by Lexi Ryan
I lower my head to inhale the scent of her hair, and fuck, she’s so real. I’ve imagined this moment a hundred times—what I’d say if I saw her again, what I’d do. In the early months after we split, my reunion fantasies had me turning my back on her, walking away from her like she so easily walked away from me. I wanted her to feel my anger, but this is so fucking much better.
I’m forced to stop dancing when someone taps me on the shoulder. “We’re all getting an Uber and heading to Rain. Are you coming?” Bailey shouts so I can hear.
I shake my head. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
Bailey’s brow wrinkles. “Okay. But use protection, for Christ’s sake. The last thing you need right now is more baby-mama drama.”
Use protection. Those words snap me from this drugged haze I’ve been trapped in since Emma rolled her hips against mine. Fuck. What do I think I’m doing? This isn’t some random beautiful woman in Vegas. This is Emma—the woman who held my heart in her hands and crushed it. Even if we could put the past behind us, I don’t have time to start something up with anyone. My daughter is my first priority, and that’s never going to change.
Emma steps away, following her friend to the waitress weaving her way through the crowd.
What the hell did I think I was doing out here? I wasn’t thinking at all. I was operating completely on instinct and a need to touch her that’s never gone away. If I’d been thinking, I wouldn’t have let myself remember what it was like to have her close. Hell, if I’d been thinking, I wouldn’t have come over here to begin with.
As the girls hand over cash for shots, I turn to Bailey. “Let’s go.”
* * *
At four a.m., just three hours after I fell into bed, I’m wide awake and sick of staring at the ceiling in my hotel room. It’s seven at home and I’m up by five every morning, so this is sleeping in for me. Even with the time difference, it’s too early to FaceTime Olivia so I can see Jasmine. But thankfully, the hotel gym is open twenty-four hours. I change into a pair of athletic shorts and a T-shirt, slide into my running shoes, and slip out of the room.
After seeing Emma last night, I need a good workout to clear my head. I slept like shit, tossing and turning. Remembering. Considering how she ended things, I should be pissed. I should give her a fucking piece of my mind. Or better yet, I shouldn’t give her a second of my time. It’s better that things ended when they did, right? I dodged a bullet. I got to walk away the good guy instead of being found out for what I really am. It’s not like she was the only one with secrets. I just didn’t expect hers to fuck me up so much.
Despite all that, after five years, my anger is gone and all that remains is the bittersweet nostalgia of first love. It’ll fade in no time. And if it doesn’t, I really need to see a doctor about this fist that’s been wrapped around my heart since I heard her laugh last night.
I take the elevator up to the health center and find it dark. At four in the morning in Vegas, people are too busy stumbling half-drunk to their rooms to be worried about fitting in their workout. I use my keycard to let myself in and hit the lights.
The space isn’t huge, but it has everything I need for a workout. A couple of treadmills, an elliptical trainer, a bench, and a bunch of dumbbells. I put on my headphones and climb on the treadmill. It might be the off-season, but I’m not going to be one of those guys who goes soft between seasons and pays for it at training camp. Hell, I only signed a two-year contract. I can’t afford to go soft. I hit some intervals and am getting a good sweat started when the door swings open.
Emma’s eyes go wide and she stares at me, her soft pink lips parting into a tiny O.
I hit the stop button on the treadmill and meet her gaze. She’s not wearing that ridiculous black wig this morning. Instead, her curly red hair is piled on top of her head in a sloppy bun that reminds me of lazy Sunday mornings tangled in her sheets. I want to take out the hair tie just to watch it tumble down her shoulders. I want to remember how it feels in my hands as she straddles my hips.
Her eyes skim over me, slowly taking in my sweaty T-shirt before coming back up to my face. I see the same denial in her eyes that I felt when I saw her last night. “Keegan?” she asks with a squeak.
