by Emma Nichols
A lonely thread tugged at her heart. Braiden should be here. His work was necessary as the data architect in a Fortune 500 company, but it shouldn't be the only thing in life. The first year or two with him had seemed like a honeymoon. They were always together, holding hands, talking, and making love. They had been inseparable.
Now, they were rarely in the same state as each other.
Derrick held out a crooked arm. “Let's do this.”
She let out a sigh and took Derrick's offering. Over time, what she shared with Braiden had turned into something more relaxed, more comfortable, more… boring. It seemed to be the natural order for relationships.
Braiden made her feel safe. There had been no history with him, no friendship to ruin, and no risk of loss if things didn't go well.
“You have to move your feet if we're going to make it to that dance floor.” Derrick glanced down and gave her a puzzled expression. “You doing okay?”
“I shouldn't have gone so short.” She let go of his arm and fidgeted with her hands a moment before grasping his elbow once again and beginning their trek to the dance. “It just doesn't feel natural.”
“You look stunning in that dress.” Derrick studied the light blue, spaghetti–strapped, silk dress that clung in all the right places. “If you ask me, you could have gone shorter on that hemline, and showed off more of your legs.”
She did like the dress. The plunging neckline was too low, and the hem was too high, but she had to admit, she felt like a million dollars in it. The shoes pinched her feet, but some sexy shoes with killer high heels would do that.
“I'm talking about my hair.” She brushed back her now wispy bangs and stopped their trek to the ballroom once again. “I've never worn it so short before.”
After she had had it cut, the hairstylist had blown it dry in a sexy, come–hither look that Kacie thought was sassy. She’d sent a picture to Braiden, but he hadn't responded to say whether he liked it or not.
Which meant, he probably hated it.
She’d had to buy hair gel and some curling brushes to even attempt the same style at home, and she felt like she hadn't quite mastered the technique yet.
He studied her short hairstyle and smiled. “If you ask me, it makes you look ten years younger.” When she grinned and shook her head, he added, “I'm serious. You should have gone short, sexy, and sassy years ago.”
“You like it?”
He gave her his best are–you–kidding–me glare. “Honey, the way you look tonight, especially with the new contacts and not your bookworm glasses on, I'm even tempted.”
Those words were what she needed to hear. Derrick was a good enough friend that he'd tell her the truth and not trump up what he thought she needed to hear.
With her ego now boosted, Kacie was ready to walk into the room. She had only taken a few steps in that direction, hearing her high heels click on the tiled floor before she got sideswiped by someone from behind.
“Sorry. I didn't see you there.”
Kacie turned to see who it was, but that voice—soft and syrupy—was hard to miss. She could still hear it in the back of her mind on bad days, the days she knew the world had slapped her down for something.
Ashley Lewis stood in front of her. All five–foot–nine inches of her, with her slender body frame, and luscious blonde hair. She looked as if she had just stepped out of a salon—one where she had spent a week primping for this event.
The near hit–and–run didn't surprise Kacie. Ashley never saw anyone unless her claws were out.
Ashley stared at Kacie's face, examining every inch. Finally, an eyebrow raised. “Holly? Right?”
She hadn't changed in all these years. “Holly Hobby” was the disparaging nickname Ashley had given her during their four years of high school because of her girl–next–door appearance and clothing. Evidently, the woman couldn't read a name tag, even when it was one foot from her face.
“You look so different.” Ashley shook her head in disbelief.
Kacie pointed to her name tag. “I'm Kacie.” She reached out her hand, but Ashley didn't offer hers.
“I must have you confused with someone else.” She shifted the Wal–Mart bag in her hand and nearly dropped it. Letting out a deep sigh, she said, “Nothing is working tonight.”
“What's not working?” Kacie asked.
Ashley plastered what appeared to be a fake smile on her face. “So nice that you're here tonight.” She turned and continued the walk down the hallway. “I'll see you in the ballroom in a little while.”
As they stood watching her walk away, Derrick asked, “Please tell me the two of you were not BFFs in high school.”
Kacie shook her head. “Quite the opposite.” Her confidence felt shot after having seen her old nemesis. She was glad Derrick didn't ask about the Holly comment.
“Why is it, that after all this time, I'm immediately brought back to my insecure teenage days and feeling useless? And her outfit? Did you see what she was wearing?”
“Don't worry about her.”
Ashley's outfit could have had its fabric weaved by magical fairies, and her high heels were definitely designer. Feeling deflated like an ugly step–sister was easy to do with Ashley in the room.
“Now, none of that,” Derrick scolded, obviously picking up on her change of mood. “You're the star of the evening, and you're stealing this show.”
8
Greg drove to the Hilton for the reunion. He no longer cared if Ashley hung on his arm or not. In fact, he didn’t really care to go to the damn thing.
But Kacie had said she might be there.
And that was worth the drive over.
He parked his car and sat thinking. He wasn't sure what Ashley was doing and really didn’t care. She experienced another one of her fake headaches last night and then gave him the cold shoulder this morning as he fed Skipper his breakfast. The silent treatment continued until she left for the barbeque, and he expected a frosty evening from her tonight as well.
