by Diana Gardin
By the time I make it downstairs, everyone is already there. They stand around the island in the large kitchen, discussing the dinner reservations we have for tonight at an exclusive restaurant in downtown Savannah.
“I think we can walk there from here,” Dare is saying.
Greta looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “In these heels? Ain’t happening, man.”
Berkeley giggles. “Maybe we could take a couple of carriages? I’ve always wanted to ride in one!”
The way Dare looks at her in that moment needs no words. He’d move heaven and earth to get her whatever she wants. And I know without a doubt that we’ll be riding to the restaurant.
From where he’s standing by the wet bar, pouring himself a drink that I know to be whiskey, Drake turns and meets my gaze. The temperature in the room instantly rises two degrees just from one look alone. I nod toward the glass in his hand and he shrugs as if to say, We’re here to party, right?
Frowning slightly, I try to remember the last time I saw him without a drink.
In the few years that I’ve known Drake, he’s never been much of a drinker. He would be the guy who when out with his friends would nurse one or two beers the entire time. Not until that first night a couple of months ago at See Food—the day of his mother’s funeral—had I seen him with a glass of straight liquor.
My frown deepens when he raises his glass to me.
Sidling over to where he stands, I nudge him with my shoulder. The damn mountain of a man doesn’t even budge. “Starting the party early?”
He gives me an amused glance. “It’s a party, isn’t it?”
I shrug. “Is it? We’re just getting ready to go to dinner.” I scan our group. Everyone is getting ready to walk out the door.
“Guess I better finish this, then.” Drake downs his whiskey and places his hand on the small of my back. As soon as he touches me, heat radiates through the fabric of my dress and straight through my skin. Heat flushes my face, and my eyes hood as I look up at him.
Leaning down, his lips brush the shell of my ear, and my knees wobble slightly. “You look amazing, tonight, sweetheart. Really beautiful.”
He’s decked out in all black. Black sweater that hugs the bulge of his biceps and gives just the barest hint of the chiseled beauty of his chest and abs. Charcoal gray slacks. Drake never wears slacks, but it’s nice to know that when the occasion calls for it, he can fit the bill. The pants fit him just right, and I already can’t wait to watch him walk out the door so I can ogle his perfect ass. He’s missing his usual black combat boots, instead rocking really nice black suede brogues.
“You clean up nice, Sullivan,” I mutter as I follow our group out the door. His chuckle, rumbling behind me, chases the shivers up and down my spine.
The restaurant Dare and Berkeley have chosen is actually a renovated historic mansion. The Olde Pink House is straight up not my usual scene, but I can always appreciate good food. The charm of the place has mesmerized me. Completely pink on the outside, the inside is gorgeously redone in the style of the old South. Tons of molding, dripping chandeliers, and old hardwood floors make this a building I want to explore for hours. As I’m studying the menu, my eyes widen, because I definitely have not budgeted for this type of place. I really have no business even sitting here. I’m not sure what to do. Order an appetizer only? Just one drink and a salad? At these prices, one drink and one entrée would mean I can’t pay my utility bill this month. I continue scanning the menu, trying to be as nonchalant as possible while I’m having a minor panic attack inside.
Jeremy Teague, who I’ve learned is kind of a jokester, whistles. “Whew! You trying to break the bank on dinner the first night, huh, Conners?” He glances at Dare and winks, letting his buddy know that he’s kidding. Jeremy shakes his head, his short blond ponytail bobbing against the collar of his starched white shirt.
No kidding. Fire forms a blush in my cheeks, but I’m once again grateful that my skin tone most likely hides it. That and the flickering candlelight in the center of our table. Berkeley gushes that she can’t wait to sink her carnivorous teeth into a steak, her fiancée agreeing wholeheartedly. Greta, a foodie and a whiz in the kitchen herself, is comparing each item on the menu in great detail while Grisham listens closely, happy to follow her lead. After all, she’s the one who introduced the boy to grits.
