by Lexi Ryan
“I told you about the restaurant?”
Maggie and Hanna walk into the kitchen, heading for the coffee. “Sweetie, you told everyone about the restaurant,” Maggie says.
My cheeks fill with heat. I wouldn’t have thought embarrassment was possible with my head pounding this hard. “That is…mortifying.”
“It wasn’t too bad,” Hanna says softly. “I mean, you didn’t go into graphic detail about your orgasm or anything.”
My face is on fire. “You’re not helping, Hanna.”
“You did tell us all about your panties, though,” Lizzy says. “Now I want some like that. So fucking hot.”
Asher walks into the kitchen and wraps his arms around Maggie, pulling her back to his front before whispering something in her ear.
I look at Lizzy and Hanna. “Are they always like that?”
Hanna leans on the breakfast bar and props her chin on her hands, sighing. “They’re even worse when they think no one is looking. We’re all jealous. Liz and I told him he has to find us our own rock stars, but so far, nothing.”
Lizzy frowns at my phone. “I can’t believe he never wrote back. Most guys would have been knocking down the door to take you up on these offers. And this last one?” She whistles low and looks at me with a raised brow. “You are creative, I’ll give you that.” She shows the phone to Hanna, who takes it and cocks her head while reading.
“Wow. That’s… You can actually…? And he never showed up? I wonder if he’s in the hospital somewhere.”
I snatch my phone back, then wince as pain ricochets through my head at the sudden movement.
“More than likely, he knew she was drunk,” Maggie says softly, eyeing me. “Will’s a good guy. He doesn’t take advantage.”
I rub my temples. Last night it became clear to me that Will has a history with both Maggie and her oldest sister, Krystal. Of course, no one wanted to talk about it, but I filed away the information. This is New Hope, after all. If I put my mind to it, I won’t have to go far to find someone who knows the whole story and wants to gab.
“Maggie’s right,” Hanna’s saying. “Call him today, sober, and I’m sure he’ll be all yours.”
“I don’t want him to be mine.”
Lizzy snorts. “Bullshit. The tequila-addled brain doesn’t lie.”
“It’s a bad idea. I’m leaving in a few months—max.”
Maggie is frowning at me, worry lines creasing her forehead.
Hanna puts her hand on my arm. “You were always the one telling us to keep an open mind and an open heart. You were the one convinced that if we just believed, good things would come into our lives. What happened to that girl?”
She sold out for a paycheck. “It’s complicated. Being with Will would only hurt him in the long run.”
“Then leave him alone.” Maggie steps toward me. Asher touches her arm, but Maggie shakes her head and he backs off. “All Will wants in this world is to get married and make a family of his own. He might be attracted to Cally, but if she knows she won’t give him that, she should stay away.”
Hanna and Lizzy are looking at their hands, and Asher’s eyes have gone sad. There’s definitely more to this story than I’ve been told.
“I agree.” My phone buzzes, and I take it back from Hanna to see a text from Drew.
Gabby had nightmares all night and I had to climb in bed with her, and dad made some sort of tofu-nugget sausage for breakfast that smells like roadkill. If you come home without an Asher Logan autograph on your boob, you are no longer my sister.
“I need to go.”
“Don’t rush away because of some silly texts,” Lizzy says. “Asher’s going to make us breakfast.”
It isn’t the texts that have me running. It’s the reminder that some sexy texts sent to an old boyfriend are the least of my worries.
“But before I go….” I grab a Sharpie from the basket on the counter. “Maggie, is it all right if I have your boyfriend sign my chest?”
I don’t want to wake up. I want to snuggle in closer to Cally and breathe in her scent while I sleep the day away. Then when I do wake up, I want to do it slowly, exploring her body with my hands and mouth before I bother opening my eyes.
Except she doesn’t smell right.
I wrap my arm tighter around her waist and pull her closer. She must be using a different shampoo. She still smells good but more like perfume and less like…Cally.
