“He used to wear these red cowboy boots when he was little, kept them right next to his bed. At prep school, the year before he died, we had opposite day for Homecoming. I went as him: dress shirt, glasses, khakis, and a pocket protector. He dressed in my jersey. It swallowed him, but the pride on his face…”
I fan her hair out with my fingers.
“The day he drowned…” The words get caught in my throat as I struggle to keep the emotion in check. “He shouldn’t have been there, not with the crowd I hung out with, but he followed me around, and I couldn’t deny him anything. When he didn’t come up out of the water…” I wanted to die. “I dove in after him. He was a good swimmer, but he hit his head on a rock. I dragged him up to the shore, did CPR, but he…”—was gone—“never came back. I felt as if I should have died next to him.” My breath catches.
“Oh, Dillon. That must have been horrible.”
“My dad…he…he…I don’t know. He couldn’t stand to be around—” I stop, sucking in air. “My dad and I are screwed up.”
Her lips brush my hand. “Grief makes people do crazy things. I hope you work things out with him.”
“I showed up at Waylon with all this buried grief and anger. Why my brother? Why didn’t I watch him better? Did I mess up the CPR? I shoved it down with football and parties.” I hesitate. “Serena, I’ve been with a lot of girls…” I stop. “You’re different. You know that, right?”
She eases up and straddles me, her knees outside my legs. “Thank you,” she says.
I tug her closer until I can see the white glints in her honey-colored eyes. “For what?”
“For today with the safari park. Nana can be…”
“Ridiculous? But cute?”
She smirks. “And for telling me about Myles. A person isn’t completely gone when we talk about them. He’s still with you when you kiss your hands before you take the field. I understand, I see you—”
Overwhelmed, I kiss her, cutting off her words, my tongue finding hers. We start off slow and sweet as my fingers pull her shirt up and off. Her bra is black lace, her skin like satin. My fingers play with the charm around her neck. Seeing it fires off emotions in my chest. “I want to make love to you, Dandelion. Here.”
She stills and her breath hitches as she stares at me. I don’t know how long we gaze at each other. Crickets chirp in the woods. An owl hoots. The sun falls below the horizon, the last glints of the orange and pink lights making the night ethereal and otherworldly. How is it possible that our planet continues to spin with billions of people, yet it feels as if we are alone in this moment?
Something rich and complicated flares to life. Oh, it’s always been there, but now I can barely breath. The air itself sizzles, and my chest hitches. My soul, my heart, the very essence of me… It’s connected to her, a fragile string that’s never been broken, not even by three years.
I said make love. “Are you freaking out?” I’m tense and swallow.
A gust of air comes from her. “This is happening fast.”
“You want to run from us?” Please don’t.
She shuts her eyes, then opens them. “Kiss me.”
I kiss her. Again and again, lingering, drugging kisses, my hand in her hair, hers in mine. We make love in the meadow where we met and it feels like nothing in the world could ever come between us.
25
See you tonight is the text that comes from Dillon as I scurry around the bedroom two weeks later. In a fit of annoyance, I toss the phone on my bed and dart for my closet. Torn between his team’s superstition and me, he dreads the Fall Ball with Ashley, but the night is here, and there’s a knot of anxiety in my gut. I keep reminding myself that this is a commitment he agreed to in May before I even met him. So why am I stomping around my apartment?
My head goes back to last night when he cooked chili for me and Romy and Nana. Later, after we were alone, he wanted to make sure I was okay with the dance. Trying to be mature, I told him I was.
The university catering service asked me to work the formal, and I can’t turn down the extra money. Snatching my black skirt and a white button-up shirt out of my closet, I dress. After getting my hair up in a knot and makeup on my face, I slide my boots onto my feet.
My reflection in the mirror is harried. I shut my eyes and remember the meadow, the tender way he touched me, with reverence, as if every single caress counted. The deeper he sinks into my heart, the more I think about him, the more I need him, the more I…
My eyes fly open. Love him.
My heart drops.
