by Elise Faber
And that gave him hope in his plan.
Her lips parted, tongue darting out to moisten the bottom one. Just that tiny poke of pink against red had him hardening.
He wanted that tongue in his mouth. He wanted that tongue on his cock.
He wanted his tongue in—
Not. The. Time.
Luke sucked in a breath and took a step back. “Come on.” He turned, walked away from her, even though that was the last damn thing he wanted to do.
But patience.
Stifling a sigh, Luke moved to the edge of the parking lot, to where he’d set everything up, pretending casualness but not actually relaxing until he heard Becky’s soft footsteps trail him across the asphalt.
“What are we doing here—?” Drawing equal with him, she sucked in a breath.
“Remember senior prom?”
Becky had gone stag, even though they’d been dating, wanting to support Abby and Sera, who’d broken up with their boyfriends just before the dance, and Luke had spent the whole night drooling over her in her skintight red dress.
But it had been after the dance was over, when she’d climbed into his car and they’d driven away from the school together, that they'd created the real memories.
He laced his fingers through hers, tugging her forward and onto the plaid blanket he’d laid out. A bottle of sparkling apple cider sat in one corner, sandwiched by two glasses, and a box of It’s-Its sat in the other. Vanilla ice cream sandwiched between two oatmeal cookies and dipped in chocolate, they were a treat from Becky’s childhood.
Luke had been eighteen, okay? It’s-Its and sparkling cider were about as romantic as he’d gotten at that age.
Hence the blanket on the grass in an empty park. Yes, the night had been pretty, the stars as bright then as they were that evening, but he hadn’t considered much besides getting Becky alone and convincing her to let him score a kiss . . . or more.
Eighteen, remember?
Her eyes hit on the box of treats and her lips curved. “Really?”
He shrugged. “It was the first time you let me kiss you, of course, I had to reenact it.”
“Kissing is what got us into this mess in the first place, remember?” she grumbled, but she slipped her hand from his and sank down onto the blanket anyway, reaching for the box of treats. “A little easier to get these this time,” she said.
Considering Luke had gone to close to a dozen stores back then trying to find Becky’s official Bay Area It’s-Its—no East Coast imposters would do—he had to agree.
Today, he’d visited one grocery store and scored the goods. Selecting a park that had been similar to theirs from that night had been a little more difficult. Turned out that creeping around neighborhood parks after dark made him look like a drug dealer, at least according to the cops who’d visited him while he was scoping one out a few nights before.
Luckily, handcuffs hadn’t been involved . . . or rather, Luke hadn’t ended up wearing them. Thankfully, the officers had taken pity on him after he’d confessed all, even giving him a hint for a good location to take her.
Not that Becky needed to know any of that, especially the almost-handcuffed part. Tonight, he just wanted her to relax, to remember the good things about them.
Or at least that Luke knew her well enough to bring her It’s-Its.
She tore into the box, pulled one out. He sat next to her, waiting while she unwrapped it and devoured half. Only after she sighed contentedly, pausing her scarfing for a few moments, did Luke ask, “As good as you remember?”
Becky turned her face toward his, and he saw a hint of the girl she’d been.
Content to just sit with him, to enjoy a grocery store treat, to smile up at him like he was the answer to everything wrong in her life, in the world.
A hero because he’d bought her some chocolate-covered, ice cream-filled oatmeal cookies that had been half-melted by the time they’d eaten them, despite the cooler he’d packed them in.
Life was simpler in high school.
“I haven’t had one of these in ages,” she murmured. “Still the best ever.”
He opened the cider, poured two glasses, and handed her one. “Still a good way to stave off homesickness?”
Becky took the glass and sipped before setting it aside. She lay back on the blanket, arms crossed behind her head, gaze on the stars. “I’m home now.”
“Doesn’t mean there isn’t something to miss.”
“Hmm.” She kept her eyes on the sky. “Stop hovering over me and lie down. The stars are beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“Pish.” Becky waved a lazy hand. “Down.”
Luke complied, lying back on the blanket, careful to keep a few inches between them, just like he’d done as a scared teenager, trying to make a good impression on the girl he was infatuated with.
He was still striving for that good impression.
Or at least a reformed one.
They stared up at the sky, silence descending between them, not uncomfortable, exactly, but filled with the tension of the past and the high stakes of the present.
“I’d half-expected you not to show up,” he said after a few minutes.
Becky shrugged. “I made a promise.”
“Why did you make the promise?” he asked, rolling to his side to study her. Moonlight gilded the lines of her face—turning her pert nose, smooth jaw, and plump lips into something reminiscent of a marble statue.
Beautiful and yet somehow untouchable.
She shifted onto her side and watched him, gray eyes almost black in the dim light. “You won the bet, remember?”
He raised a brow, waited, and . . . there it was.
The slightest flicker of emotion. She wasn’t just holding up her side of the agreement, there was something more, a deeper feeling, a draw that wasn’t easy for her to dismiss, and for now, that was enough.
“I had wet dreams about that red dress of yours for years.” Luke had gotten his sign, and now he wanted to say something to jar her out of her worries, to see the woman who didn’t take any shit, to see that sass he loved so much.