Drake leans over, his movement subtle and smooth. “So what do you think looks good, sweetheart?” His voice, meant just for me, makes a flurry of wings beat frantically in my chest. I react to him like a schoolgirl, and it’s a fact that would usually annoy the hell out of me. But at this moment in my life, with Drake, it seems right.
His large hand lands on my thigh, and it feels like it could wrap fully around my flesh if he only squeezes. I swallow hard as I peek over at him. “Um, I love a good salad with some kind of protein in it. Chicken or shrimp, maybe. But—”
At that moment, the waitress arrives to get our drink orders. I sigh, and Drake appraises me. His shrewd glance narrows as everyone orders what they want to drink.
“I’ll have a whiskey, neat, and she’ll have a sangria.”
The table stares at Drake, and then at me. Chase snorts, glancing back down at his menu to cover his laughter. Ronin Shaw, who also works with Dare and is more reserved than Jeremy, gives me a curious glance.
There’s been more than one friendly gathering that we’ve both attended where conversation has flowed easily between Ronin and me. With his dark brown hair curling around his ears, bright green eyes, and his olive complexion, he’s completely gorgeous in a way that stands out in a crowd. But it’s been a while since the last time we talked, and I haven’t been able to see much past Drake for over a month now.
I mean, hell, I do love sangria, but Drake ordering for me? It causes my blood to boil with irritation at the same time it soaks my panties with lust. What the hell is this man doing to me?
I clear my throat. “Thank you, Drake.” The sangria was one of the special drinks the server announced when we were first seated, and I thought it sounded delicious.
“Yeah, girl. Can’t wait to try that sangria.” Berkeley covers her grin with her hand, and I shoot her a warning glare. She’s sending me a mixed message and she knows it.
The other members of the group who don’t know Drake and me that well go right back to their conversations, but Berkeley, Greta, Grisham, and Dare continue to dart curious glances in our direction.
“I hate being the center of their attention,” I hiss quietly to Drake.
He grins, suddenly reaching around me and pulling my chair closer to his. I gasp. “Know you do. Might as well give them something to stare at.” He bends down and inhales at my neck, sniffing deeply and running his nose along my skin. My thighs instantly squeeze together as my toes curl in my peep-toe pumps.
Oh, my God. If he keeps doing shit like that, I’m not going to make it through this dinner.
“Dinner’s on me,” he whispers, moving a tendril of hair away from my ear so he has more access.
I shake my head. I want it to be firm, but he’s turning me into something wobbly and gelatinous. I just want to close my eyes and lean into him and offer him as much of my body as he wants to take. Just the thought of it makes my skin flush hot and has memories of the way he worshipped me with his hands and his tongue chasing each other through my head.
Oh, crap. I actually had closed my eyes during my little trip down memory lane. It’s been weeks since I’ve been close to Drake that way, and I realize I’m craving him the way an addict needs a high. When I look at him, he’s staring at me with such lustful intensity I almost moan with my own desire. His eyes are gleaming with his secret knowledge, the knowledge of exactly what I want and how I want it.
Finding my voice, it’s low and raspy. “You…you don’t have to pay for my dinner, Drake. I can get it.”
“Yeah, sweetheart,” he says. “I think you can do just about whatever you put your mind to. But tonight, you don�
�t have to. Let me do this.”
I study him for a long moment, searching for any sign of pity or expectation in exchange for him picking up the tab on my dinner. I find none of it, and finally, I nod my assent.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Then, just to make him squirm, just to make him know a fraction of what I’m feeling, I place my own hand on his rock-hard thigh. He tenses. I squeeze. He swears under his breath. Now it’s my turn to lean in. “I can’t wait to see you in my purple bed tonight.”
“Mea?” Berkeley’s voice breaks in from across the table. “Restroom for the ladies?”
I reluctantly pull away from Drake and follow Berkeley, Greta, and Olive to the restroom. Olive’s dark burgundy hair swishes in front of me as we walk, and focusing on it is what keeps me from looking over my shoulder to search for Drake.