But fuck sleeping, I’m hard just thinking about having her this close to me. I’ve been dreaming about her since she came back to town. About holding her. Touching her. Sliding inside her.
I fan my fingers under the waistband of her jeans, and she moans sweetly…
Only it’s not Cally’s moan.
My eyes fly open and I jerk upright in bed. Not my bed. My childhood bedroom at my grandmother’s house. And it’s not Cally next to me, it’s… Fuck.
Meredith rolls over and smiles, peering at me from under half-closed lids. Then her eyes snap open and her face is masked with horror as her hands drop to investigate her clothing.
We’re both fully dressed in the clothes we were wearing last night, and she appears to be as relieved by that as I am.
She tentatively lifts her hand to her head then grabs a pillow to press over her face.
“When did we start spiking our coffee like the old ladies?” I ask, rubbing my shoulder.
“When they were half drunk and kicking our asses,” she mutters behind the pillow. “We decided it was giving them an edge.”
“Rookie mistake,” I mutter.
She lifts the pillow and peeks at me from under the corner. “We didn’t? I mean…you don’t think we…? Will Cally be upset?”
I shake my head. “We didn’t do anything but sleep.”
“I don’t know if that’s true,” she mutters, sitting up.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I definitely woke up to someone groping me.”
I drag my hand over my face. “I thought you were Cally.”
The more I wake up, the more I remember about last night. It was Grandma’s idea that we stay over, and we came to my room, laughing about how she was probably planning for us to conceive her great-grandchild.
We had fun. Meredith and me. I’m remembering how much I like her. She’s funny and carefree and smart. Last night she stood up for herself when the old ladies were giving her a hard time about her series of love life foibles.
She didn’t push herself on me. She even asked questions about Cally. About our history.
Cally.
She texted me last night, and Meredith didn’t think I should reply. “You still have my phone?”
She pulls it from her pocket and tosses it toward me on the bed.
I pull up my text messages and see that I missed three more messages after the first. I blink at my screen.
“Is she mad you didn’t text back?”
My stomach pitches and twists in a mix of worry, nerves, and boyish giddiness. “She must have been drinking,” I say, more to myself than Meredith.
“Is she okay?”
“I think I’ll go find out.” I run a hand through my hair and attempt to smooth my clothes. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Breakfast?”
“I’m good. Go get your girl.”
“Thanks for being so cool about everything, Meredith.”
She presses the pillow against her stomach and gives me a sad smile. “It’s nothing.”
I decide to drive over instead of call, but when I pull up to Arlen Fisher’s house, I’m suddenly questioning my plan. What did I think I was going to do? Point at the last text and say, This one, pretty please?
Drew and Gabby are sitting in camping chairs out on the front deck, Drew’s eyes on her phone and Gabby looking out toward the river.
I climb off my bike and head toward the house, but I haven’t even hit the deck when I can hear Cally’s voice—loud, angry.
“You had two thousand dollars in the savin
gs account yesterday. Where did it go?”
I can’t hear her father’s words, just the deep murmur of him speaking.
“You’re kidding me! A guru? You don’t need a guru. The girls need textbooks. They need lunch. Stop giving your money away to some fraud promising things he can never deliver.” Pause. “Kids are expensive. And this house is falling apart.” Pause. “So, what? You’re just going to meditate your way to a better net worth? You have to get a job and you have to stop spending money on this bullshit.”
“Dad dropped two grand on one-on-one counseling with his guru,” Drew explains. “He wants to be enlightened or something stupid like that. And now Cally’s mad because we can’t afford the uniform for me to be on the cheerleading practice squad. Never mind that I don’t want to be a stupid cheerleader. I only did it at home because my friends did. I don’t have friends here.”
More murmuring from inside. Then Cally, her voice less angry: “Well, you should have known better. Mom was never good with money.”
“Translation,” Drew drones, “Mom was a druggy.”