But his daughter’s dance recital had been wonderful. He sat through three hours of other kids dancing to see her on stage for five minutes and twenty–two seconds, but they were a good few minutes.
Her smile was priceless, and getting to join them for ice cream afterward felt right. He needed to spend more time with his kids. Needed to repair their relationship. And Ashley was not the answer.
She wasn’t a good potential step–mother for his kids. He knew that. She was a good–time gal, with no responsibilities or cares.
Initially, he was supposed to pick her up after he’d worked out at the gym. But she had called and told him to meet her at the school instead. She mentioned needing something from Wal–Mart, but then had curtly cut off the conversation by saying that she'd pick it up herself.
Her voice had reached the plaintive, shrilling wail of frustration. He had heard it once or twice before, and it meant that something wasn't working out the way she’d planned. A tantrum threatened to brew, but he didn't get a chance to ask her what she was doing. Not that he really wanted to know.
She had said she would take care of Skipper. Giving him his dinner was unlike her, but he appreciated that she sometimes tried.
Which is what made him feel guilty. His mind was in a completely different place. It had been a week since he had seen Kacie, yet all he managed to think about was how she had slipped from his fingers.
He could have dated her in high school. He could have dated her in college.
But, no.
He couldn't get past seeing her as a friend. No, not as a friend, as a sister.
God, he had been stupid.
He exited the car and slammed the door shut. His old buddies from the basketball team were probably here, his former study partners… Kacie.
And Ashley waited for him inside. If he’d read her tone correctly over the phone, she was already upset. Showing up late wasn't going to make the situation any better.
He entered the hotel and got his n
ame badge, noticing that Ashley's was missing from the table. She'd be in the ballroom waiting for him, her dance card no doubt filled, her expectations high of a perfect night.
“Greg?” a familiar voice sounded behind him.
Greg turned around and quickly smiled. He hadn't been the most popular guy in school, but to be recognized within the first two minutes of entering the building? He must have beaten some type of record.
The man had aged over the years, but he remained tall and lean. His hairline had traveled a bit north, and he wore a light gray suit, not the familiar basketball jersey Greg had usually seen him in. “Steve?” He gave his old team member a hug. “How are you doing?”
“Doing well.” He balled up his fists and did a one–two gentle punch on Greg's arm. “You don't look too worse for wear.”
The dark gray suit and power tie added to his confidence, but red silk could only carry you so far. He wondered if Steve and the rest of the crew suspected what a mess his life had become. “I'm doing all right, I guess.”
“All right?” Steve gave him an all–knowing smile. “Your mother bragged to everyone about you moving to Europe. She said…”
Greg nodded and listened to the regaling. On paper, his life sounded perfect.
“Where are my manners.” Steve's arm snagged the waist of a lovely blonde standing near him. “This is my wife, Carol.”
Greg shook her hand, noticing her silky skin. She was sunshine fresh, the type of girl Steve had always pursued. She was also pregnant enough to pop. “Is this your first child?”
She rubbed her belly. “Number three.”
“Wow. Three kids.”
Steve proudly smiled. “Happy family life and healthy career in commercial real estate. I'm at the top of my game.”
His grin showed his happiness. Greg guessed if the marriage were strong enough, a litter of kids added to the blessing—especially with a good job and money coming in.
“What about you?” Steve asked. “Didn't I hear that you got married?”
Greg gave the typical I'm–a–statistic–of–divorce speech and shook off any further questions about his kids. Steve and Carol gave him the usual, that's–too–bad frowns, but Greg didn't go into any details. There was no reason to bring the mood down.
The longer he waited, the more he didn't want to walk into the ballroom—at least, not alone.
“I'm dating Ashley Lewis now.” His voice sounded proud and confident.
Steve appeared deep in thought, and a moment later, he asked, “The cheerleader who was expelled for getting drunk with one of the math teachers?” He then added, “Didn't she shave off the teacher's hair when she passed out?”
That was Ashley? He had nearly forgotten about that incident. Now thinking back on the event, he remembered the story well. It certainly didn't cast his date in the best of lights, so he said, “The teacher was fired. Ashley was only suspended.”
Greg bumped into eight other friends, Coach Owens, and Ms. Lopez (his old Spanish teacher) before making his way to the beverage table.
He ordered a beer and surveyed the room. He figured they couldn’t pack this room with more green and gold if they had tried. Green tablecloths, green and gold balloons and centerpieces… the place looked like a leprechaun convention with everyone spilling their pot of gold on the dance floor.
People milled about, but he didn't see Kacie anywhere. He didn't know everyone in his graduating class, which was just as well. Other than bumping into Steve, he wasn't enjoying the evening.
And he still hadn't found Ashley.
Walking around telling everyone you were dating the prettiest ex–cheerleader when she wasn't there, smacked of pure fantasy. Back in the day, when he had grown into his awkward years of teenage acne, a cracking voice, and a scrawny body, no one would have believed he'd eventually date her.
Now, he couldn't even show her off.
People gathered in packs of two, each with a significant other in their lives.
