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He shrugs. “They both passed. My sister lives in Ohio and has a thousand kids, so I’m passing on that this year. So it’s just me and my dog Romeo.”
My cheeks heat. “That’s right, you told me that, didn’t you?”
“Once or twice.”
I’ve made out with Casey a couple of times at various parties the past few months, sending him mixed signals. On Halloween, we spent the better part of an hour doing some heavy petting in one of the guest bathrooms of a director’s house. As soon as he produced a condom, I tapped out. He asked me out as I adjusted my flapper dress in an attempt to reel it in, and I’d turned him down with some bullshit excuse brought to me by Grey Goose. Since then, we’ve been friendly, and he hasn’t pushed.
He lifts my duffle off my shoulder, adding it to his.
“Come on, I’ll buy you a piece of lettuce to help you get rid of that period bloat.”
“Har, har.”
“Coffee?” Casey isn’t what I’d call ruggedly handsome. With dark brown hair and deep-set brown eyes, he’s got a boyish charm to him that’s alluring, along with an incredible build.
“Sure. I have time for coffee.”
He pauses on the sidewalk and turns to me as a cab horn sounds next to us, and the wind kicks up. I can feel Christmas in the air due to the amped chaos and those bustling around us. Very little compares to a New York City Christmas.
“Just so you’re aware, this is a date.”
“What?” I gape at him, surprised a
t his changing demeanor. “I agreed to coffee, not a date.”
“It’s a date,” he says adamantly. “I’ve been patient. Whoever you’ve been waiting for isn’t coming.”
The words strike deep, and I feel slapped.
“Pardon? Who says I’m waiting for someone?”
“I do. This is the third show we’ve done together, and I get this vibe, this not available vibe, but I keep waiting for this guy to pop up and he never attends shows or meets you after rehearsal. So, the way I see it is that you’re waiting for someone. Or maybe you were, or,” he gives me a hopeful grin, “he’s been waiting for you for three long shows.”
“You know I like you, Casey, but—”
“Shit, kiss of fucking death.” He gives me a sheepish grin. “Too bold. I came on a little strong in the end, didn’t I?”
I can’t help my smile. “Little bit.”
“Sorry.”
I sigh, hating that I’m making this so awkward. “You know what’s crazy? I’ve never been on a real date.”
“What?” He frowns.
“It’s true.”
“Well then, what’s the holdup?”
The holdup is a six-foot-plus ballplayer turned boxer than I haven’t been able to get over since I left him standing in his driveway. ‘I belong to dance’ has been my motto most of my life. I kept it true by pursuing my dream and letting Lance go so he could pursue his own. But it’s been years, not days, not months. It isn’t healthy. I never thought the ache would last this long. I knew I would regret it, that I would never stop loving him, but I never expected to mourn our relationship this much after so much time had passed.
Lance still dominates my heart. As for sex, I made the mistake once of giving my body away for the sake of attention. I have no intention of repeating that mistake ever again. With the handful of flirtations I’ve had the past few years, I’ve never once broken that promise to myself. It’s never felt right. I’ve never wanted to hand myself over as freely as I did with Lance. With him, sex was love, and I don’t know the difference between the two. And I just know, I’m not the girl that wants to separate them.
Looking at Casey now, I wish I was.
And he’s right, I’ve been waiting, and for what? I broke us, and I did it intentionally. I gave Lance no reason to come for me. I gave him no reason at all. I denied commitment and shattered us both. But the bond we made; I can’t seem to escape from. Every single step I’ve taken since, I’ve made with him in mind. I can still feel him as a presence in my life, and no matter how far I travel, I carry him with me. His smile, his blunt charms, his love. The look in his eyes. I’ll never get over Lance Prescott, that’s what time and distance have told me.
Or am I just not trying hard enough?