I pull out my earbuds, step off the treadmill, and grab a towel, trying to pretend seeing her doesn’t fuck me up ten ways to Sunday. Last night was different. With the music, the dance floor, the crowd, and all the alcohol pumping through my blood, I could pretend the past didn’t happen. I could pretend she didn’t break promises and end everything with a note full of explanations that didn’t make sense and apologies I didn’t want. This morning, it’s smacking me in the face. The good, the bad, and the ugly. “Good morning.”
Her expression is a jumble of emotions, and I’d give all my pennies if it meant knowing her thoughts. Is she wishing she hadn’t run into me? Is she feeling remorse for how things ended five years ago? Or is she just embarrassed to see me here? “You…” She shakes her head and blinks at me. “You didn’t say goodbye last night.”
“Funny. I thought that was the way things worked between us. You didn’t say goodbye five years ago.” Oh, there it is, that old anger back right when I need it the most. Being a dick sure beats the humiliation of taking her hand and begging for the answers she never had the courtesy to give me.
She frowns, a line forming between her brows. “I never…” She shakes her head and exhales heavily.
“I’ll get out of here so you can work out.”
“Don’t go.” She runs her eyes over me again. “I mean, you weren’t done, were you?”
No. I wasn’t done, but with her so close, my mind has fixated on a very different kind of workout. Since getting her naked and fucking her against the wall isn’t in the cards for this morning or ever again, it’s probably better that I leave.
“You were here first,” she says. “If anyone is going to leave, it should be me.”
The door swings open, and the brunette I saw with Emma last night bursts into the room. “Sorry I’m late, but holy hell, sister, why do we have to work out so early? Or at all? This is supposed to be a Vegas bachelorette party, not fat camp.” She makes a face when her gaze settles on me. “Oh, hey. Hi. Hello. Sorry,” she stammers. “I didn’t expect anyone else to be in here at this obscene hour.” She offers her hand. “I’m Becky. You’re the guy from the club, aren’t you?”
I shake it quickly before putting my hands back at my sides. “Keegan.”
“Kee…Keegan?” She looks to Emma and back to me. “Well, what a coincidence. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Becky,” Emma says, warning in her tone.
Emma told her friend about me before last night? Well, that’s interesting, but not as interesting as something else Becky said. “Bachelorette party?” My gaze drops to Emma’s bare ring finger. I’m not proud to admit that I looked last night. Who’d blame me?
“Oh, yeah,” Becky says. “It’s my last weekend of freedom and I’m trying to make the most of it, but Emma’s a fucking slave driver with the workouts, you know what I mean? And, yeah, I know I have a dress I have to fit into, but my man loves me, soft bits and all.”
Emma flashes her friend a pained look. “Becky, could you give me and Keegan a minute?”
“Oh, crap!” Becky makes a face and points to the hall. “I’ll be out there if you need me.”
When the door swings closed and we’re alone, the room seems too quiet. Silence is always heavier when it’s loaded with the weight of years and secrets.
“Would you meet me for coffee or breakfast or something?” Her tongue darts out to wet her lips in that old nervous habit, and my stomach knots. “I know I don’t have the right to ask, but I’ve always hated the way things ended and I…” She shakes her head. “Last night was crazy, but I’d love to catch up somewhere quieter.”
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” My jaw aches as I remember sitting outside her complex for hours, waiting for her to come hom
e so I could demand an explanation. She never came, and all I had was her letter in my pocket and a thread of unanswered text messages on my phone.
“I understand if you hate me.”
Oh, hell. “I don’t hate you.” The words come out so softly I’m not sure she hears.
“You don’t?”
“No.” I fucking miss you. “Breakfast would be fine,” I say before I can talk myself out of what has to be the worst idea in the history of bad ideas. “How about I meet you at the café by the gardens in two hours?”
Her whole face lights up with her smile. I decide right here and now that any heartache caused by having breakfast with her will be more than worth it if I can make her smile like that again.
