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“Have you kept in touch with anyone, Eden?”
I don’t give a shit if she still talks to Brittany, her best friend from senior year. I only want to know about Clark, the guy she was head over heels for. The fool who didn’t know what he had in her.
“Do you remember Brittany?”
For fuck’s sake.
I nod. “Sure. She was the cheese to your macaroni.”
She tosses her head back in laughter. “She’s the Barrett to my Colt.”
I thought she’d forgotten the nickname everyone called me; everyone but her.
I was Dylan to her. Plain and simple. She didn’t listen when I told her to call me Colt.
I secretly loved that she ignored my request and called me by my first name whenever she got the chance.
“Do you talk to anyone else?” I push, fishing for Clark’s name and the confirmation that he’s completely out of the picture.
“Like who?” She levels her gaze on me.
I spit it out because I want the subject swept under the rug tonight before I take her back to my bed. “Clark Dodson. What’s the story with the two of you?”
The fry she just picked up falls to the table from her tre
mbling hand. “There’s no story to tell. Clark is part of my past.”
Chapter 16
Dylan
In court, this is the point when my pulse quickens and I go in for the proverbial kill.
I crave this look on the face of my clients’ soon-to-be exes when they take the witness stand. It’s an intoxicating mix of terror and fear.
Seeing it flash across Eden’s expression only knots my gut.
I should feel a rush of relief knowing that Clark is history to her, but he’s not.
If he were, she wouldn’t have downed every drop of her champagne in one gulp.
She starts to reach for my glass, but I halt her hand with a brush of mine over it. “Eden.”
Her eyes close briefly at the sound of my voice.
When they open she’s found something again. It’s composure or a sense of calm.
Whatever it is, it’s a respite from the turmoil that crowded her just seconds ago.
She’s pulled herself together in the blink of an eye. I’m an expert at it myself. I hate that she’s had to perfect the skill too.
“I’ve had too much to drink.” A soft faux laugh bubbles from somewhere shallow within her.
It’s supposed to shift the focus from my question about Clark to her abrupt departure. I sense it coming. It’s about to happen.
“I should go.”
There it is.
