by Candy Sloane
Who would have known that ten years later she would be struggling to stop picturing him with his shirt off? Maybe it was good that once they were finally talking and texting again, life got in the way of them visiting each other.
She blew her bangs up. One issue at a time.
“If you hate it, we can go to the room and watch movies like we used to in high school.”
“It’ll be fine.” Nothing was like it used to be in high school. If she had trouble being in the car with Alec, being alone in a room with him “watching movies” was out of the question.
“I can make it finer,” Alec said, digging into the center console and unearthing a metal flask. He swayed it in front of her, hypnotist style. “It’s vodka, your favorite.”
She shook her head. She’d had a drink on the plane, but they were here now. She was with him now. She’d need her wits about her, that was for sure.
He unscrewed the top, brought it to his lips, and took a long gulp. He grimaced slightly but didn’t cough. “You want to go into your high school reunion sober, that’s your choice.” His voice was syrupy from the liquor. “But there is no way in hell I’m facing those jackals unarmed.”
He had a point.
…
Alec watched Val take a long, determined sip. Her lips teased the mouth of the flask, her throat opened and closed for a good five seconds. She must have learned to handle her liquor since high school. He remembered a similar scene starring a bottle of pilfered gin in her backyard gazebo sophomore year. The night had ended with them hosing out the gazebo, hosing off each other, and finally running around the yard in the summer dark having a water fight.
If he’d been trading gin shots with one of the women he spent time with now, that scene would have ended with them wet and naked and fucking. But he had been a different boy then—shy, quiet, insecure—and Valerie one of his only friends.
He and Valerie only friends.
He hadn’t thought about that night in years, and he definitely hadn’t replayed it with a XXX filter, ever. He wondered if it was because of how much he’d changed, or because when he saw Valerie waiting in baggage claim, instead of running to greet her, he found himself pausing and staring—amazed and speechless that the girl who had never even seemed like a girl to him was such a woman now.
She’d had one heel off, her chocolate brown bangs in her eyes, a pale pink bra peeping out from her button down when the light hit it just right. She was his Val, but she was also her own woman. A woman if he’d met in a bar now, he would have made sure they ended the night wet and naked and fucking.
She lowered the flask, her eyes watering and her neck tight. She wanted to cough but was holding it in. He laughed. Not at her, but because he missed this—the two of them just being the two of them. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, remember?”
“Thank,” she croaked, a string of coughs exploding from her like the rat-tat-tat of a machine gun, “God.”
He snuck a glance at the way her tits pitched and fought against her white shirt as she caught her breath. Almost choking to death wasn’t sexy, and Val definitely was not supposed to be, but there was something about the way she kept herself so buttoned up that intrigued him.
The women he partied with since Chronic Disharmony became a household name did not wear button-down shirts, and if they did, they were his. Usually the morning after, open and framing their curves while they beckoned him for round two, or three, or four.
He lifted the flask to his mouth and took a burning swig. While he saw that in his mind, it wasn’t a specific memory. All those women were running together now, all those nights, all those drinks.
The single anchor was Valerie. The only person in the world he could count on—his one constant. Even back in high school when things with his dad got to be too much, he had Valerie. He had her room where he slept on her floor until his father calmed down, if he ever calmed down.
She’d always been there for him. He shouldn’t have been staring at her tits. Staring would inevitably lead to wanting. He couldn’t go down that road with her. She deserved better than a meaningless fuck with a rock star.
He focused back on the flask. “More?”
“Maybe in a minute,” she replied. “I can’t believe I took four days out of my life for this.”
He put the cap back on and set it down. “I’m counting and I’m only up to three.”
Though even three days was a long time to be back in his hometown. Of course, he wasn’t just here for this, or for her. He planned to check on the house he’d purchased for his mother on Niagara Road that he still couldn’t convince her to move into. He’d been trying for a year with no luck. She’d agreed to come back to Kenmore, but not without the man who’d made his life hell for eighteen years.
“Not everyone can call their private jet to come and pick them up the minute they’re done Sunday night.”
“They can’t?” He shoved the flask at her. “You need to drink more. We both do.”
“I’m not about to say yes to everything you ask, Alec.”
He already knew that. It was one of the reasons they were still best friends. She was always truthful, real. He wondered if some of their closeness came from the fact they were both only children—she because her parents wanted one perfect child and he because he suspected his father hadn’t wanted him at all. His head pounded, the phantom pain of his father’s blows pelting down like it did from time to time when he thought about him.
It was why he avoided thinking about him. Why he avoided everything. Why he had the flask that Valerie was still squinting at.
He set it down. Her friendship was a salve, too, and he hoped being near her would keep the barrage of memories at bay. He reached for his phone. There was a text from his manager about a contract negotiation and an email from his publicist stating the paparazzi didn’t know he was at the reunion as of yet but who knew how long that would last.
Nothing that couldn’t wait, so he put it away. He realized Val hadn’t checked her phone since he arrived, which seemed odd to him. There were people in her world besides him, most recently her boyfriend Charles, a vice president at a shipping and packaging company.