Chapter Four
Emma
I climb onto the treadmill as I watch Keegan go. If I’m looking for an elevated heart rate this morning, I don’t need this equipment. God, I’m dying. My pulse races from being in the same room as him. Hearing his voice again does things to my insides that I’d rather not analyze.
I didn’t think he left me last night. Not at first. I thought I’d just lost him in the crowd for a minute, but then he didn’t come back after a few songs. When I checked the booth where he and his friends had been drinking, I found it filled with a bunch of giggling college girls. I told myself he’d return, that he’d never walk away without saying goodbye. I was wrong.
When Becky comes back in the room, she’s wearing her biggest shit-eating grin. “You didn’t tell me the hottie from last night was Keegan.”
I roll my eyes and punch buttons on the treadmill until the belt under my feet starts turning. “If you followed football, you would’ve known. He plays for the Gators.”
“Yes, but unlike my family, I don’t care about football. You know that, and I find your omission very interesting. Very interesting indeed.”
“Stop right now.” I crank up the incline for my warmup. I hate treadmills, but I’ve accepted them as a necessary evil in my life—like high heels during political dinners and weekly phone calls with my mother. “You’re way off base if you think something’s going to happen between us.”
“Last night looked like something.” She climbs onto the elliptical. “I say you go for it.”
“He hates me.”
She smirks. “So I guess that means angry sex is on the menu.”
“Would you quit putting ideas into my head? Now when I see him, my hoo-ha is going to be all disappointed when nothing happens.”
“Then make something happen,” she says.
“Listen to you. Living in your fantasy world where eye contact with a good-looking man equates to an open invitation to his bedroom.”
“If that fantasy world is wrong, I don’t wanna be right. Was he good in bed?”
“He was…” I look away, trying to think of the word. He was good, but the word feels too cheap for what we had. It wasn’t just about getting off. It was about connecting. It was about learning to make love. “Tender, I guess? We were young.” I swallow hard as I compare sex with Keegan to my only other experience. It’s not a fair comparison. “It was special.”
She hums. “Time to find out if the old boy knows any new tricks. He’s a fucking NFL player, girl. You know he’s had some experience.”
I sigh. “We both know that’s not happening.”
“Ah, but if it could.” She shrugs. “My imagination runs away with me. I just want to see my friend happy.”
I stop my treadmill, turn to her, and prop my hands on my hips. “I am happy. I know you don’t necessarily agree with all my decisions, but I am happy.” And safe. But I don’t say that out loud. Becky might be my best friend, but even she doesn’t need to know the full extent of the dark corners of my past. It would break her heart. It would keep her up at night. “Don’t worry about me.”
For the first time since she spotted Keegan this morning, her smile turns sad. “Ah, but I do. I worry about you enough for both of us.”
* * *
I’ve auditioned for major motion pictures, given speeches at prestigious universities, and been interviewed by more media outlets than I can count, but I’ve never been so nervous in my life as I am about meeting Keegan this morning.
When I invited him to have breakfast with me, I didn’t expect him to say yes. He should hate me. But here I am, staring at a cup of coffee and wishing it were something much, much stronger. Like vodka. Or a portal to a parallel universe where I didn’t break the heart of the sweetest man I’ve ever met.
“Would mademoiselle like to order?”
I snap my head up to see the waiter looking at me expectantly. “Um, not yet. I’m expecting someone.”
“Yes, of course.” The waiter gives me a forced smile—one that tells me this is the end of his shift and he’s running out of fake cheer. “A mimosa while you wait, perhaps?”
“No thank you, I…” That’s when I see him. Keegan Keller strolls into the café and seems to suck half the oxygen from the room. He’s gorgeous. His hard, defined jaw has the slightest bit of stubble. His dark hair, still wet from his shower, curls a bit at the nape of his neck, and his big hands are tucked in his pockets as he scans the room. Those hands… Baby Jesus in a manger. How can I eat a meal across from him when the sight of his hands makes me feel like I’m naked beneath him again, as if no time has passed since the summer he touched every inch of my skin and worshipped every curve of my flesh?