I swallow, wondering what Cally would think if she knew I was here, hearing this.
“How many fucking autographed spiritual books do you have? Sell a few of those and beef up your checking account.” Pause. “You’re writing a book? Show me a big-ass contract from a real fucking publisher and I’ll believe it. Call the college and get a real job.”
More murmuring.
“We should have stayed in Vegas,” Drew sing-songs.
Cally: “If politics are the worst you have to face to put food on the table, you’re one lucky bastard. Get over it.” Then we hear the clack of footsteps, and she’s pushing out onto the deck, the door slamming behind her.
She doesn’t even see me. She’s studying her shoes, her chest heaving. I can’t tell if she’s crying or just angry. I open my mouth to announce my presence, but Drew beats me to it.
“You have company.”
Cally’s head snaps up and her eyes widen as she spots me. “William.”
“Cally.”
“Did you hear all…. Shit.”
“Can we talk?” I ask.
She looks to Drew, then Gabby.
“We’re fine,” Drew says, shooing us away.
Gabby nods, giving me a half smile and a little wave of her fingers.
Cally draws her lower lip between her teeth, her brow wrinkling as she studies the girls.
Finally tearing her eyes from her phone, Drew says, “Go give your boyfriend a blow job and maybe he’ll buy us a nice dinner.”
Cally draws in a sharp breath, but before she can speak, Gabby says, “Behave!” It’s one word, but it’s clear and strong, and it wipes the rage off Cally’s face. Drew’s jaw drops.
Cally presses a kiss to Gabby’s hair, then heads down the steps toward me.
“Wanna get out of here?” I nod to my bike, wanting to give her the break the strain around her eyes says she desperately needs. “We could go for a ride.”
She shakes her head and tucks her hands into the pockets of her jean shorts. “Can we just walk?” She points to the gravel lane that meets up with the paved jogging path along the river.
“Sure.”
It’s a beautiful day, unseasonably cool for late August in Indiana and a nice break from last week’s heat. Sunlight reflects off the water and makes her dark hair shine.
“I guess you’re here about the texts I sent? I can only apologize. I had a little too much tequila.”
I am, but that seems trivial in light of the argument I just overhead between her and her father.
“Do you need money? I can loan you—”
“Please don’t. I already owe you for the groceries and the space for my massage studio.” She looks out at the river. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
I let it drop—for now—and we walk in silence.
“You could do something for me,” she finally says.
Anything. “What’s that?” We wander onto a little dock and pause to look out at the water.
“See if there are any adjunct positions open at the college? Dad could use the work. Philosophy, religion. Anything like that. You know he’s qualified.”
“I’ll make some calls, but don’t get your hopes up. The fall semester starts on Monday, so they probably have all the classes covered.”
She lets out a long, slow breath, her shoulders falling. “Right.”
“I’ll put in some calls. There are always temporary grant-funded positions he could consider for the short term. Research, maybe?”
“I appreciate it. I really do.” She turns and wraps her arms around me and buries her face in my chest. “I’m lucky to have you.”
I hug her back, pulling her close. God, I love the way she feels in my arms. Her hair is silky soft against my nose and I inhale deeply.
As if suddenly remembering herself, she stiffens and pulls away. “Sorry about that.”
“Hmm…about those text messages….”
She grins and hits my stomach with the back of her hand. Her cheeks blaze red with her blush. “And here I thought you were going to let me off the hook.”
“Maybe for the first three, but that last one isn’t something a guy forgets.”
She drops her gaze to the wooden planks of the dock. “I guess this is the part where I tell you that nothing can happen between us.”
“I don’t think we’ve been reading from the same script,” I mutter.
“You haven’t asked me why I didn’t come to prom. You haven’t asked why I ended things.”
A crane spreads its wings and glides low over the water. “I figured you would have already told me if you wanted me to know.” But my stomach folds over brutally at the reminder. Even seven years later, the memory still hurts.
