by Liz Talley
“Maybe it’s just the way you sing it. Felt like it was for me. Guess every guy around here feels that way. You’re really good, Funny Valentine. Really good.”
His use of her old nickname made her chest feel tight. “Thank you, Rhett.”
He reached out and took her hand. “The years blur things, you know. I remember some things so vividly. Silly things like where we buried the senior class time capsule or when Andrea Floyd told Wade Smothers, ‘Forget about it, buster,’ when he tried to feel her up at the junior high dance, but I don’t remember why you were so mad at me.”
Summer swallowed hard. “I wasn’t mad at you.”
“Yeah, you were. I came to your house the day after prom. We went out on the porch and you played your guitar. Y’all had a screened porch, and you told me you didn’t want to tutor me anymore.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. It’s all in the past.” She pulled her hand away and inwardly pleaded with Rhett not to go there. Not to ruin this beautiful moment with questions about a past she’d tried so hard to put behind her.
“You told me sometimes it helped to discuss things you don’t want to discuss.”
“What do I know?” she said petulantly.
That made him smile. “I don’t know. I guess I feel like that’s still between us.”
“You didn’t even remember me when you first saw me. How can something that happened almost fifteen years ago bother you?”
“I don’t know. Like I said, some things you remember. Others you forget. It bothered me that you were so mad. I mean, I know what happened at the party the night before was . . . awkward, but we’d been friends. You threw that away.”
Summer felt anger edge out the earlier sweetness. That anger was always there, ready to clamber out and seethe with indignation. “Big deal. You were bothered by the geek who didn’t allow you to shellac over ugly stuff with his charm. That’s your problem. You think a wink and a smile will make everything better. It doesn’t.”
He recoiled. “I don’t do that.”
“Yeah, you do. You’ve always done it. What happened that night couldn’t be erased by your good will, Rhett. Ugly things happen and they can’t be undone. And there’s no way to fix it. It just is. It exists. It doesn’t go away.” She lifted her glass and sucked down the rest of the wine. Then she grabbed the bottle and poured herself another glass. Hell, with the way this “not actually a date” was going, she’d need the whole effing bottle.
Rhett sat there, studying her, his face etched with hurt. It struck her that her words weren’t merely about her situation in the past, but about his situation. He ran from something he couldn’t undo. There were no take backs. No erasing the horror. A person had to learn to live with it. That realization was simple. And the hardest thing anyone could ever endure.
After a few seconds, Rhett took her glass.
“Hey, I want that,” she said, reaching for his hand. Rhett set her glass next to his and pulled her to him. “What are you doing?”
He wrapped his arms around her, settling her between his legs. His hand pressed her head against his chest and he just held her.
“Rhett?” she whispered.
“What?”
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m doing what I should have done that day. Just being your friend.”
His arms squeezed her and she stilled, sneaking her arms around his waist, inhaling the essence of the boy she’d always wanted. A boy who’d grown into a man. A man who still made her blood race, her body tingle, and her heart ache for what she couldn’t have.
For several minutes they stayed locked that way, with Rhett’s hands occasionally stroking her shoulder or rubbing her waist. There was nothing sexual in the embrace, but even so, Summer was hyperaware of the desire simmering on the horizon. She wanted Rhett. God, she wanted him.
Summer pushed against him and he released her. “Thank you.”
He brushed a tendril behind her ear. “You’re so beautiful, Summer.”
“Don’t do that,” she whispered, blinking back the sudden emotion that brought tears to her eyes.
“Why not?”
“Because . . .” She shook her head. “I think before we go any further in any direction, I need to tell you about that night. I need to tell you why I was so angry at you. It wasn’t because you rejected me. It was because you didn’t save me. You fell off your white steed.”
“I don’t understand. I thought this was about what happened between us.”
“That was part of it, and my anger was irrational. I understand it now. But you’ll understand everything better when I tell you what really happened between Hunt and me.”
“But first,” he said, leaning forward. “I just want this one moment.”
His lips covered hers.