“What’s Mr. Peanut doing this weekend? Aren’t you guys engaged by now?”
She sighed and rolled her eyes.
He loved how the name he’d chosen for Charles based on the Styrofoam peanuts his company used by the truckload made her bristle. He’d also chosen it for what he hoped was the size of his dick.
“Where are the other guys in the band this weekend? Aren’t you married by now?”
She was deflecting, but fine, he’d play along. “Since we’re not starting our new album until fall and our next tour isn’t until after the holidays, we’re on hiatus. I think Jessie is in Ibiza, Ryan is at his lake house in Tahoe, and Scott is working his way through the single Kardashian sisters. Do you need me to continue, or are you going to stop avoiding my question?”
She took an immersive breath, like she needed fuel to keep talking. “I broke up with him.”
They sat in silence for a moment, until Alec realized she wasn’t going to keep going without a push. “Is that the whole story?”
She forced her eyes into her lap. “He didn’t want to marry me”—she paused—“now or ever. That’s the whole story.” She managed to look up at him with a scowl. “I know you think marriage is a joke.”
Valerie knew better than anyone that the M word made him laugh and laugh. Considering the family he came from, it was either laugh and laugh or cry and cry, and he’d chosen not to dwell but to dodge. Valerie, however, had bought the fairy tale; she believed in forever.
“It’s not a joke to you,” he said quietly.
“That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”
At this point he wasn’t sure what it was. When he’d attempted to offer her forever the day after graduation, she’d rejected him. But he hadn’t asked her to get married. He’d asked her to move to New Yo
rk City. It had been impulsive and stupid and made him even less of a fan of the word “forever” now than he was then.
It took almost two years for him to be able to take her calls after that, but in the end he was glad she’d been smart enough to see what he’d blinded himself to. He hadn’t been asking her to come with him because he couldn’t live without her. He had been asking because he was afraid to be alone.
“It’s not like I’m about to buy a mail-order groom or anything. I just want to finally find a man who is willing to make sacrifices for me.”
“Easier said than done, huh?”
She sighed. “Maybe I would do better with a mail-order groom.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, though he was and he wasn’t. He’d never met Mr. Peanut, but he was clearly a total douche. Anyone who didn’t want to marry Val would have to be. Just look at her. And in that moment he realized he was. The dark sky seemed an extension of her long, dark-umber hair, the skin of her heart-shaped face rivaled the moonlight, and her caramel-colored eyes pulsated with the heat of stars.
Fuck, he needed to stop.
She was telling him she broke up with a guy who couldn’t commit, and he was gawking at her like she was one of his groupies. He put a pause on his thoughts before he compared her tits to distant planets or something.
“So, are you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah.” She looked away. “It was three months ago.”
Three months ago? A vise went to work in his chest. They had spoken, texted, or FaceTimed almost every day. Why hadn’t she said something? Was she embarrassed?
She finally turned back. “I know, I know,” she said, holding up a hand, “I should have told you. He didn’t even have the balls to do it in person.”
His body tensed. “Forget about the dick who kept you waiting at the airport. Now, I want to kick his ass.”
“He’s not worth it,” she said, her eyes downturned. “You don’t have to make a big show.”
“It’s because I care, Val.” He pictured stuffing Mr. Peanut’s mouth full of that Styrofoam shit until he choked on it.
“I know.” She leaned back in the seat.
The buttons at the top of her shirt stretched open. The view of curved, soft skin combined with vodka was making him lightheaded.
“Seems like you’re the only one who does sometimes,” she added.
It was how he felt, too, and was all the more reason he needed to stop staring at her tits. Needed to remember that the kind of man who should be staring at them was someone who could give her what she wanted—a ring, a house, a life.
“At least now you can get some while you’re here,” he said, desperate to bring back the balance of them—Al and Val, joking, playing, giving each other shit. It was what he would have said to one of the guys in the band after a breakup. It was what he should say to his best friend regardless of how great her tits were.
She crossed her legs, her skirt applying a dangerous line on her thighs. “With who? The only guy I talked to in all of high school was you.”
The back of his neck burned. Did he want her to be with anyone else when he was in ass-kicking distance? Hell no. But he couldn’t say that. He wouldn’t say that, so instead he said, “We’re different people now.”
“You are. You’ll have every woman in our class lining up. Knowing Reece, she has a sign-up sheet going already for her pretty friends.”
He laughed. Reece Freedland, valedictorian, planner extraordinaire, and one of the most popular girls in school. He thought of the itinerary she’d sent via snail mail. Everything had been scheduled for the weekend down to the millisecond. Hell, she probably did have a sign-up sheet.
“I can teach you my ways.” He lifted his brows up and down comically. “The best way to get over a breakup is to fuck someone new.”
“Thanks, Confucius.”
“That’s Cock-fucius,” he tossed back with a wicked grin.
She shook her head. “I can only imagine what your fortune cookies might say.”
He opened his mouth to reply, and she pressed a hand over it.
“If you say it’s fortune nookie you get a punch to your namesake.”