The teasing statement worked. Becky’s jaw dropped open, and fire flashed in her eyes. “You’re a pig.”
“You knew that I was slavering over you that whole night, watching you dance with the girls, hiding a boner in my slacks, and dying to get my hands on you.”
A wicked smile curved her lips. “Maybe I liked teasing you.”
“All I knew is that I loved it.” He laughed. “Spank bank material for days.”
“Such. A. Pig.”
“Definitely the luckiest pig around,” he said.
“You were the sweetest boy around.” She sighed, expression almost gentle. “I think that night—the treats on a moon-gilded blanket—was the first time in my life someone did something for me just because they knew I’d enjoy it.”
And he’d ruined that. Fuck.
He gritted his teeth against the fury he felt at being such an idiot. “You deserved the world, and I—”
Soft fingers brushed his jaw. “You always were good at beating yourself up.” She rolled back over, eyes up on the stars again. “You know what I remember from that night?”
He shook his head when her head tilted back toward him, her stare finding his.
“I remember you being upset at yourself that you’d forgotten to bring an extra blanket because I got cold in my skimpy dress. I remember you giving me your jacket and the first glass of cider. I remember the feel of your lips on mine, the heat of your tongue, the way our mouths seemed to fit perfectly together.” Her voice dropped. “And . . . I remember thinking it was the best first kiss a girl could ask for.”
“I—”
“The problem between us never was chemistry or romance. And it wasn’t grand gestures or simple date nights. You were always way better at that stuff than I was.”
He was still spinning from her revelation that he’d been her first kiss. She’d neve
r told him that, and Luke felt a pulse of disquiet, wondering what else she might have withheld. He brushed the back of his knuckles down her arm. “So if that wasn’t the issue, then what was our problem?”
“We weren’t compatible,” she said, tone less matter of fact than he’d expected, considering the plain words. In fact, it was almost gentle, at least until she pushed to her feet. “We wanted different things. We still want different things. Simple as that.”
Luke sat up, but she sidestepped him when he reached for her hand then bent to pick up the box of It’s-Its and turned in the direction of her car.
“I want you,” he said. “Any or every part you want to give me.”
She paused, fingers on the door handle. “What happens when you don’t like what you’re given?”
“That’s not possible—”
Her chin dropped to her chest. “Nothing was ever enough for you, Luke. Not me. Not us. Not—”
“You’re enough.”
Wrong answer. Becky shook her head, pulled open the door, and got into her car. Luke watched her drive away, not sure if he’d blown this whole thing before it even got off the ground or if progress had been made.
The past still had its claws in them.
The plus was that Becky was actually talking to him.
Nine
Bec
She was raw inside.
She had to take back control.
She . . . needed to focus on work.
Bec sighed and pushed her chair back. It was Monday morning, and normally she would be raring to start her work week, but . . . It’s-Its and a plaid blanket, memories of tentative kisses and strong arms.
Luke Pearson had been back in her life for less than a week, and last night he’d—
What?
Made her feel something? Made her ache for their past to have been different?
Of course. But fuck, the thing about life was that they couldn’t go back.
And so now she was scrambling, trying to find her happy in the law and loopholes and briefs, and she still couldn’t change the past.
She and Luke had their chance, and it was ridiculous to try to resurrect something that had nearly destroyed them both.
Stupid, even.
Rebecca Darden wasn’t stupid.
She had to end this. Now. Yesterday.
Picking up her cell, Bec began composing the text in her mind. She’d have to be firm, deliberate in pushing him away, otherwise—
Her eyes processed what was on the screen.
She hadn’t even heard her phone buzz, but sure enough, on the screen was a text from Luke.
You promised me ten dates, don’t back out now.
“Ugh!” She flopped back into her chair, temper spiking. If the annoying specimen of a man had gone sweet and gentle, tried to convince her to keep giving him another chance nicely, it would have been so easy to give him the kiss-off. But, dammit, he’d gone and called her honor into question.
Well, fuck honor.
She opened the text chain, started to type a reply, but another message came through.
Don’t be a chicken now, Darden.
Double ugh. Now he was questioning her lady balls.
And, double dammit, she had giant lady balls. Luke Pearson didn’t scare her.
Nope. Not in the least.
Then why are you looking for one of those loopholes you’re so good at finding? Hmm? her brain accused.
Nine dates. Nine nights. Nine—
Oh God, she couldn’t do this. Any good attorney worth her salt knew when she needed to take a step back and regroup. She groaned, dropped her head to her desk. Because how did she regroup against the yumminess that was Luke?
Yumminess?
Had she really just used that word?
Thunk. Maybe she could use her desk to knock some sense back into her brain. Thunk. Thunk. Th—
“I knew you’d be like this.”
Bec glanced up and saw Seraphina standing in the doorway of her office.
“What is it with everyone invading my work lately?”
Sera propped one hand on her hip, her assets jiggling with the movement. Really, her boobs were insane. If Bec hadn’t seen them appear junior year, she would have been convinced her friend had spawned from another planet. Slender, a beautiful face, and as tall as Bec, Sera was beyond buxom and even more gorgeous than most actresses or models.
