One and Only Boxed Set

by Melanie Harlow

  “Um …” Jason looked a little uncomfortable. “I’m not exactly sure where the chickens come from.”

  Laughing, I kicked Dallas under the table and said, “I’ll have the lobster spaghetti.”

  “And I’ll have the New York strip. Medium rare.” Dallas handed the menu over to Jason with a grin. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to give you a hard time.”

  The waiter smiled. “No problem. I’ll put this right in.”

  When we were alone again, I picked up my wine glass and stuck out my tongue at him. “Meanie.”

  “Sorry. Couldn’t help it. I felt like I knew what you were thinking. Was I right?” He took a sip of his drink.

  I looked off to one side, took a drink of wine. “Maybe.” When I looked back at him, the crooked grin was on his face, and my heart was zinging around in my chest like a pinball.

  I wondered if he knew what I was thinking then.

  Two glasses of wine, one bowl of lobster spaghetti, and half a slice of butterscotch peanut butter pie later, I was pleasantly tipsy, overly stuffed, and not at all ready for the night to end. Two hours had flown by. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed so much on a date.

  “You mentioned you like taking road trips,” I said, setting my fork down and picking up my cup of tea. “Where have you been?”

  “Lots of places.”

  “What are some of your favorites?”

  He ate another bite of pie and thought as he chewed. “Zion National Park. Zephyr Cove. Big Sky. The skiing is amazing there.”

  “I’ve never been skiing.”

  “What?” He finished the last of the pie and set down his fork. “What the hell do you do during winter?”

  “Fly somewhere warm for a yoga retreat, like Bali.”

  “I do like beaches. Can’t say I’ve ever been to Bali, though.”

  “You should go sometime, it’s so beautiful. Put it on your bucket list.”

  “I don’t really have a bucket list.” He picked up his cocktail.

  “No? Nothing you want to make sure you do before you leave this life and move on to the next?”

  He thought for a second. “You believe there’s a next life?”

  I shrugged. “Sure. I don’t know what it looks like or how we get there, but I like the Buddhist belief in karma.”

  “Oh yeah? Tell me about it.”

  “Well, I’m not an expert, but my understanding is that Buddhists believe our minds are totally separate from our bodies, and when we die, our consciousness continues to a deeper level. But our minds sort of save up positive actions, which sow the seeds of future happiness when you’re reborn. Negative actions sow the seeds of future suffering.” I shrugged. “That’s karma.”

  “Guess that means I’m fucked in the next life, huh?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Stop it. You’re a good person. You might have made some questionable decisions in this life, but that’s not the same as being cruel.”

  “Maybe we’ll meet again in the next life.”

  My pulse quickened. “Or maybe we’ve met before.”

  “It would explain a lot of things, wouldn’t it?” He sipped his drink. “So what’s on your bucket list?”

  “Lots of things. Ride a camel in the desert. Stand next to the Sphinx. Dive off a yacht into the sea.”

  “Which sea?”

  “I don’t know, I’m not too picky about that. Let’s say the Aegean.”

  “Aegean it is.”

  “But those are more superficial things. I’d really like to make a difference in people’s lives.” I looked down at the tablecloth. “That sounds trite and silly, but I really do want to help people. I teach free yoga classes for seniors at my studio, and I’ve done free programs for kids at low-income schools and in rural areas, but I wish there was something I could do on a broader scale.” I looked up and saw him smiling at me, but it wasn’t patronizing. It was genuine.

  “I bet you’ve helped more people than you realize.”

  Holding my tea in both hands, I shivered. “Got a little chilly up here all of a sudden, didn’t it?”

  Immediately, he set down his glass and took off his jacket. Rising to his feet, he moved behind me and draped it over my shoulders. “Here. Can’t let my prom date be cold.”

  I laughed and set the cup down, pulling the jacket tighter around me. It was warm and smelled like him. I sniffed the collar. “What is this?” I inhaled it again, and all my nether regions tingled. It was subtle and woodsy, manly but not overpowering. “I like it.”

  “It’s called He Wood,” he said with a grin as he sat down again.