And that's when he saw a vision of beauty. One woman stood with her back to him. Her curvy figure, long legs, and stilt–like heels said she meant business. Her body resembled a perfect hourglass, and he wasn't sure if he had ever met someone with such proportions. It must be the old prom queen. He couldn't remember her name, but she—or was it the homecoming queen?—was fantasy–figure beautiful like this. Or at least she had been.
He wasn't the same nobody from high school, so he built up his courage to say hello. Hell, it was better than being a wallflower and standing at the bar.
Plus, his old buddy Steve was talking with her. Being happily married and a good father could give anyone enough confidence to talk to a pretty woman. There were no expectations, no hidden agendas, and no sexual innuendo.
If Steve knew the goddess, then there was a chance Greg did too.
Steve left and she had turned around and looked in Greg’s direction. Her piercing blue eyes stared past him, not seeing him.
She looked so familiar, but if he had gone to school with such a knockout, he figured he would remember her. She had the reddest, poutiest, sexiest lips he had ever seen. And that haircut? Self–confident, beautiful women got away with boy–cut short styles. Like they knew they didn't need long tresses to get the attention of every man in the place.
It was sexy.
She was sexy.
Her dress showed off her firm body in ways that gave him small glimpses of flesh, but only enough to tease. The soft, supple, and flawless skin of her ample bosom overflowed the bodice of her dress. Slender legs peeked from the hem, just short enough to entice.
She radiated beauty.
As impure thoughts danced around in his mind, a man walked up to her with a glass of wine. A heartwarming smile crossed her face, and she glowed—as if she were in her element and nothing about the evening could upset her.
Naturally, she was taken. Beautiful women like that were always in relationships.
Greg stared at the man. He stood tall, had dark hair, and wore an expensive suit. What did this man have that Greg didn't?
Well, other than a sexy, girl–next–door hottie on his arm.
The woman's gaze wandered back in his direction, and a familiar smile greeted him. The curve of her cheekbones, the sparkle of her eyes, the slope of her neck, the arch of her brow… somehow, he knew her.
Greg blinked a few times and did a double–take. His heart leapt into his chest, rattling so hard that his heartbeats echoed in his ears.
That smile. He had seen it after every birthday party, basketball victory, and significant life event. Bright and cheery, full of support and… love.
Kacie was the sexy woman.
The woman with the silky skin he wanted to touch.
The woman who had been the focus of every impure thought he had had over the last two minutes. Some of the things he had imagined… he was still thinking them.
His mouth went dry and gaped open as she walked over to him.
Before he could utter a word, her arms wrapped around him and she kissed him on the cheek. “I'm so glad you're here, Greg.”
He pulled slightly away, but still managed to hold onto her. “You look… your hair… you… “
She smiled and touched her new hairstyle. “I went with a change.”
The man who followed her over now stood close to her. The badge held the name Braiden. A visitor tonight, and not a former student, although he looked vaguely familiar.
He had to be Kacie's fiancé. Greg's competition.
9
“Greg, this is Derrick.” Kacie smiled and gazed into Greg's green eyes. The eyes she knew she could get lost in. “Derrick, this is Greg. He's an old friend of mine.”
Greg stood taller as he shook Derrick's hand. Greg’s broad chest strained against the single–breasted gray suit jacket, buttoned and showing off his excellent figure. His face sported a scruffy, short beard, one that Kacie wanted to touch.
“Couldn't find your own badge?” Greg pointed to Braid
en's name on Derrick's name tag.
It felt like a knife jabbing into her chest. Showing up without her fiancé was terrible enough, but now she had brought a friend to the dance. She was pathetic. Like she needed a cousin to escort her somewhere because no one else would.
If only she could hari kari herself into oblivion.
“My fiancé, Braiden, couldn't make it.” Years ago, she would have told Greg all about her troubles, but not today. He was practically a stranger that she hadn't seen in ten years. A very handsome stranger that she hadn't stopped thinking about since he stumbled into her vet clinic—and her life—again. She hoped to let any mention of Braiden end.
“Her fiancé is on an extended business trip,” Derrick said. “I'm a friend. I work with her at the clinic.”
Greg's eyes lit up. “You took care of Skipper last week. I thought you looked familiar.”
The two men smiled, and then the conversation died, leaving the three of them with nothing to talk about and a stretch of awkward silence.
“We've had wonderful weather this week,” Greg said. “I've taken Skipper on several long hikes.”
“Oh? Where did you go?” Derrick asked.
Kacie couldn't listen to the boring conversation so she drowned it out. The idle chitchat was killing her. Greg, who had been there for her the day her cat died, the day her heart had first been broken, and the day her mother was diagnosed with cancer, was now passing the time with small talk. Back in the day, all she had to do was look at him, and he could read her moods and know all her troubles.
Something in her life was missing during vet school. Now, looking into Greg’s all–too–familiar face, she knew it had been him.
Next–door–neighbor Greg. Did he ever know about the crush she had had on him? How much she had wanted to go to the prom with him?
No. She didn’t think he did. She had hidden her feelings too well. The few dates she had gone on as a teenager were poor attempts to move on as she watched his love life soar.