He swallowed a laugh. She knew him too well.
“Besides,” she said, removing her hand, “I’m over it. Like I said, it’s been three months.”
She was lying. She might have been over Mr. Peanut, but she was not over wanting what she must have thought he could promise her.
“I’m done with men,” she announced, as if sensing his train of thought.
One side of his mouth perked up. “See, you have changed since high school.”
“That’s not what I meant!” She slapped his knee. It was innocent, but her touch felt anything but, considering what they were talking about.
“Just because you’re done with men doesn’t mean you’re done with sex, right?”
“I’m dejected, not dead.” She threw her head back, exposing the soft skin of her neck.
His mouth watered. He forced himself to take a swig from the flask, trying to dull his taste buds. “You need to find someone to fuck Mr. Peanut out of you.”
He thought she’d say forget it, and he wanted her to. What the hell am I doing? He was going to find someone to fuck her? This had gone sideways fast. But what else could he do, fuck her himself?
He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. No matter how goddamn hot she was now, he wouldn’t. She was not just some woman he could fuck and leave. She was the one person who’d made his life livable in high school—the one person who knew all his secrets and didn’t judge him now.
He couldn’t fuck that up with sex.
And who said she was interested anyway? He might be able to get any woman he wanted, but that didn’t mean he could get Valerie. She hadn’t taken him seriously in high school and there was no way she would now. She was out of his league—beautiful, successful, driven, and, most importantly, his best friend.
She seemed to ponder his suggestion. “Who?”
Fuck my stupid man-advice. Now we’re doing this.
“It doesn’t matter, really.” He took another swig from the flask in the hopes it might make his words appear genuine. “But since I’m here, I’ll help you pick him out.”
“Won’t you be too busy finding someone for yourself?”
“I’m not here for them, Val. I’m here for you.” The way her eyes dampened let him know he needed to keep talking. “It’ll be fun.” If she wanted his help, he would give it to her. Get her a guy to make that faraway look disappear, if only for the night.
“Finding me someone to fuck the Mr. Peanut out of me will be fun?” She smirked.
He knew she was only repeating what he’d said, but hearing her voice around that word was something he felt in every cell in his body, every beat of his suddenly off-the-charts pounding heart. “Do you want to get him out of your system or not?” he asked, trying to shake the hum in his veins.
She reached for the flask and took a long swig. “Looks like I’m going to need a necktie for our doorknob.”
Chapter Two
Val was wobbly as they headed inside the hotel. She should never have told Alec about Charles. It was embarrassing—a man who she’d given years to running away rather than granting her forever. There must have been something seriously wrong with her.
Considering Alec thought she needed help getting laid, was there any doubt?
But fine, she’d accept his assistance. Maybe it was the vodka talking, but she could definitely handle some casual sex. Especially since it was one of the only things on her mind since Alec arrived—since she saw that Rolling Stone cover.
Better it be with someone who she never had to talk to again after this weekend.
They found the ballroom where the Opening Night Dinner was being held. Out front a table was littered with the remnants of name tags. Valerie spied hers and was thankful it was spelled correctly: Valerie Barkin.
Some of the popular kids had started calling her
Barking freshman year, as in woof woof, as in dog, as in ugly. The addition of just that one letter had turned her into an easy target.
Nice flute solo, Barking; your turn at the board, Barking; you dropped your pen, Barking. She shuddered. She was usually able to push the memories out of her mind, but not when she was about to face some of those people again.
She ran a hand through her hair, popped a mint in her mouth, and said a little prayer as they walked into the ballroom.
The dinner had pretty much dissipated. The tables were cleared, and the bar was empty. Only a small group of their ex-classmates sat in a circle toward the front of the room. Valerie was surprised to see people from every clique gathered, including her good friend Cynthia from band, who had also played flute.
She and Cynthia caught up while everyone fawned over Alec. Cynthia was a music teacher now—divorced, but happily. The blond hair she wore like Rapunzel in high school was in an asymmetrical bob, and her navy blue eyes were blurry with drunkenness.
Turned out everyone was drunk, and after a few sloppy hugs and squeals, the attention was off of Alec and back on the game they had interrupted: Seven Minutes in Heaven.
She waved to Cynthia. “I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow.”
Alec grabbed her arm, whispered, “This is your chance.”
“Now?” Sure, she’d accepted his offer to help, but they’d been here ten minutes. “I’m tired,” she added when he still hadn’t released her arm.
“Cock-fucius say, fuck first, sleep later.”
She glanced around the circle, reading the name tags of the men who used to be boys. None of them had been more to her than a body in the hallway during high school. She supposed any one of them could just as easily be a body in the dark.
She shrugged. Might as well get it over with. She grabbed a chair and pulled it into the circle. She’d take Alec’s suggestion, but she was not sitting on the floor in a tan skirt.
“Alec,” Randy Tines slurred, indicating the bottle in the center of the circle, “you take a spin. I’m sure all these ladies want a piece of the famous rock star in the dark.” Randy had been the high school yearbook photographer, and he took his skills to manage a bank.