  “Of course it is.” I looked down at the corsage on my wrist. “I still can’t get over all this, Dallas.”

  “Good.” He laughed a little. “Your face when you thought I might be trying to take you up to a hotel room was priceless.”

  “I bet. Are you even staying here?”

  “Yes. It’s a nice place.”

  “So when did you decide to do all this?”

  “Today. Your story about missing the prom kinda got to me. I felt bad.”

  “So this is a pity date? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Totally.” He grinned at me, and suddenly I knew how he’d felt the night he hadn’t wanted to say goodbye.

  I didn’t want to do it tonight.

  But you will, said a voice in my head. You have to. This isn’t real, Maren—it’s pretend. Maybe it’s not a pity date, but he did all this to be nice, not because he still has feelings for you. You don’t really have feelings for him, either. You’re just remembering what it was like when you did. And it’s making you feel lonely. But he lives in Portland, you live here, and you’re most likely never going to see each other again. So feel your feels, get your closure, and go home before you do something stupid. You’re strong, but you’re not invincible.

  A moment later, Jason returned with Dallas’s credit card, waited while he signed the check, and told us there was no rush to leave. When he’d gone, I sat back in my chair and sighed, looking out over the city lights. “Dallas, this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you for a wonderful night.”

  He looked surprised. “Do you have a curfew or something?”

  “No.”

  “Good, because we haven’t even danced yet.”

  I laughed. “You want to dance with me?”

  “Of course I do. It’s the prom, isn’t it? Grab my phone in my inside jacket pocket.”

  I reached into the pocket, pulled it out, and handed it to him. He searched for something, tapped the screen, and set it on the table. A song began to play, and I gasped. It was “Hey There Delilah,” a song I’d loved back then.

  “You remembered,” I said, feeling a lump in my throat.

  Dallas pushed his chair back, came around to my side of the table, and held out his hand. I took it and stood up, letting the jacket fall from my shoulders. He led me away from the table and slightly closer to the edge of the roof with a full view of the city beneath us. Without a word, he took me in his arms, and it was like home. Warm, safe, solid, familiar. I laid my head on his shoulder and pressed my body close to his. We swayed slowly, much slower than the tempo of the song, but I didn’t care. I wanted to be out of time with the rest of the world, I wanted us to be in a place where past, present, future didn’t exist. There was only us, here in this place, holding on to each other as if we’d never been apart. As if we’d never let go.

  The lump in my throat grew bigger, and I tried hard to hold back the tears. I breathed in and out, attempting to center myself in the moment and simply be grateful for it. But the scent of his skin only made me want the impossible even more. Eventually, a tear fell. And then another. I sniffled.

  Dallas stopped moving and leaned back from the waist. “Hey, you. I told you, there’s no crying at this prom.”

  I laughed and let go of him to wipe my eyes, hoping my mascara hadn’t run. “Sorry. I guess this trip down memory lane has me a litt
le emotional.”

  “It’s this song. It’s sappy as fuck.”

  I poked him on the chest. “Stop it. I still like this song.”

  “I know, but it’s making you sad, and I want to remember you smiling tonight. Let’s do something else. Something fun.”

  “Like what?”

  His eyes lit up in the dark. “I’ve got an idea.”

  “What is it?” I asked suspiciously. Dallas’s ideas could be trouble.

  “You’ll see.” He let go of my waist and took my hand, trying to pull me toward the door. “Come on.”

  “Dallas, my bag!” I cried, laughing as I tried to dig in my heels. “And your jacket and phone.”

  He hurried to the table, grabbed everything, and bolted for the door again.

  “Is this idea of yours even legal?” I asked, trying not to break an ankle hurrying down the stairs in my heels.

  “That’s debatable. But it doesn’t matter, because we’re not going to get caught.”

  I groaned. “You always said that.”

  “And we never did.”

  He was mostly right. As a couple, we’d been lucky—our parents had never walked in on us, a cop had never knocked on the window of his car, the condom had never broken.

