by Gage Grayson
“I was really fucking nervous that day,” I admit.
Brooke looks at me, surprised for a second, before laughing at my revelation.
“Why the fuck were you nervous about asking me to prom?” she asks incredulously.
“I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d say ‘no’ or something.”
She laughs harder, and I can’t help but laugh with her.
“I was your girlfriend, you fucktard whangdoodle. Why the fuck would I have said ‘no’ to be your prom date?”
“I don’t know. I was an idiot.”
“Was?”
I feign shock and distress, which in turn makes her smile brilliantly.
Everything in the world just stops, and I’m completely lost in this moment. This perfect moment.
God could strike me dead with a bolt of lightning, and I could die happy, having her smile be the last thing I see.
“I’m sorry, Brooke.”
Her laughter stops.
She doesn’t bother to ask what I’m apologizing for—she knows.
“I’m sorry for it all. Leaving when I did. How I did. I was a fucktard whangdoodle.”
My use of the lovely Texan colloquialism does make her snicker—if only but for a moment.
“I was a scared, arrogant fool of a teenager. And I hurt you, the one person who meant the world to me, the one person I didn’t want to hurt.”
She swallows hard, and her gaze looks down to the glass of beer that her fingers are gently gliding over. When she looks up at me again, I see a blend of bitterness and thankfulness—as if she waited fifteen years to finally hear those words.
Truthfully, she likely has been.
“I know that it doesn’t really mean much, especially now after all these years. But, if I could…I’d go back and redo it all. Even if it forever changed the outcome of my life. I’d take away all that hurt and pain I caused you.”
Chapter 19
Brooke
Fifteen years.
Fifteen years, I’ve been waiting for that apology—that I didn’t even realize I was waiting for until now.
A part of me wants to ask if he means it, but I know the answer.
The softness in his eyes is genuine, and the sincerity in his voice is something that you can’t fake.
You could be Meryl Streep or Daniel Day-Lewis and never put on a performance that believable.
Besides, I know Dylan isn’t that good of an actor.
“Even if it meant that you wouldn’t be in New York as some hotshot lawyer?”
“What makes you so sure that I wouldn’t be regardless?”
There’s a hint of humor in his voice, but also a note of seriousness.
His lopsided smirk has me wondering if maybe, had we gone back and redid things, would he have been able to convince me to go up north with him?
I find myself thinking about how things could possibly be different between us when Marissa arrives with our plates of food. Spaghetti bolognese with extra sauce for me, and rinderbraten for Dylan.
From the time of our first date here forward, we’ve always gotten these two meals—and I’ve always stolen a bit of his, too, honestly.
That last bit likely won’t be happening this time—maybe.
“So, what makes you so sure you’d still be some hotshot New York lawyer if we had redone things?” I purse my lips together in a crinkled smirk.
“Well, you know I’m the best lawyer in New York for a reason, right?”
He may have a point, but I’m not entirely convinced.
“It’s not like getting into Harvard was an issue for you. They had accepted you, after all.”
While he’s right about me having been accepted to Harvard, I’m not entirely certain that I would have fit in there quite as well as he did.
Dylan went into Harvard a football star and had an entire team to form bonds with.
I would have simply just been ‘the girlfriend.’ And that wasn’t, and isn’t, acceptable to me.
While Dylan was always a star here in Fredericksburg, we were always on equal footing.
He was the sports superstar with a solid academic record. I was the academic superstar with a solid athletic background—I was the captain of the cheerleading squad and had been on the gymnastics team.
Our dynamic worked here, but in Boston, I fear I would have been just another face in the crowd—though I’m sure Dylan would say that I could never be ‘just another face in the crowd.’
“Well, you know how my feelings about that were.”
I’m surprised—as is Dylan from the look on his face—to hear the twinge of regret in my words.
Here I was, just thinking about how Harvard wouldn’t have been a good fit for me, yet I find myself sounding mildly regretful about my decision.
And I even feel a twinge of regret in my gut.
Maybe I’ve been hanging onto this feeling of what if all these years, after all.
And I wonder if he, too, has been hanging onto that feeling, as well.
“Can I ask you something, Dylan?”
He looks at me curiously, with a slightly raised eyebrow. He doesn’t say anything for a couple seconds—likely trying to figure out just what it is that I’m going to ask—and finally nods his head.
“Do you honestly think we have a chance here? Do you think you can win this?”
Dylan’s lips turn upward into a confident, almost borderline arrogant, smile.
“Yes, I do.”
I find comfort in the confidence of his words—and the fierce determination in his eyes.
“I know that my dad is an influential powerhouse, but his plan is flawed, and we have a weapon that he’s sorely lacking.”
“Oh, really? And what weapon is that?”
“The public’s favorable opinion. In cases like this, public opinion goes a long way to affecting the decision-making process of politicians. You can’t get re-elected if the public despises you.”
His optimism is contagious, but there’s still that concern in the back of my mind.
What if Dylan’s bravado is just that?
What if he doesn’t win this case and the school closes? What if I’m then left without a job?
