eyes were just as deep in color, and her hair was the color of cinnamon, tucked into an adorable shoulder-length bob.
“Payton goes to private school?” Elle remarked, observing the girl was dressed in a uniform for her photo.
“Yeah.” He handed her a fresh glass of merlot. “Have a seat, okay?”
“Sure.”
Troy walked to his iPod, which sat on a side table next to the couch. Within seconds, the Beatles were singing into the small apartment. He then joined her on the couch.
Elle glanced down at Troy’s hands, wrapped around a glass of scotch. His fingertips were trembling against the glass. She braced herself for the end of whatever this was.
Troy took a deep breath and placed the glass on the table. “I have to tell you something.”
Elle, preparing to become emotional, set her glass next to his on the coffee table. “All right.”
“I should have said this sooner, I should . . . but tonight, when you told me about the song, I just . . . I knew it. I knew it was time.”
“I understand . . .” Elle began. Troy looked at her with confusion, tilting his head slightly. “I should go.”
He reached for her, grabbing her arm. “No, please. Let me say this.”
“Look, I get it, okay? It’s too painful, you can’t be around me because it reminds you of what I put you through. I was hoping we could . . . God, I don’t know what I was hoping for.” Tears formed in her eyes, and she felt like that girl on the other side of the door all over again. The feet were about to shuffle away and she would be left alone with her pain and regret.
“I’ve seen every episode.”
Shock traveled from her brain to her toes. “What?”
“Your books, your show—I lied to you when I said I didn’t know anything about them. I read every book. Twice. Years ago when they were first published.” His eyes were glassy but determined as his hand traveled from her forearm to her wrist. “And I’ve seen every episode of your show. It’s us, Rigby. It’s about us.”
Elle was stunned. Her brain fought to find the right response, but nothing seemed quite right. She was elated, yet confused. He cared enough to read her novels, enough to watch the show. Troy still cared. He didn’t hate her. He didn’t bring her there to cut off ties. He was confessing . . . to caring about her.
Without allowing another thought to creep through her already muddled brain, she lunged at Troy, her mouth crashing into his. His arms wrapped around her back, pulling her to his chest. Her fingers ran greedily through his silky hair. He opened his mouth, deepening the kiss. Elle moaned as his hands moved from her back to her chest, pulling at her sweater, stripping it from her body. His mouth moved to her exposed shoulders, the heat of his tongue waking her cool skin. A shudder ran down her spine and instinctively, she dropped her hands to clutch at the hem of his shirt, lifting it over his head, exposing his tan skin. Her eyes gazed down at his firm chest and abdomen.
“I knew you still had a six-pack,” Elle whispered with a smirk, her fingers grazing the rock-hard muscles of his midsection. Troy eased Elle onto the couch, her legs wrapped around his waist and her pelvis tilted up toward his hips. She was losing herself in him. With every kiss, every touch, every moan, lick, and nibble, she was completely lost in Troy Saladino.
“God, I want you,” Troy murmured into her ear, his hand cupping her breast, the tips of his fingers squeezing her supple skin. “I didn’t realize how much I’d missed you.”
She’d missed him, too. Far too many years had gone by, too many moments without one another, too many soured memories filled with heartache and remorse. As much as his touch made her body come alive, her brain was turning on her as she processed his words.
He didn’t realize?
Elle had spent ten years missing Troy. She was so fully aware of her heartbreak that she created an outlet in which to deal with her grief. And he was just now realizing how much he missed her in return? Elle broke their kiss, pushing her hand into his chest.
“Wait, what? You didn’t realize? But you said you watched the show, you read the books . . . I don’t get it—”