When I enter the swanky, velvet-covered bathroom, I find myself cornered by my two best friends, each with their hands on their hips.
Hey. That’s my stance. They’re taking a page from my book. Lord help me.
Olive searches our faces, clearly confused. I think she thought this was an actual restroom break. The girl has a lot to learn.
I put on my very best innocent expression. “What?”
Berkeley snorts. Literally snorts. “What, my ass. What the hell is going on with you and Drake?”
Greta jumps in. “You two are so…close. Mea…did you sleep with him?”
My innocent friend sounds absolutely scandalized, and if she keeps it up I’ll remind her of every dirty thing she did with Grisham before they were engaged.
“No!” I cross my arms over my chest defensively. “I mean, not recently.”
Greta’s hand flies to her mouth. Berkeley lets out a slew of curses. Olive’s eyes widen with curious shock.
I hold my hands out in front of me. “What I meant was, I haven’t slept with him this time around.”
Berkeley stumbles back a step, her hand on her heart. I roll my eyes at her. “Stop it, Berk. There’s only room for one dramatic friend in this relationship, and it’s me.”
Greta’s deep blue eyes pierce into mine. “Spill it, sister.”
Sighing, I realize I’m not getting out of this one. I’m finally going to have to tell them the truth about Drake. I gather a breath, pull myself up to my full five foot two, and let it fly.
“Three years ago, actually just a couple of months before Dare came to Lone Sands, Drake and I met at his garage and had a one-night-stand.”
Greta shrieks, and Berkeley starts dancing around the restroom like she’s hit the jackpot.
“I knew it!” she squeals. “I always knew something happened between the two of you! There was always this dark, scary sexual tension when you were in a room together.” Her hands are flying around as she talks a mile a minute.
Greta is just as excited, but more reserved with her response. “It’s true. I could never tell if you two were going to start throwing blows, or throw each other down on the floor and fuck.”
Now I’m the one in shock, because Greta almost never says “fuck.” It’s getting real serious in here, apparently. Even Berkeley stops waving her arms around and stares at Greta.
Olive, completely new to this group and to this particular situation, offers me a beaming smile. “Well, he’s hot and you’re hot, so why not? Y’all look beautiful together.”
After a moment of silence, we all burst out laughing. I can tell Olive is going to fit pretty damn well into this group already. The girl is striking. She’s wearing a short dress in the same hue as her name, which looks ridiculously beautiful with her long, sleek burgundy hair. Her skin is alabaster, and her makeup is understated to complement it, with the exception of her dark red lipstick. She’s obviously in shape, with long legs that rival Greta’s, and toned arms. She’s a stunner for sure, and I like her immediately.
I tell the girls about my one wild night with Drake, leaving out the reason I left so suddenly.
“But if it was good, then why have you acted so mean to him all this time?” Greta sounds honestly bewildered, and I don’t blame her.
“He…he broke one of my rules that night. And I just couldn’t deal with seeing him after that. I actually never expected to see him again, except then Dare came and he and Berkeley happened. It was like I couldn’t get away from Drake after that.”
Berkeley nods, her face full of sympathy. We’ve been friends since high school, and although I’ve never opened up to her about my father and what he did to me, I know she’s guessed at the fact that something very bad happened in my childhood that I don’t like to talk about. She’s also familiar with my “rules” when sleeping with a guy.
“Did you tell him the rules beforehand?” she asks softly.
Thinking back, I actually can’t recall if I did or not. Usually, when I go home with a guy, I’m very up front and open about the rules for having sex with me. I make sure they understand and are on board before anything goes down. But that night with Drake…I was so caught up…
“I don’t think I did.” I’m frowning, because it’s so unlike me.
Berkeley smiles sadly. “Then how could you have expected him to follow them?”
I stare at her, struck with how true that question is. I never explained the rules, so the fact that I treated him like shit for years afterward was never fair. I hang my head, and Greta rubs small circles on my back.