I love his spontaneity, his stark masculinity, the way he understands grief. My hands cling to the sink, deep breaths coming from my chest. My eyes close. He’s dug deep roots in my soul little by little. Like the dandelion, he grew in hard soil, finding the path to my heart.
Romy bounces into my room wearing a black skirt and a white polo. The only positive is I begged Zena to add Romy to the list of servers.
“I’m ready for my first catering job!” Her hair swings around her shoulders. “Mo money, mo money!”
I push aside thoughts of Dillon. “Want me to put your hair up?”
She scrunches her nose. “Can’t I wear it down?”
“Do sorority girls want to find hair in their chicken?”
She gags.
“Exactly. Come in the bathroom.”
My phone rings and I snatch it up. “What?”
“Dandelion.” Dillon’s deep tone washes over me. Normally the nickname makes me melt, but now… “You didn’t reply to my text.”
“I’m getting ready. Aren’t you? Don’t you have to go pick up your date?” I check the clock and see he should already be on his way.
There’s a long silence on the other side. “It’s part of the tradition, yes. We’re riding with Sawyer and Troy. They’re waiting on me now.” He pauses, lowering his voice. “You okay?”
“Super. Got to go. See you soon.” I click off before he can reply and glare at my cell.
Romy arches her brow. “Trouble?”
I don’t reply as we head to the bathroom. I busy myself brushing her hair and pulling it up in a high ponytail.
Her hand grabs mine. “Hey. Stop whatever you’re thinking. Dillon isn’t going to do anything with that girl.”
I pause, meeting her gaze in the mirror, then stare at myself. My makeup is heavier than usual, bronze eyeshadow, my lashes long and thick, but nothing can hide the fear in my eyes. It’s not about Ashley entirely. It’s just… Falling in love with a man as charismatic as Dillon wasn’t part of my plan.
“Trust your choices,” Romy adds.
“And him?”
Her small shoulders shrug. “Has he done anything to make you think you can’t?”
Not yet, a voice says in my head.
The sounds of a DJ spinning music drifts into the kitchen as I fill a tea pitcher and hand it off to a runner. So far I’ve managed to hide out in the back and help with prep. No way am I stepping out there to see them together. Anger simmers—at her, at him, at the team, at myself for being annoyed. This should be a no brainer. I shouldn’t be jealous over this. This night is a job to him.
Like those groupies were to Vane?
“Two servers didn’t show! These college kids…” Zena mutters as she ties her apron around her waist. “Serena, take these salads out.” She points at a tray of food.
Romy pops up next to me. “I’ll do it, Zena.”
She frowns. “No, you’re on the floor filling glasses. Don’t forget the lemons. Serena has more experience. She’ll take the salads.”
Romy gives me a sympathetic glance. “Don’t let that red-haired bitch get to you,” she says when Zena walks off.
I give her a wan smirk. “Don’t use that word.”
“Okay.” She rolls her eyes. “Hussy. Better?”
No. With a sigh, I pick up the tray of eight salads, put them on my shoulder, and push through the swinging doors of the banquet hall. The centerpiece of the ro
om is a wall decorated with black and gold balloons formed into an arch. A backdrop of the campus with the Theta Greek letters is plastered on the wall. They’re taking couple photos, and Dillon and Ashley pose for the photographer. Wearing a strapless red dress that should clash with her upswept hair but doesn’t, she looks like she belongs in a magazine. He’s wearing a gray suit that has to be tailored, the fit tight as it clings to his broad shoulders. Her hand is hooked in his elbow, her face tilted up to his.
The image of them slams into me.
His worried eyes find mine.
Dandelion, they say.
Sucking in a breath, I turn away and drop salads off at an eight-top table then head back in for another tray.
When I come out, the only table that doesn’t have salads is theirs. You got this. Chantal sits next to Troy and Bambi is next to Sawyer, their heads tilted together in conversation. Dillon looks up as I approach, and I feel the weight of his gaze. My spine straightens, and I give myself a pep talk. A hundred bucks for this job. Plus, with Romy’s part, we’ve got her competition fees covered this month.