And the worst part about it?
She was nice.
Like, super nice. Like as nice and kind and beautiful on the inside as she was on the out.
Great. Now Bec sounded like a teenage Valley Girl.
Like this. Like that. Like—
“Why are you staring at me like I’ve suddenly sprouted antennae?”
“Because your boobs are superhuman.”
Seraphina rolled her eyes, crossed to the front of Bec’s desk, and all but threw a container of food at her. And no wonder Bec hadn’t heard her phone buzz. Despite feeling off her game, she’d worked almost six hours straight.
“Molly’s?” she asked hopefully.
Sera scoffed. “As if I’d bring you anything else.” She dropped into the chair and opened her own container. “Spinach, goat cheese, and apples. Plus, I got you extra walnuts.”
“You’re a goddess.”
Sera huffed. “That’s what the idiot cashier said.”
Seraphina wasn’t unaware that she was beautiful. She’d spent a lifetime dealing with boys and men, and women for that matter, fawning over her. But Sera was also the least superficial person Bec had ever met.
Many a person had said that Sera’s beauty was wasted on her because she just didn’t care about the way she looked.
She didn’t want to be an actress or a model or an influencer.
She wanted to find Mr. Right and settle down and be a mom.
Unfortunately, all the potential Mr. Rights seemed to be blinded by her beauty. They discounted her smarts—she was a successful real estate agent—and treated her like the dumb blonde bimbo she wasn’t.
“Men are idiots.”
“Not all of them,” Sera said through a mouthful of spinach. “Some of them are good.”
Forever optimistic.
“Don’t look at me,” Sera added. “I know I’m naïve, but I can’t help it if I’m holding out for my happily ever after. Abby, CeCe, Heather, Rachel, they’ve all found someone. We can, too.”
Bec made a noise that could be interpreted as agreement . . . or disagreement. One of those two, for sure.
Sera pushed the container closer Bec and continued to eat. Bec stared suspiciously at her friend, waiting for the interrogation to start. She wouldn’t break under Sera’s probing—she was Rebecca Fucking Darden, after all—but she also wasn’t looking forward to an argument.
When Sera got an idea in her head, she resembled a dog to a bone.
But despite Bec opening the salad and taking a large bite—fucking delicious with the extra candied walnuts, by the way—Sera’s inquisition didn’t come.
They ate their salads in between Sera relating the persistent pickup attempts of the cashier at Molly’s, and pretty soon her friend had her in hysterics over the much younger man’s melodrama.
“I mean, I try not to be judgmental. Age is really just a number, but I’m not into college drama students and especially one who can break into a soliloquy from Romeo and Juliet at the drop of a hat when I politely turn him down.” She raised her fork toward the ceiling, punctuating her statement. “Does he even know how that play ends? This just in: it’s a freaking tragedy.”
“Unbelievable,” Bec said.
“The worst part?” Sera moaned. “My love life’s the real tragedy.”
“That’s not true,” Bec felt obliged to say, though if she was being truly honest, tragedy was a fitting word for the gorgeous inside and out Sera to have not found a man to really appreciate her.
Sera dropped her container into the trash. “It’s true. Very true. But then again, I
’m not the one who has a sexy Texan wanting a second chance with her.”
There it was.
Bec sighed. “Sera—”
She lifted her hands in surrender. “I’m not going to say anything, but if I had a man in my life who looked at me the way Luke Pearson looks at you . . .”
“That’s saying something.”
Sera kept talking. “Further that, Luke gets under your skin, Bec. He always has, and for a woman like you, that’s critical. Otherwise, it’s just too easy for you to ignore the men you date.”
“I don’t ignore men!”
“Scott, Steven, Sam, Sean, Michael.” Sera ticked off the names on her fingers. “Also, sidenote, you date too many men whose names start with the letter S.” A grin. “I think it’s the perfect time to include one that begins with L. Maybe even a boyfriend”—she coughed—“or a husband that beings with L.”
Bec lifted one brow, disregarding the L assertion and restating the important facts. “I do not ignore men.”
Sera did some disregarding of her own. “Luke is who you’re supposed to be with, don’t you see? He’s your chance at an HEA! It’s the perfect trope—a second chance romance with your high school sweetheart.”
“Sera.” Bec sighed, rubbed her temples. “Things aren't that simple. Real life isn’t fiction.”
“I know that.”
“Except, you don’t. You’re so sweet and innocent, and you believe that everyone has good inside of them.” Bec tossed her own container into the trash. “But I’ve seen shit. The world isn’t good. There are loads of people who don’t have your best interests in mind, who don’t have any qualms about breaking your heart when you give them all the pieces of yourself.”
Sera leaned back in her chair. “Ah.”
Bec had been ready and raring for a monologue. Sera’s ah took the wind out of her sails. “Ah, what?”
“You’re scared.”
Now that was just enough. That was the second time in the span of an hour that someone had accused her of being scared. She was Bec Darden, scared wasn’t in her vernacular—unless it was felt by the person on the receiving end of her death stare.
“I’m not scared,” Bec said. “I’m not the one who keeps putting my life on hold, waiting for someone who may never come. I’m living and—”