  “Okay, we never did, but you did,” I reminded him. “Half the time, I used to think you wanted to get caught, you were so blatant about breaking rules.” We exited the stairwell and headed for the elevators. Dallas kept my hand in his.

  “That’s because I believed that it was more fun to get away with something if everyone knew it was you. Why pull a prank in secret? And I didn’t care about the punishment. It was always worth it.” He hit the button and turned to face me. “Except the last time.”

  I sighed. “Just don’t get me arrested tonight, please.”

  “Relax,” he said as the doors opened.

  “Have you ever been arrested?” I asked as we stepped into the empty elevator.

  He hesitated. “Once.”

  “For what?”

  “I got into a fight with an off-duty cop who was being a real dick to his girlfriend at a bar.” He shook his head. “That night did not end well for me.”

  “I can only imagine.”

  “But I promise, you will not end up in handcuffs tonight.” He grinned delightedly and leaned closer to whisper in my ear. “Unless, of course, you’d enjoy that.”

  Heat bloomed at the center of my body and spread to my extremities like a nuclear blast. “Pretty sure that would violate the look-but-don’t-touch policy.”

  He straightened up. “Oh yeah, that. I promised to behave tonight, didn’t I?”

  “You did.” But I gave him a wicked smile.

  “Well, then.” He checked his wristwatch. “Good thing it will be tomorrow soon. Is it true what they say about a prom dress at midnight?”

  I laughed as the doors opened. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

  “Dallas, this is crazy!” I whispered as we ran across the lawn of the huge house on Lake St. Clair where he’d grown up.

  “Shh! Don’t talk until we get to the water,” he whispered back.

  I struggled to keep up with him, although at least I’d ditched my heels in the car after he’d warned me there might be running involved with his idea. He’d left his jacket and dress shirt in the car and wore only a white T-shirt with his jeans. He was barefoot, too. The moon shone down on us like a spotlight, and I tried not to think about the signs we’d seen saying PRIVATE PROPERTY NO TRESPASSING.

  “Who lives here now?” I asked as we neared the seawall.

  “No idea.” He pulled me over to where a dock jutted into the water. A small Boston Whaler bobbed in the water next to it, as well as a wooden dinghy, two oars lying on the bottom. “Holy shit, this is perfect.”

  I stopped when he tried to lead me onto the dock. “Dallas, no! We are not stealing a dinghy,” I whispered. “You said we were just going to go night-swimming at your old house like we used to!”

  “We’re not stealing a dinghy—we’re borrowing it.” He looked up at the massive house, which sat back about two hundred feet from the water. “And the house is totally dark. I bet the owners are out of town.”

  I glanced back at the house, too. It did look pretty deserted, but still … could we really take a boat that didn’t belong to us for a spin?

  “Come on.” Dallas tugged on my hand. “Live a little. When’s the last time you misbehaved, goody two shoes?”

  “I can’t remember,” I shot back. “But it was probably with you.”

  He moved closer, so close I felt his breath on my lips. “Then come on. Be bad with me one last time.”

  My insides tightened. The list of ill-advised things I was doing “for old times’ sake” was growing longer by the minute, and I was a bit concerned about where it would ultimately lead.

  Not concerned enough to go home, though.

  “Okay,” I told him. “But if we get caught—”

  “I’ll say I kidnapped you.” He jumped into the boat, steadied himself, and reached up for my waist. “Look at all my tattoos, I’m obviously a pirate,” he said. “Now come on.”

  After I let him lift me into the boat, I took a seat on the bench at the back while Dallas untied the ropes tethering it to the dock. I shivered, although the night was warm and I was slightly sweaty from running.

  The water was relatively calm but my nerves were choppy as hell as Dallas rowed us away from the dock. What on earth were we doing? And tomorrow, would I be okay with it? Would I have the closure I wanted, or would being with him set me back again?

  “You’re looking very serious,” Dallas said over the wind that whipped my hair around my face.

  I opened my eyes and smiled. “Just taking it all in. This is a lot to process.”

  “What is?”

  “Seeing you. The prom. Nautical larceny.”