“Well,” she says. “It looks like you guys have patched things up now. I mean, from the look of things at that dinner table, we got you out of there just in time.”
“Y’all were definitely about to set that room on fire,” offers Olive helpfully.
I laugh, swiping a tear away from my eye. I hadn’t realized I was crying. “He’s pretty fucking sexy. And I think I’m probably way too messed up for him to stick around for long.”
Berkeley backs up a step, giving me a murderous look. “You are one of the strongest, sexiest, most giving people I know. Don’t you dare talk about yourself like you’re not good enough for Drake. You two can be good for each other.”
Greta nods, agreeing wholeheartedly.
They might be right. But they don’t know. They don’t know how truly black my soul is on the inside. What happened to me all those years ago changed me. I know that I can never come back from it, no matter how well I fake it for my friends. I’m so broken inside that the second Drake is with me in that way again, with all of our new emotions on the table, he’ll know.
And he’ll never want to be with me again. He’ll be utterly disgusted.
I can’t get caught up in all the physical heat between the two of us. Because when that day comes, and he walks away from me without looking back because of what I’ve been through, I’ll break into so many pieces I don’t think I’d be able to put myself back together this time.
When we finally make it back to the table, our food has arrived. Clearly Drake listened to what I said about the salad, because the most delicious looking shrimp Cobb salad is sitting at my place. There’s also a steaming loaf of bread for us to pass around, and my sangria is just waiting for me to gulp it down.
“Thank you.” My tone is honest and open as I look at Drake.
He seems to understand that I’m thanking him for more than just paying for my dinner. He meets my gaze, and his arm goes around the back of my chair. His fingers gently graze my shoulder, and I’m introduced to a brand-new awareness, one I only know when I’m with Drake Sullivan.
Safety.
“You’re welcome.”
I dig in just as everyone else does, and dinner is almost over when I glance up from my food randomly just for a second. I see a familiar-looking blonde walking past our table with her date, and when our gazes meet she frowns slightly, and then her eyes widen. Stopping beside my chair, she exclaims loud enough for the whole table to hear.
“Mea? Mea Sanchez?”
Every single muscle in my body freezes, including the ones that work my mouth. I just
stare at the girl, having no clue who she is or how she knows me by that name.
“Um…” Great. And now I sound like a complete idiot. The rest of the table is staring as well, at either the unknown girl or me.
“That’s not…not my name,” I stammer, finally.
And then I pray, I pray with everything inside of me that she’ll just walk away.
13
Drake
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mea’s face as drawn or pinched as it is right now. And there’s a distinct terror in her eyes that makes me want to stand up and get her out of there. I don’t know who this chick is, but she’s shaking my girl up. And I don’t like it.
The blonde waves a flippant hand, like what Mea just said doesn’t mean shit. “Please.” Her drawl is distinctly southern, but not from Georgia or Carolina like I’m used to. It’s a different dialect for sure. “It’s not like there were many Sanchezes growing up in Kentucky. And I’d know your face anywhere.”
Greta’s mouth drops open at the girl’s bigoted rudeness, and Berkeley makes a move to push back from her seat. I see Dare strong-arming her to stay seated.
The girl’s rudeness snaps Mea out of her obvious shock and she stands. “I’m sorry, I’m not as familiar with you as you seem to be with me. Where do we know each other from?”
The girl plasters on a fake smile as she sizes Mea up. “Oh, yeah, I guess I’ve changed a lot since middle school. We went to school together in Kentucky. And then, right after freshman year started, and your family…” The girl trails off, but her gaze is calculating, not sympathetic. “I guess you wouldn’t want to talk about that. Anyway, where’d you end up? Here in Savannah?”
Mea folds her arms across her chest. “What’s your name?” She’s subtle, but I can see that she’s ignoring the snoot’s question.
“I can’t believe you don’t remember me! I’m Emily Shore. Remember? We competed against each other in that talent show back in seventh grade?”