Summer inhaled deeply, the tang of the ocean, the scent of Rhett’s expensive cologne, and then she reveled in his mouth pressed against hers.
He tasted of wine and moonlight, of whiskey and regret, of hope and redemption. His hands lifted to cradle her face, and she opened her mouth to him, drinking him in.
The moment should have been sweet, reverent even, but it wasn’t. It was consuming. Hot. Enveloping all her senses, drowning out anything hard, bad, and ugly. Beauty had come to her, and it was in the kiss of Rhett Bryan.
He broke the kiss and studied her face, which he held in his hands. “God, I want you. And I’ve wanted to do that ever since I saw you in that bathing suit ready to bash me over the head with a lamp. Not that I would even admit it to myself.”
His words stole her breath.
He pressed his lips against her forehead. “That was totally for me, I needed that kiss to tide me over.”
Summer closed her eyes. “You really are a poet, Rhett, but I meant what I said last night. You can’t play with me.”
His light laugh skated on the salty breeze. “I knew you wouldn’t forget your convictions.”
“I don’t want to get hurt.”
“Who does?” He handed her the wineglass. “But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Tell me what happened that night. Let’s finally put the past behind us.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
April 2003
In movies, parties are always portrayed with hundreds of people making out, funneling beer, and hot tubbing in their bras and panties. So Summer was a little disappointed—or was that relieved?—that an hour into Hunt’s after-prom party, there were only forty people, and it felt more like a cocktail mixer than a rager.
Of course, the night was young, and a steady stream of people rolling through the door along with the raid on the liquor cabinet ensured it would get rowdier as the night progressed.
She’d kissed Hunt in the limo, but ever since they’d arrived, he’d been hanging with a group of guys, shooting vodka or tequila. He hadn’t even glanced her way.
“Summer, taste this. It’s Diet 7UP and Malibu,” Graysen said, shoving a drink into her hand. “You can have tons of these. Hardly any calories.”
Was that an insult? Or just a “one of the girls” kind of observation? She took a cautious sip and found it was pretty good. Way better than straight vodka, which had nearly killed her. Summer kept one eye on the door, hoping Nessa would show up to save her from the popular people and their “light” alcoholic beverages. Her toes were pinched and she had a vague headache. Her bed sounded like heaven.
Katie B wriggled between her and Graysen. “Jace just showed up.”
“Sweet,” Graysen said, her mouth curving into a crocodilian smile. “I’m about to get lit, bitches.”
Summer blinked as Katie tugged Graysen toward the balcony. Graysen looked back. “Come on, Summer. Time for something new. Jace has some good shit.”
“Uh, I’ll be right out. I need to go to the bathroom real quick. Gotta adjust the Spanx.” Summer didn’t know why she added the thing about the Spanx. She wasn’t even wearing them. Maybe because it established an intimacy between her and the popular girl. God,
her AP psych class was showing.
But something told her she needed to avoid Jace and his good shit.
Slipping between a few people talking about setting up a beer pong table, whatever that was, she made her way toward the kitchen. When she pushed into the swinging door, she nearly ran into Rhett.
“Whoa, hey, Sum,” Rhett said, juggling four beer cans. “Where you heading? Party’s out here.”
“I just needed a slight break. Uh, just some fresh air.”
“Here.” Rhett handed the beers off to some beefy guy Summer didn’t know. She thought he was a junior and on the football team. “Give these to Hunt. I’m stepping out with Summer for a moment.”
The guy looked at Summer and then shot Rhett a “whatever” look.
“Come out here,” Rhett said, opening the kitchen door. “What are you drinking? You doing okay?”
“Yeah, um, it’s rum and 7UP. It’s good. I just got, I don’t know, overwhelmed.” Summer felt stupid saying that. Maybe she was slightly overwhelmed and a little drunk, but she had enough sense to know she didn’t need to go with Graysen. She was pretty sure the cheerleader and pageant queen was about to get high on marijuana, and Summer wasn’t interested in doing that at all. A few drinks? No big deal. Dope was a whole other thing.