  “Ah.” Dallas rowed us into a tree-lined cove tucked into the coastline where we used to hang out and swim during the summer we were together.

  There was no one around so late at night, and it was much quieter out of the wind, sheltered by trees. Dallas dropped the boat’s small anchor into the water as I looked around. “God, I haven’t been here in years.”

  “Me neither. We had some good times here, didn’t we?”

  “Remember how you guys used to climb those trees and jump into the water?”

  He laughed. “Yeah. That was fun.”

  “I was positive one of you was going to break your neck.”

  “Nah.” He looked up. “Wonder if I could still do it.”

  “Dallas Shepherd. Don’t even think about it.”

  He stood and whipped off his shirt.

  My breath caught at the sight of his bare upper body—he was thicker and more muscular than he’d been back then, and he had tattoos on his shoulders, arms, and the sides of his ribcage. It was too dark to see what they were, but I longed to run my hands over the ink. Ask him about each one. Listen to his stories.

  He unbuttoned his jeans and paused with his hands on the zipper. “Close your eyes if you’re shy, violet.”

  I lifted my chin, heart pounding. “I’m not shy.”

  He grinned and shoved his jeans down. But before I could get a good look at him in his underwear, he kicked them off and dove over the side of the boat. I squealed as the water splashed me.

  A few seconds later, he surfaced, tossing his head. “Fuck, that feels good.”

  “Is it cold?”

  “It’s perfect. You should come in. Unless you don’t want to get your hair wet or something.”

  I stood up and unbuttoned my blouse. “Please. As long as you’ve known me, have I ever been that girl?”

  “Nope. But I don’t really know you now.”

  I felt his eyes on me as I removed my top and unbuttoned my skirt. My pulse was accelerating rapidly. “So ask me something.”

  He was silent a few seconds. “Have you spent the last twelve years hating
me?”

  “I’ve never hated you.”

  “Did you ever think about me?”

  “You know I did.” I stepped out of my skirt and stood there in a nude bralette and panties.

  “Christ,” he said, staring up at me.

  I put my hands on my hips. “Any more questions?”

  “Yeah. How serious were you about that whole look-but-don’t-touch thing?”

  Giggling, I jumped over the edge of the boat. The water was cool but not shockingly cold, and I stayed under for a moment, my feet planted on the sandy bottom. When I came up, Dallas had moved closer to me.

  The water was over my head, but he could stand here. His hair looked black, all wet. His eyes shone in the dark.

  “I’m trying really hard to behave like I said I would,” he said, coming even closer.

  I swam backward, giggling. “I can see that.”

  “But I’ve got to be honest, I’m not sure I can keep my promise.”

  “I’ll be honest, too. This is one time where I hope you don’t.”

  He reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me toward him. Giving in, I wrapped my legs around his waist and looped my arms around his neck. My entire body radiated with desire. Anticipation. Heat. Only he could make me feel this alive.

  “God, Maren.” His voice was low and serious. His arms tightened around me. “I told myself I couldn’t do this. But I must have been fucking crazy to think I wouldn’t.”

  “Same,” I whispered, longing to feel his lips on mine again. “But I don’t care. I want this. Even if it’s just for one night, I want this. I want you.”

  Our mouths came together, and we kissed as feverishly and passionately as if no time had passed at all. We were young and reckless and bursting with need, desperate to satisfy the gnawing hunger inside us that never seemed to go away, no matter how often we fed it. His hands moved beneath my ass, squeezing my flesh, pulling me against him. I could feel his erection through the fabric of his boxer briefs and my underwear, and I moaned when he rocked his hips, sliding his cock along my clit.

  He tasted sweet and sinful at the same time—like whiskey and butterscotch, like a memory and a fantasy—and his mouth was familiar but his kiss felt brand new. The facial hair, I thought, moving my hands to his jaw as his tongue stroked mine. He didn’t have it back then. I loved the rough masculinity of it on my palms and against my cheeks and lips. I loved that he was thirty and not seventeen, that his body felt so big and strong, that years had gone by and he’d matured into a man but his desire for me hadn’t dissipated.