The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,196

we stroll through the mall.

And the truth, at this point, my career has become more important to me than she is.

I will admit that when I realized we were not going to work out, I was disappointed.

I am trying to build a serious career, I also hoped to build a serious relationship with someone who might share my views on giving back and being a voice for the voiceless.

Joni, I’ve realized, too late, only likes what the attention does for her.

Kal reappearing just as I’ve made that decision feels like a sign, a crossroads, telling me exactly where I need to go now. I’ve never stopped wanting her, even when I gave up ever having her.

I’m not one to wallow in regret. I’ve had plenty of disappointments and setbacks. I never see them as failures, I see them as me being given an opportunity to learn something.

But, when I think about Kal and the way things ended, I feel like a failure.

I spent a summer convincing her that she could trust me, convincing her that I trusted her. And then, in one night, I ruined it, and hurt her profoundly. All because I thought… well, I thought like an eighteen-year-old with poor judgment and not quite enough courage.

If I had explained that Joni and I had been going to this event together since we were twelve and that I hadn’t even thought about it until a few weeks before the party when my mother reminded me to take my tux to the dry cleaners for a press. By then, I thought it was too late to cancel without causing a big stink and I just wanted the summer we were having to end on a happy note.

It was just one weekend. My mother told me they hadn’t been invited. Nothing should have brought Kal anywhere near my house that weekend. But, my mother figured out my plan and its fatal flaw and she went in for the kill.

That lie I told is my biggest regret.

The biggest mistake I ever made. That, and not telling her that I loved her.

That summer, we found something special with each other. Something, we’d never find with anyone else again.

I was just a kid, but I knew it in my bones, then. I still know it, now.

“Remington, could you try not to look like you’re waiting for the executioner to drop a guillotine blade on your neck?” Joni drones as she walks over to the full-length mirror right beside the door. Her long, thin body is draped in a skintight black sequined dress that leaves nothing to the imagination.

“How do I look?” she asks and then turns her back to me so that I have a view of her perfectly round ass.

“Good,” I respond honestly, but without any real conviction. Her beautiful body isn’t enough for me, not anymore and my cock doesn’t stir.

“Good? That’s it? Remi, what’s going on? You haven’t seen me in two months and you haven’t even tried to touch me.” She crosses her arms over her chest and pouts. The evening hasn’t even started and I feel tired already.

This isn’t fair to either of us. When the wedding is over, I’ll talk to her. But for now, I want my sister to have the day she deserves, so I just smile apologetically and rub my temples.

“You look great. I just have a headache. Go on down, I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

Her eyebrows are raised in impatience. “I don’t want to walk out alone. People will think we had a fight.”

My hackles rise. “Why in the world would anyone think that? And why do we care what they think?” I stay planted firmly on the bed.

I don’t like being told what to do. Not by her and not because she wants to impress her completely unimpressive friends.

“We care because these people will be our social cohorts once you’re back in Houston.” She says this like it’s supposed to be enough of a reason.

I raise an eyebrow at her. “Oh, well, then of course. That sounds like a good reason to give a shit.”

“Be sarcastic if you want. I know how these things work. You’ve been out of the loop. I’m working really hard to establish us and it would help if when you are around, you do your part to develop the right image.” She acts as if I’m not around because I’m off on vacation and not because I’m busting my ass to graduate at the top of