I ready for this?”

  My body goes cold.

  Stupidly, it hadn't occurred to me she would need me to convince her this wedding is a good idea.

  “You can't ask me that,” I say, reaching in to sweep a stray hair from her forehead. “You're the one who needs to stand up there and say those vows.”

  Gabby takes a deep breath, then another. Then another. I realize her breathing is picking up and not slowing down. She brings her hands up in front of her and starts shaking them as though to ward off her thoughts.

  “Fuck. Fuck. I'm freaking out. This is normal, right? Remi says it's normal. He's a great guy, right?”

  She casts her gaze up at me for the first time. Under a pair of thick, dark lashes, her typically light-brown eyes shine an electric caramel color.

  They're like a punch to my stomach.

  “Move over,” I say.

  “What?”

  “That tub looks like it's big enough for both of us. Move over.”

  It is. I kick off my shoes and move in beside Gabby, pulling an arm around her. She curves around the side of my body and settles her head comfortably on my chest. Her scent envelopes me, lifting me inches from the earth. I resist the urge to close my eyes, resist the nagging fear this may well be the last time we can do something like this.

  “Remember when we were ten,” I say, “and you dared me to ride my bike over to the creepy house down the block?”

&nb
sp; She shakes with a small laugh. “Yeah, you almost got caught stealing flowers from their backyard.”

  “Not just any flowers. Big yellow ones you needed for your special magic spell.”

  Gabby covers her face. “Oh God. I seriously thought I could do real magic from a random website online. It seemed so legit.”

  “I bet you don’t remember what the spell was for.”

  “I do. It was supposed to grant me a wish. So, I wished for my perfect future. The perfect husband, eight kids, a big house with a barn and horses—you think I can find all that in the city?” She snorts.

  We grow silent for a minute, like we're both imagining the same thing. Two little kids, crushing flower petals in bowls and whispering nonsense words under our breaths.

  “Hey, Dean . . . I can’t remember what your wish was.”

  I look down at her face, but she's staring straight ahead, as though our memories are projected onto the white tiles of the bathroom.

  “I wished for your wish to come true.”

  Gabby lifts her head to look at me, her eyebrows arched. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. All I remember, even back then, is I wanted you to be happy. I really do, Gabby. I want you to be happy. No matter what. That's always going to be my wish.”

  Gabby blinks a few times. “Stop it, you're going to make me cry. Do you know how emotional I am today?”

  I kiss her forehead, my chest aching.

  There's a beast clawing its way from inside of me, desperate to make its presence known.

  It's the part of me that's made me reckless and impulsive in every other aspect of my life except for my relationship with Gabby.

  She's the one thing I couldn't bring myself to risk—and that's the reason I lost her.

  Gabby lets out a breath. “I know I'm being ridiculous. Jordan is great. He's going to be an amazing husband.”

  Her words hover overhead and seem to slowly lower on me. Two months ago, my grandfather was on his deathbed. He was the only person who knew how I really felt about Gabby. I told him I was going to tell her how I felt, that very night. The words he spoke, which were among his last to me, shattered me.

  Let her go, Dean. She's happy.

  Let her be happy.

  There was a part of me that hoped my grandfather would offer me one last rallying cry, pushing me into the arena. But he didn't. Even he couldn't imagine a world where I'd be able to give Gabby a better life than Jordan could.