Bambi and Chantal give me cautious looks, and I force a smile. “Your salads,” I say, placing them around the table.
“Yummy!” Bambi says. She’s wearing a slinky gold dress and her hair is in beach waves.
Moving to Ashley’s left, I ease her plate down. Her green eyes narrow as she sniffs. “Blue cheese? I thought we decided on raspberry vinaigrette when we made the menu. Girls? Am I right?” Her gaze sweeps to the others.
Her mouth twisting, Chantal replies, “It’s a wedge salad. Traditionally, it calls for blue cheese.”
I give her a mental high-five.
“Oh, it does, but I find blue cheese so…unsavory,” Ashley insists as she looks at me. Her lashes flutter. “Would you run back and check, Serena? I’m sure the catering team must have forgotten to offer us a selection.”
How about I just dump it in your lap? I smile tightly. “Of course. Anyone else?”
They say no. My hands shake as I set down Dillon’s salad, starting at the scent of his cologne. It’s new and foreign and rattles me. Where’s his signature smell? Did he put on something different for her?
He says my name and tries to take my hand, but I tug it away, flip around and leave.
“What’s wrong?” Romy hisses as I fumble around in the fridge then check the counters in the small kitchen.
“Nothing,” I mutter. “You see any other salad dressings?”
“Let me take their table. Zena has me on the floor with food now.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Why are you torturing yourself?” She puts her hands on her hips.
Maybe I need to see them together. I pause. I didn’t have to accept this job tonight. I could have skipped it and picked one up in a week or so.
I wanted to see them together.
Because…
Do I want him to screw up? Am I self-sabotaging? Maybe. My throat tightens.
By the time I return, Ashley’s tapping her fingers on the table.
“No raspberry vinaigrette, sorry. I brought what we had: French and oil and vinegar.” I plunk them down.
“How disappointing.”
“Get over it, Ashley,” Chantal grouses.
Ashley’s fork falls to the carpet, and her stiletto knocks it under the table. “Oops. I can’t reach it. Can you get that for me, Serena?” She looks up and smiles at me.
“I’ve got it,” Dillon says as he bends down and snatches it. He stands from his chair and gives the fork to me. He clenches my hand. “Look at me, Serena—”
I push away from him, my voice cool. “Excuse me, let me get a new one.”
“And extra lemons for my tea,” Ashley calls to my back.
I hear Dillon arguing with her as I march off.
Romy waits at the door in the kitchen. She’s been working the other side of the room, delivering the entrees. She pulls the tray out of my hands. “Your face is red, sis. I’m taking over before you jump on the table and pull her hair out. You work my tables and I’ll get yours.”
“No.”
She stomps her foot. “What are you trying to prove? She’s trying to get a rise out of you! Alexa, play ‘You Need To Calm Down’.”
But I have to do this.
When I bring out the chicken and roasted vegetables, Ashley complains hers is cold and asks for a new plate, her water glass needs more ice, her rolls require more butter, and when I bring out the chocolate soufflé, she whines that hers has fallen and can I see if the chef has one that is adequate.
Dillon sits stiff and tense, his jaw popping as I turn around to get a new soufflé. I hear a chair scraping the floor and footsteps behind me. He’s followed me and grabs my elbow. “Jesus, Serena. I’m sorry—”
“Please go back to your table. I’m busy.”
He gets a panicked look on his face. “Serena. No. Stop. Don’t push me away—”
I pull away from him and walk into the kitchen.
My heart thumps so loud I’m sure it’s going to pop out of my chest. Somewhere between the salad and the soufflé, I’ve become a teetering domino, just waiting to fall.
“Most of the hard work is done,” Romy says, her eyes narrowed as she sees me. “Why don’t you take a break?”
I nod jerkily. “Good idea.” I pull off my apron, hand it over to her, and leave the hall. Without a destination in mind, I take the stairs and walk until I’m out of the student center and outside on the sidewalk. The October air is crisp, alive with the feel of autumn. I suck in air, trying to calm down.