“You’re still worried, aren’t you?”
His question catches me off-guard, and when I look up at him, I’m more honest than I intended to be.
“I am. I can’t help but think that, no matter how hard we try, we just aren’t going to win. That the school will close and that’s that.”
Dylan reaches across the table and takes my hand in his. I’m surprised by the simple yet affectionate gesture. And when I look up into his eyes, I’m surprised again by the softness in them.
“There’s no chance of that happening, but if you’re concerned about a worst-case scenario, you could always come up with a contingency plan.”
“Like what? Move to New York City with you?”
“Is that really such a bad idea?”
It was a throwaway comment, with no real serious intention behind it, but now his question has me actually wondering.
If the worst did come to pass and the school closed—and I lost my job in the merger—would moving to New York really be as bad an idea as I’ve built it up in my head?
Texas has always been my home, but moving doesn’t mean I’d be leaving forever.
And, obviously, there’s still something between Dylan and me. Maybe it would be worth it to explore just exactly what that something is. Would that really be so bad?
“It’s not the worst idea in the world, but then, I’d be surrounded by a bunch of football simpletons.”
“You do realize that the Cowboys aren’t really all that great of a team, right?” He laughs and lets go of my hand to resume eating.
“You know, you’re so much prettier when you don’t say such foolish things,” I tease.
“Please. I look good all the time,” he counters with his own teasing tone. “And, if I remember correctly, you weren’t c
omplaining about all the foolish things I was saying the other night while we were in bed.”
His reference to our intimate encounter at Jessie and Eric’s after the press conference has me smiling and thinking back to that moment with abundant fondness—and a little arousal.
“Keep talking, hotshot.”
The rest of our meal goes by well enough. It’s filled with frivolous small talk—mostly just catching up on the last fifteen years—and lots of flirtation.
Of everything that I learn about his time away, I’m most surprised to hear about his love life.
It’s not that he hasn’t had other women in life, it’s that none seem to have stuck around.
I’m actually pleased by that bit of news. Had he been in a stable relationship, we wouldn’t have been able to enjoy each other the other night.
I also think about the cause of it and wonder if maybe it’s because of the lingering feelings regarding us.
Once we finish eating, we stick around, talking for a bit longer, before Marissa finally kicks us out.
Dylan’s kind enough to offer me a drive back to my place, and I take him up on the offer.
The drive is short but sweet. I find our fingers intertwined as his hand rests on my lap.
Once we arrive at my place, Dylan’s kind enough to walk me up to my door, too.
“I’m glad you came out tonight,” he says. “If I had to choose someone to go to Lindenbaum’s with again, it’s you.”
“Well, the feeling is mutual.”
I look up into his pale green eyes and feel my hands move of their own accord over his chest.
Then our lips crash together like two semi-trucks colliding on the interstate.
My fingers cling to the fabric of his gray, long-sleeved shirt, and I’m wishing that he wasn’t wearing a shirt at all so that I could feel his hard chest against my hands.
Our lips part, and I feel like my heart is going to beat right out of my chest. I want—need—him so fucking badly right now.
“You’re coming inside,” I tell him in a husky whisper.
“Oh, yeah?”
He looks down at me with a shit-eating grin that is far sexier than I can put into words right now. My brain is on autopilot, and the destination is him on my bed.
“Yeah, so inside. Now.”
Chapter 20
Dylan
Brooke pulls me inside the house as she finally gets the door open. Had it been a second longer, I think I would have just kicked the door in.
We make it just inside the doorway and our lips meet again in an intensely passionate embrace that’s hot enough to melt the polar ice caps.
I kick the door closed behind us, and push Brooke up against the wall.
A husky moan escapes her lips as mine move to the base of her neck.
Together we peel off her leather jacket as she exposes more of her neck to me. I take that opportunity to graze my teeth along her supple flesh, and pull another moan from her.
Brooke’s leather jacket falls to the floor and she jumps up into my chest. I pull her in tightly to my body.
She grabs my face and pulls me in for another heady kiss as I push her up against the wall.
“You have too many clothes.”
Her tone is full of unbridled want and lust that radiates in her eyes just as much as her voice.
“We both are.”
She begins to laugh, but I cut it off with kiss.
I stumble through her hallway as her hands run through my hair and her tongue dances with mine.
I’ve got absolutely no clue where I’m going, and I don’t really care if I’m being honest, but that’s part of the fun.
My knees bump into the side of her couch and I toss her onto the cushions.
She looks up with a playful smirk as she begins to pull her shirt up over her head. As Brooke disrobes, I begin to pry her cowboy boots from her feet. I toss the boots across the floor and Brooke throws her shirt somewhere over her head.
Brooke starts to unfasten her jeans when I roll her over onto her stomach and pull her up over the arm of the couch.
She looks at me from over her shoulder as I slide down her jeans and purple lace La Perla down off her hips.
I kneel down behind her as she steps out from her pants and grab her round ass firmly with my hands. A mixture of a sigh and moan slips past Brooke’s lips as I move my tongue in between the wet folds of her pussy.
