Tyler’s voice is a rasp.
His gaze lands on my mouth, and heat floods my body. He strokes a finger down my cheek gently. Then he rubs his thumb against my lower lip.
“You want me to kiss you until you can’t breathe.”
My mouth opens on instinct, my breath trembling out. I don’t know when I’ll need another because the way he’s looking at me, I might die right here. As if he knows what I’m thinking and likes it, his eyes darken more.
“Or run my hands up this dress the way I’ve been thinking about all night.”
He hitches a finger under the hem and traces a slow path upward.
Somehow, we’re still alone in this hallway, but we won’t be for long.
Anyone could walk in and see his hand up my skirt, inching to the apex of my thighs.
“If I go high enough“—his voice is drugging—“I’ll find all your secrets. Written and otherwise.”
I’m throbbing. Shock twines with desire in my gut.
I’m in a restaurant thirty feet from my family, and I’m soaked for him.
It’s messed up, but I want this, so fucking much.
More than that, knowing he’s here, a breath away, and that he wants it too…
It’s the biggest turn-on.
Trying to reconcile my former friend with the popular asshole I thought betrayed me with the one who’s in front of me is impossible.
I give up trying.
Tyler leans closer, his hair tickling my neck and his mouth a hot caress against the shell of my ear. “I could steal you out of this restaurant. We could take my bike and run away. Leave your dad, the assholes, the expectations.”
I’m drowning. The wanting and craving and longing combine in a writhing mass of guilty need that expands to fill my entire being.
“But what happens then?” he murmurs. His touch falls away, and I nearly moan in protest.
I blink once, twice, before the soft sound of footsteps on carpet alerts me to the woman making her return journey from the bathroom, steadfastly avoiding eye contact.
“I hope you have a plan for then,” Tyler says once she’s past. “Because that’s where I get stuck.”
When I meet his gaze, I’m startled to see the fire behind his eyes is leashed once more.
The truth slams into me and leaves me aching.
He’s not asking for real—he’s proving a point.
That even if I want him and he wants me, we can’t be together.
In his world, we can’t.
I take a deep breath, willing my heart to stop racing as I tug on my hem with one hand, smooth my hair with the other.
“We’d figure it out together,” I say, and the words come out surprisingly level. “Except you don’t want to.”
I turn and head straight into one of the single-stall bathrooms, slamming the door hard enough the frame shakes.
12
Some moments seem destined to remain mysterious even if you stop, rewind, replay them from a million angles.
Until last night, my most recent was the moment the woman calling herself my mother approached me at Dad and Haley’s wedding, pressed that envelope into my hand with pleading eyes, and added to the uncertainty I’d always had about my place in this family.
Now, it’s the scene in the hallway with Tyler that haunts me when I drive home after dinner alone. I stare out the window at the lights of the pool house for a long time before yanking the curtains closed.
After I close my eyes, I’m transported back to that hallway, remembering his sensual words, his searing touch, the look of pure desire on his face.
Still, it’s the mask of regret and frustration as we stepped apart that stays with me.
I know if we get caught, my dad will lose his shit, maybe even send Tyler away.
None of that explains why Tyler looked as if he’d betrayed himself by his words and actions.
Somehow, I fall asleep.
After grabbing a coffee in the thankfully quiet kitchen the next morning, I return to my room and shut the door.
In the top drawer of my desk, I find a familiar envelope. I run my fingers over the name on the front, the return address, as I have a hundred times.
I’m aching to open it. It’s been sitting there for a year, untouched. Waiting for the right moment.
Which isn’t when you’re pissed at the world.
But I’m too worked up to deny myself.
Ripping at the seal makes me feel like I’ve crossed another point of no return, and my hands shake as I unfold the paper.
Dearest Annie,
Your father wants you to believe I didn’t care about you. I did.
I