Rhett headed down the steps. “Let’s go down to the beach. I love the way the moon sits on the water.”
If she hadn’t already been head over heels for him, she would have tumbled at that exact moment. What eighteen-year-old guy liked the way the moonlight reflected on the water and had enough confidence to say it aloud?
Summer took a huge gulp of her drink. Then another, appreciating how the warmth of the alcohol seeped into her bones and made her feel . . . not quite herself. It made her feel loose, almost as if she was . . . as if she belonged.
Rhett turned and waited on her to come down the steps. Some of the girls had changed out of their prom dresses, but Summer hadn’t known to bring extra clothes. Rhett still wore his tux trousers, which he rolled up after toeing off his shoes and peeling off his socks. His jacket had been left behind along with the bow tie and cummerbund. His shirt was open, revealing that delicious indentation she’d contemplated weeks ago in the doorway of Mr. Wilson’s class. She had to find out what that spot was called. It seemed imperative to know.
Carefully, she unbuckled her shoes and set them, along with her drink, next to Rhett’s on the step. Hiking up her dress and praying it wouldn’t get ruined, she followed Rhett to the hard-packed beach. The sand glittered with a confetti of sparkles, and small sand crabs skittered to find hidey holes. The waves insistently pounded the beach, and the full moon tossed its light playfully on the water.
“God, it’s gorgeous out here. Sometimes I wish I were Hunt. All that money, this house. One day I’ll have it, though,” Rhett said, shoving his hands in his pockets, staring out where the waves broke. He looked a little lost, but determination steeled his voice.
“I’m pretty certain you will, Rhett,” she said, coming to stand beside him, clutching her filmy gown into two big bunches. She still wore the corsage and wished she’d left it behind, too. She wanted to save the cluster of white roses. Preserve the night by drying it and putting it in the memory box her father had given her. Just like her mother had done.
The sand was hard, not as soft as it looked. She wriggled her toes and tried to pretend it was an everyday thing to stand on the beach beneath a spread of stars with the most awesome guy she’d ever met.
He turned to her. “It’s so easy being with you, Summer. You’re just comfortable.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. What did that even mean? Was she like his favorite recliner? Not worthy of even trying? Not even a girl to him? Just a buddy?
Why was she even out here with him, anyway? Her date was inside. His girlfriend was on the back patio smoking weed. They shouldn’t be out here alone.
“Are you okay, Rhett?” That was all she had. Maybe he could explain why they walked barefoot on the beach in the middle of a so-called “epic” party, and why he wanted her to go along with him.
“Yeah, maybe I’m a bit overwhelmed myself. California’s pretty far, and I don’t really know my mother’s family well. I’ve only visited them a few times. This feels like such a big commitment, and so many people tell me I shouldn’t go.”
“Who tells you that?”
“Graysen. She’s pissed I’m going so far away, angry that I want to make a clean break with her. But not just her—some of my friends. Their parents. They think chasing an acting career is stupid. Maybe it is.” His words were plaintive and she knew what he wanted. He wanted her to say it wasn’t stupid. He wanted her to say he’d made the right decision.
“Or maybe being in front of the camera is what you’re made to do,” Summer said, drawing a line in the wet sand with her toe. “But it’s okay. Everyone has doubts.”
“You probably don’t. Bet you have everything planned out.” His voice held affection. He turned to her and tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. “You know, you’re going to make some guy so happy one day, Funny Valentine. I know you can’t see it, but you’re truly beautiful.”
Summer’s mouth went dry. “That’s . . . that’s not true, Rhett. But you’re nice for saying so.”
“No, it’s true. You can’t see it. Some girls hit their stride in middle school. Some in high school. They peak. But I can see what a knockout you’ll be someday.” He slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him. She fit perfectly next to him, and she awkwardly looped an arm around his waist, careful not to muss her corsage.
