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“What?” I sputter on the drink of beer I was attempting to take.
Why would he ask me that?It’s the first thing that pops into my head, followed by a flutter in my stomach that tells me I’m a little more excited about this than I should be.
“I think it’s a pretty straight forward question.” He smirks, eyeing me over his glass as he takes a slow drink.
“No,” I finally answer after a long moment.
“No? That’s it?” He grins, setting his now empty glass on the table in front of him.
“You asked, I answered. You made the rules,” I remind him before he can say more. “My turn,” I practically sing. “Who did you have feelings for?” I continue the list of questions I have regarding his and Courtney’s breakup.
“You wouldn’t know her.” He shrugs, not giving me more.
“That’s not an answer,” I challenge.
“Let’s just say it was someone I wasn’t allowed to have feelings for.” The look he gives me has my stomach bottoming out and a rush of heat flooding my cheeks. I know he’s not talking about me—of course he isn’t—but the thought makes my insides warm in a way that it absolutely shouldn’t.
“Still not an answer,” I croak out, swallowing down the tight knot that forms in my throat.
“I think it’s best to leave that part unsaid.” He suddenly falls serious. “It’s been a long time, old news; let’s move on to more current events.”
As much as I want to push the matter further, I know he’s right. There’s so much about my past that I’m not willing to discuss with him, let alone anyone else. I can’t blame him for not wanting to dig up things he buried long ago.
If anyone understands wanting to leave the past in the past it’s me.
“Okay, fine,” I finally agree. “Tell me why you left Boston.”
“Not your turn.” He grins, slow and calculated.
“Yes, it is.”
“Nope, you asked, I answered—even if it wasn’t what you wanted to hear. My turn.” He nods to the waitress who replaces his empty glass with a new one.
“Another for you, dear?” the older woman asks, turning her attention on me.
“Yes,” Ant answers for me. I give him a questioning glare to which he returns with a simple smile and a thank you to the waitress who hurries off without another word.
“Trying to get me drunk, Mr. Treadway?” I ask playfully.
“I think I’ve already accomplished that.” He smirks.
“Hmmm.” I think on that. “I don’t think you’re quite there yet.”
“Well, I guess I need to start trying harder. I mean, what kind of date would I be if I didn’t at least get you drunk before trying to make a move on you,” he says, full of humor, but I swear something about his words has me gripping the table in an effort to hold in the rush of want that seeps in from every pore and slowly spreads through every inch of my body.
I shouldn’t want him. I know that. He’s Courtney’s ex-boyfriend. Courtney, one of the two best friends I’ve had since second grade; the girl who has been there for me in more ways than I could ever fully understand. It’s always been the three of us: Bree, Courtney, and Tess, and we’ve never, nor will we ever, undermine the other’s trust.
He’s completely and totally off limits, no matter how long ago they dated. Boyfriends and ex-boyfriends are an unspoken rule, a line you do not cross. And yet that’s all I’ve been able to think about since the first beer hit my empty stomach. How good looking he is. How good he smells. How badly I want to know if he tastes just as good.
I can’t help myself. And yet I hate myself for even considering it. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. I justify the feelings by telling myself that Courtney wouldn’t care, that she’s way over Ant and this wouldn’t even be a blip on her radar. I just wish I wasn’t doing such a good job at lying to myself. Maybe then this wouldn’t be so easy.
“You don’t have to get me drunk to make a move on me,” I find myself saying without really meaning to.
He doesn’t seem all that surprised by my statement. Then again, why should he be? He knows me. He knows the girl I used to be, and no matter how much I try to lie to myself and pretend I’m no longer that girl, deep down I am. While a lot has changed, this part of me hasn’t. The part of me that craves physical touch, that craves being wanted. It’s something that controls me—drives me—and yet it’s something I haven’t experienced in a very long time.
Maybe it’s not me. Maybe I’m not the same girl. Maybe it’s Anthony. Maybe it’s seeing him again, being thrown into my past, having to face my secret forbidden crush all these years later; knowing that we’re both adults and unattached to anyone. Nothing is stopping this from happening. Nothing. Maybe that’s the problem.
“You’re quite the tease, Ms. Kingsley.” He shakes his head, not quite sure how to respond.
