No Commitment (Capital Kingsmen #1) - Lisa Suzanne Page 0,21

this with quite that much hope, though, I have to take a hard look at reality. She’s married. Even though she’s meeting me today, and even though I feel like there’s a chance where there wasn’t one before...she’s married.

I run a hand through my hair and wince since it’s the hand I used to punch Tommy. It’s a little swollen today, but there’s no permanent damage.

As I stare at myself, I realize I need a haircut. I need to shave. I need to take better care of myself in general, I think, probably along with taking better care of the relationships in my life. I wonder how long I can get away with using the I’ve been overseas for two years excuse. I haven’t even had a chance to call my parents since I got back...although, to be fair, I slept, had a meeting with our label, and got on a plane to Milwaukee.

But this is just going to have to do for now. I slip a ballcap over my head and pull it down low, my typical habit whenever I go out in public. Ever since that reality show, I’m recognized everywhere I go.

My ride is here, and I have fifteen minutes until I’m supposed to be at the coffee joint she chose, a place that’s neutral territory midway between the home she shares with her husband and the hotel where I’m staying.

I flew halfway around the world and then halfway across the United States to see her. I can travel another few miles to meet her.

I stare out the window at the dreary Milwaukee day as we make our way toward the coffee place. The sky is gray with the threat of storms, and it feels very symbolic of what we’re doing here. Either I’ll leave this meeting and the sun will be shining again, or the storms will begin. Either she’ll hand the rainbow of colors back to me or everything will remain gray and bleak.

I note that we’re meeting for coffee now, not a drink at a bar like we might’ve done two years ago. It’s safer to keep alcohol out of the equation. It only intensifies the feelings of need whenever I’m with her, and I remind myself for the millionth time that she has a husband now.

My chest races as I watch the GPS on the driver’s dashboard. He pulls into a parking lot, and I survey the small smattering of cars parked there on a Friday early afternoon. I wonder which one is hers. The cherry red sports car? The mid-size SUV? The soccer mom minivan? The sensible sedan?

The car rolls to a stop in front of the last store in a strip mall, and I get out with a muttered, “Thanks.”

I draw in a deep breath, and I glance up at the darkening sky as I offer up a silent prayer of hope to someone whose ear I no longer deserve. And then I open the door.

My eyes find hers immediately. She sits at a table, a coffee mug in her hand and halfway to her lips. She freezes when she spots me, and her eyes widen a little and red dusts her cheeks like she can’t believe I’m really here.

She doesn’t get up.

That’s safer.

If she did, I’d grab her in my arms, and I don’t think I’d ever be able to let her go.

I slide into the chair across from her.

“Hi,” she says softly.

I stare at her for a beat. She’s two years older, and somehow two years more beautiful than I remember. Her long, dark hair is swept off her neck, held back by a simple black elastic. She wears a white t-shirt paired with jeans, a simple combination that somehow makes her eyes glow at me as she regards me with a little bit of caution.

“Hey.”

She stares back at me, and I wonder if she thinks I look two years more beautiful, too. Somehow I doubt it...because I don’t. I look different, sure. A little more traveled, a little more experienced, a little more heartbroken. Time hasn’t been as kind to me as it’s been to her, I’m afraid.

“You look—” I begin at the same time she starts with, “What are—”

We both chuckle a little awkwardly, and it’s a strange new world since the two of us never shared awkward moments before.

“You first,” I say.

“What are you doing here?”

“I told you, Dani. I came to see you.”

She looks a little embarrassed by my words. That’s not my intention, though.