My tongue twists and swirls as makes it slow journey towards her clit. I make sure to take my time to enjoy the taste of her. The honeyed cantaloupe taste is intoxicating and enslaving.
I can feel her fingers moving through my hair as her other fingers scratch against the plush fabric of her couch.
Her moans grow louder as my tongue reaches her swollen clit and her grip on my hair tightens.
“Right...there. Do...don’t stop,” she murmurs in between husky moans.
I can feel her thighs quiver as her moans are cut off with hitches in her breath.
She lets out a muffled scream into her couch. It’s the only warning I get before my lips and tongue are flooded by a fresh wave of her wetness.
My tongue flattens out as I lick at her, craving more of her sweet taste, and I feel her collapse against the arm of the couch. Her grip on my hair loosens as her fingers twitch of their own accord.
I stand up from behind her as she tries to catch her breath and take the opportunity to pull off my shirt.
Brooke slides forward and rolls onto her back with a satisfied smile on her face as she looks up at me.
“Those pants better be coming off next.”
“Oh, they will. Once I’ve had my fill.”
Her eyes go wide for a moment in surprise and delight before her smile turns into a playful smirk.
The sound of her laughter echoing through her living room makes me smile as I lean down and throw her legs over my shoulder.
The moment that my lips wrap around her clit her laughter is replaced by a long, throaty moan.
My nose presses against her smooth skin as my kiss against her clit deepens. My tongue slides out to swirl around it as if it were her tongue, and Brooke coos with enjoyment.
Both of her hands this time play with my hair as my tongue and lips explore and taste her wet pussy.
I use my fingers to slip inside her and a sharp gasp lets loose from her lips. Her fingers curl and tug at my hair tightly, and I smile as I flick at the underside of her clit with my tongue.
I take a moment to pause and take in the delicious sight of her pussy glistening in the ambient glow that peeks through her living room windows.
I slide my fingers from her and into my mouth. My tongue licks her sweetness from my fingers and I let out a pleasing moan of my own.
The hunger in her sapphire eyes is overwhelming and soon my tongue is sliding between her pussy lips once more.
It twists and swirls around her clit, my fingers thrusting deep into her in tandem, and it provokes louder moans from her—moans that can’t be muffled by the couch.
“Ye...yes. Just like that.”
From between her legs, I look up at her and watch as Brooke throws her head back against the charcoal colored cushion.
Against my bare shoulders, I feel the twitch of her muscles as her stomach clenches and she starts to fold in on herself.
“Fuck!”
I can hear her breath catch in her throat as she lets out a whimpering moan, and another fresh wave of her sweetness rewards me for my efforts.
She lets go of my hair and throws her hands up over her head to grip the other arm of the couch, as if trying to anchor herself.
I sit up on my knees and smile triumphantly as she lays before me, still trembling as she begins to come down her euphoric high.
But then I’m taken aback when Brooke sits up and lunges forward into a heated kiss.
She, and her tongue, are quick to take control as her hands deftly unfasten my pants and pull them down over my ass.
My
swelling cock delights in being freed from its confinement, and throbs with excitement as Brooke’s fingers wrap about its thickness.
Our kiss breaks and I feel a rush of wetness and warmth around the head of my cock as Brooke’s lips slide over it. She takes me further down the back of her throat as she hums against me; her tongue sliding along the underside of my cock as she takes me in deeper.
With one hand she cups my balls and massages them teasingly as her other hand strokes along my shaft as her head bobs back and forth.
Brooke’s gaze never leaves mine as I wrap her long, black hair around my fist.
Her tongue moves against all the right places to make my hips twitch, sending a chill up my spine that has me groaning with voracious want.
She pulls my cock from between her lips, slowly and deliberately, and kisses the tip of it before sliding her tongue down the length of my shaft and to my balls.
Brooke’s lips attentively wrap around each one. The mix of her pouty lips and masterful tongue have me gripping at her hair tightly as my own moans of satisfaction grow louder.
My mind begins to twist and melt into a haze as I’m overcome with such intense pleasure.
Finally, I can’t take any more of the wondrous torment and I toss Brooke back against the couch.
I finish slipping off the rest of my pants, kicking them to the floor, and slide in between Brooke’s welcoming thighs.
Our lips meet again, the taste of each other mixing into a heady blend that has my cock swelling with incredible excitement.
My cock slips inside her and a sharp gasp of pleasure spills out as a smile spreads on Brooke’s lips.
“About fucking time,” she teases.
Her arms wrap up around my neck and her nails dig into the flesh of my back as my hips bear down into her with forceful thrusts. Each is met by a thrust of Brooke’s as our bodies work in tandem—as they always do.
Our moans get lost in the muffle of our heated kiss, and her chest heaves against mine with the quickening pace of my lunging hips.
Her legs wrap around my waist as her nails dig deeper into my skin. Her breath quickens and I feel her clench around my thick cock as it slides deep inside her.
Brooke breaks our kiss and throws her face into her arm to muffle the loud moan of her climax—but I don’t stop.