She could smell his warmth, feel him inhale then exhale. The squishy feelings she’d had in the limo when kissing Hunt came back, but this time with a vengeance. His too-sweet words paired with the booze coated her, made her want to . . . be daring. For once.
What would it hurt? To kiss him just once? She could go to her grave being happy she’d had one taste of Rhett Bryan.
So she turned into him. Reached up. Pulled his head down. And kissed him.
She partially missed his mouth but didn’t disengage to correct the aim. Because the emotions that swept her, that riveted her to him, couldn’t be put off even for a millisecond. She was committed to that kiss.
At first he did nothing, but then she felt it—the straightening of his body, the pulling away. He set his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back.
Summer felt dazed, but then she opened her eyes and saw what she least wanted to see in his eyes—pity.
“Sum, hey, I—” he started, shaking his head, those eyes full of alarm, pity, regret.
“No, don’t say anything,” Summer pleaded. “Just don’t. I get it. I get it.”
He looked crestfallen. Disappointed, even. “I’m with Graysen. I’m sorry if I said . . . God, I shouldn’t have said all that. I wanted you to know you’re such a special girl. I—”
“Shut up,” she said, scrabbling backward and nearly tripping over a random piece of driftwood. How could she have been so absolutely stupid? Of course, he was just being nice when he said she was beautiful. That’s what Rhett was. Gorgeous, talented, funny . . . and nice. Especially to fat, drunk, loser girls who had infantile crushes on him.
He stepped toward her, stretching out a hand. “Sum—”
“Shut up.” She turned and hiked up her dress, not even caring if he could see her plump white thighs, and she ran back toward the house. Her body burned with shame, with absolute despair. She’d made a fool of herself with Rhett. A stupid-ass fool.
She felt as if she’d been electrocuted. Her body thrummed with shame. “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she chanted as she scooped up her sandals, leaving the drink, and hurried up the steps. She wanted to go home but didn’t know who could take her.
Someone had to because she had to get out of there.
She flung open the door to the kitchen and scared the people clustered around the island lining up tequila shots. Hunt was pour
ing. “Oh hey. There you are. Want a shot?”
Summer slammed the door and looked at everyone waiting for her answer. “Yeah. I want a shot.”
Fifteen minutes later, the room spun a little, but that was okay because Hunt was being nice to her. He’d joked with her, occasionally brushed his hand across her ass, pulled her to him once and kissed her. She’d let him, praying that his lips could erase the kiss she’d forced on Rhett.
Rhett hadn’t come inside through the kitchen, thank God. Because she couldn’t handle seeing him again that night. She shouldn’t have gone to the beach with him anyway. Not when her date was apparently digging her, if his lips on her neck and the way he pressed against her were any indication.
After a couple more tequila rounds, Hunt murmured, “Wanna come see my baseball card collection?” He pressed another sloppy kiss against her neck.
A couple of guys hooted. It was some inside joke. But Summer was angry and hurt and didn’t give a shit if they laughed. She wanted someone to fix the raw, throbbing rejection pulsing inside her.
“You have a baseball card collection here? At your beach house?” she asked, trying to flirt and play innocent.
Hunt looked at his friends and grinned. “Oh, baby, I got something you’ve got to see.”
Grabbing her hand and pulling her to him, Hunt walked her backward as his friends laughed. She should have felt embarrassed or outraged or something. But she felt something she’d never felt before at that moment—she felt desired. Rhett didn’t want her, but Hunt did.
She could feel Hunt’s erection pressing against her stomach, and the way he nuzzled her neck made wicked, molten, loopy loops in her tummy. She felt overheated, but she damned sure didn’t feel geeky and awkward. Funny how tequila did that to a gal.
There was a back set of steps that led from the kitchen to an upper floor. Hunt stopped when they got to the top and pressed her against the wall and kissed her.
“Mmm,” she murmured, liking the way his kisses made her feel. She’d always wondered how it really felt to be turned on by an actual guy and not just by a love scene in a book or movie. Mindlessly wonderful would be the best description. Mindlessly wonderful.