Regardless of what he thinks of me, I know I wouldn’t be who I am today if it weren’t for Keegan. He made me feel smart and clever. He made me believe I was beautiful. When he was gone, the confidence he gave me never left.
Keegan spots me and hesitates for a beat before heading my way. Is he disappointed that I showed, or was he hoping I might bring Becky along to ease the tension between us?
“Actually, I’ll take two mimosas,” I tell the waiter as Keegan approaches the table. “Thank you.”
“Em,” Keegan says softly. He sits across from me and fills his coffee cup from the stainless-steel pot at the center of the table.
“I ordered us mimosas. I hope that’s okay.” I reach for my coffee, but my hand is shaking so I put it back in my lap before he notices. Stupid nerves.
“Sure.” He takes a sip of his coffee—he still takes it black—and studies me. “You put the wig back on.”
“Easier that way,” I say, but I’m actually not sure it was necessary this morning. Maybe it gives me a false sense of security.
He meets my eyes and draws in a deep breath. “I almost didn’t come.”
“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t. But I’m glad you’re here.” I meet his steady gaze for several beats before I realize I’m holding my breath and have to look away. It’s like my heart is trying to beat so hard that it might reach out of my chest and grab him. I wonder if he feels the same. I wonder if I should feel guilty for hoping he does.
We study our menus in charged silence until the waiter returns with two champagne glasses fizzing with champagne and orange juice. “Two mimosas,” he says, setting them before us. “And what to eat?”
“I’ll have the waffles,” Keegan says. “With a side of scrambled eggs and bacon, please.”
“And for the lady?”
“I'll have the waffles too, but no sides for me.”
“I’ll have that right out,” the waiter says.
Keegan smirks at me.
“What’s that look for?” I ask.
“Waffles…” He shakes his head. “You probably don’t remember.”
But then I do. I haven’t thought about that day in a long time. Keegan wanted to teach me to cook, and since I liked waffles so much, he decided to start with that. He had no idea what he was in for or just how clueless I was in the kitchen. Of course, it wasn’t long before I was having so much fun witnessing his aggravation that I started breaking the egg shells into the bowl on purpose just to see if he would lose his cool.
I grin. “We made such a mess. T
here was flour everywhere.” My smile falls away and my skin heats as the rest of the memory floods my mind. The way he stood behind me and licked batter off my shoulder, the feel of his flour-coated hands sliding under my shirt and across my belly. I swallow hard and meet his eyes as I remember the way he spun me around and lifted me onto the counter. He pulled off my T-shirt and stepped between my thighs, lowering his mouth to my collarbone and sliding his hand between my legs.
His pupils dilate as he holds my gaze. “We did have good times.”
“The best.” He turns away at my words, and I watch his jaw go hard. It’s like watching someone erect a wall around their heart. “How have you been?” I ask. I want to know everything. I want him to bring down that wall and let me in. Just for one meal. For one hour, I want everything.
He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve been good.”
“You had an amazing rookie year. Are you ready for next season?” It’s not the question I’m dying to ask, though. I want to know how he balances owning a bar in Indiana and playing football for a team in Florida. I want to know if he loves being a father and if that was planned or a total surprise. I want to know if he has a girlfriend and what she’s like. When he props his forearms on the table, my gaze drifts to the ring finger on his left hand. His social media profiles are public, and I’ve creeped enough to know he’s not married, but what about his baby’s mother? Are they involved? He never posts anything about her.
“I’m getting there. I can’t believe how fast the last few months have gone. What have you been up to?”
“Not much. I’m doing some charity work and trying to steer clear of my mom as much as possible.”
“Things never improved between you two?”
I shrug. I don’t want to talk about me. If I had my way, we’d spend this whole meal focusing on him. “You must be really busy.” I take my mimosa and drink half of it in one long swallow. On the one hand, I wish he would sit here with me all day. On the other hand, I’m kicking myself for asking him to breakfast. What good did I think would come of this?