“Can you promise not to ask me?” Her voice is so soft, and she’s studying me.
“If I asked, would I want to know the answer?”
She shakes her head and her eyes fill.
“You know my mind is going to answer the question anyway. I’ve had seven years to imagine what happened. The answers I’ve imagined have run the gamut. I’ve been pissed and worried and then pissed all over again. If you think not knowing is better, you’re wrong.” Stepping forward, I cup her face in my hands. Her eyes are moist but determined, and her cheeks are dry. I’ve thought about Maggie’s words a lot in the last few days. “I think you’d be amazed what I’ve been able to forgive of people, Cally. And none of them have been you. If you slept with someone while we were still together…,” I trail off as she closes her eyes.
“Don’t,” she whispers.
The light from the midday sun warms our shoulders, and the painful silence of regret wraps us in its barbed embrace.
Nothing can be done about the past, and I don’t need to know what happened to forgive her.
“I promise,” I say quietly.
Seven Years Ago
A DRIVER picks me up after dark. I was told to wear something classy. “A black dress will do. Don’t be afraid to show a little ass.”
I tell myself I don’t know what’s going to happen. I tell myself not to jump to the worst possible conclusion.
I climb into the limo in a black skirt and matching button-up blouse, and I’m greeted by the man from the restaurant. Anthony.
“Hey, sweet thing.” He runs his eyes over my body so slowly, my stomach churns.
When I broke down and called him for the money, I was only trying to keep my sisters off the streets and put some food in the fridge. He met me at the restaurant and gave me cash. For two weeks, everything was okay.
Then, yesterday, one of his guys showed up outside my apartment, looking for me to pay my debt with interest. I didn’t have it. I still don’t.
I swallow back my fear. “I’m sorry I don’t have your money yet. I thought I could pick up extra shifts but then the girls both got sick and—”
He cuts me off with the wave of his hand.
“I appreciate that you’re trying to save your family from living on the streets, sweetheart. But your minimum-wage job isn’t gonna cut it.” He laughs, as if this is some big joke. “The longer you try to get by on pennies, the further behind you fall.”
“We can go to a shelter,” I whisper. “I’ll get Mom to clean up first so they won’t call CPS. Or…maybe I should just let them put my sisters in foster care.” I don’t mean the last. I won’t let that happen. I can’t.
He leans back in his seat, studying me. “That doesn’t take care of the matter of money you already owe me.”
I bite my lip and taste blood. “What do you want from me?”
His eyes leave my face and drop to my breasts, and I don’t even care. He’s been looking at me like that since the beginning. I hate him and his eyes on me make my stomach churn, but I’d let him look at me all day long if it would just make this all go away. “You work for me now. I have a client waiting.”
“Please,” I whisper. “I’m a virgin. I can’t sell my body.”
He claps his hands together. “Now, that’s what I thought. Best news I’ve heard all day.”
I can’t allow my brain to process what that might mean.
Anthony narrows his eyes at me. “You don’t have to have sex tonight, sweetheart. We’ll give him a taste, but no intercourse, you hear me?” He tucks my hair behind my ear, and a shudder rocks through me. “We’re going to save that for now. It’s too valuable.”
They drop me at one of those fancy high rises where the man at the front gets permission from the tenant before letting you up. The high security does nothing for my peace of mind, and as I am led to the elevator, I feel like everyone is staring at me, like everyone knows exactly why I’m here. My stomach knots.
When the elevator doors slide open, a servant greets me and ushers me into the condo. It’s beautiful with sleek contemporary furnishings and a marble floor. And the moment I step inside, I want to turn around and leave.
He takes me to a room at the back of the condo where the ceilings are vaulted and the walls are covered with bookshelves. The man sits behind a polished desk and motions for his servant to leave. He’s attractive, probably in his mid-thirties with dark hair and striking hazel eyes, and he’s obviously wealthy. The kind of man my mother throws herself at. What could he want with me?