Relationships fail when people bring their insecurities to the table and project them as their partner’s flaws. I know this. Overthinking poisons. So, don’t do it! I tell myself. Have a little faith in the guy. Stop twisting scenarios in your head. So what if he doesn’t smell right? Troy probably spritzed him with something. Ashley is provoking you and you’re letting her. He never wanted to be the prize in the stupid contest.
Feeling better, I reapply my lipstick and head back inside.
I reach the hallway that leads to the banquet hall but stop when I hear my name, easing back behind the corner. Peeking around, I see Dillon, Troy, and Sawyer.
“Chantal is barely talking to me,” Troy grumbles. “She only asked me because she needed a date.”
“Where did Serena get off to?” Dillon asks. “She’s upset.”
I back away and hide, my chest rising. I shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but I never was one to pass up an opportunity…
“Romy said she came out here. Do you think she left?” Dillon asks.
Troy says, “What’s up with you and her? You’ve done your challenge with her. You checked it off—”
“Our toughest team is Bama, though. He needs to hang in until then,” Sawyer adds.
I start. Hang in for Bama?
A roaring sound fills my ears as the ramifications of what they’re discussing slams into me. No way. It can’t…
Their voices lower, a flurry of words darting between them. A sick feeling growing in my stomach as I strain to hear, only catching bits and pieces.
“…you rode the unicorn from freshman year…” says Troy.
“…one that got away…” comes from Sawyer.
“Leave it alone…” growls Dillon, the rest of his words tapering off as I hear them open the doors of the banquet hall and head back inside.
Mortification fills me as I put the words together. Is this the bet thing Neil mentioned? A variation of it?
“That was enlightening,” Ashley’s voice says from behind me.
I whip around, my face hot. She must have come from the restrooms.
She adjusts the gold necklace around her throat. “Funny, I wondered what he saw in you. You’re short term, Serena. Once he’s done with this challenge thing, which I confess is news to me, he’ll end it.”
Betrayal claws at me as images tumble through my head. Fixing my car, paintball, the charm, the t
ryouts… He planned those things? I was the one who got away, so he set out to win me? Nausea roils. My hands clutch my stomach.
“Oh, my. You are upset.” She shrugs. “Didn’t you know that Dillon will do anything for his team? Even you.”
She is a bitch.
Leaving her behind me—she’s so not worth my time—I go back in the room, and a hand grabs mine.
“Serena.” It’s Dillon, his eyes searching my face. Worry brackets his mouth. “There you are. Look, I came and ate the meal. It should be good enough—hey, are you okay?”
I’m barely listening. I pull my hand out of his. “No.”
“You’re upset about Ashley. I had words with her. She’s terrible—”
“Stop,” I say, my voice calm. I’m shoving everything down, locking it away.
“Dandelion—”
“Don’t call me that,” I say louder and feel the murmurs of conversation lull as people notice us. I don’t see Chantal and Bambi walking toward us, but I feel their presence when they arrive on either side of me.
“What’s going on?” Chantal says, darting her eyes between us.
I break my gaze with Dillon to look at them. “You didn’t know about the challenge?”
“What?” Bambi asks.
“No,” Chantal retorts, crossing her arms. “Explain.”
Thank God they aren’t part of this.
“The way I understood the conversation in the hallway, I was Dillon’s mission,” I say as I turn to him and hold his eyes. “Let me guess, to work me out of your system so you’re focused on the game?”
Doesn’t he know who I am? This is reprehensible. Stupid college boy games.
Chantal pokes him in the chest with a long pink fingernail. “Is that true?”
Bambi joins her. “Fix this now and tell Serena you’d never do that.”
He hasn’t moved or spoken, blue-green eyes on me.
“Wait, Serena,” Sawyer says in a rush as he joins us. I assume he’s heard us. His hands are up in a placating manner. “I suggested the challenge after he saw you at the Pig—”
Bambi gasps. “Sawyer—”
I Promise You Page 23
