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He chuckled. She’d always been clever.
“Did you have a date that night?”
His smile vanished. He’d do well to remember they weren’t old friends playing catch-up. She was here to write about his family—him in particular. A prospect he’d never be fully comfortable with. “No date.”
“I imagine it’d be hard to date when everyone around you is speculating about your love life. Especially when you’re writing an album. It’s only natural to wonder about who influences the lyrics.”
He sputtered into his iced tea and had to mop it from his shirt with a napkin. “Wrong pipe.”
“Talking about exes does that.”
So did his ex talking to him about his exes. For Cash, a private life was virtually nonexistent. But he hadn’t expected Pres to bring up the one topic he’d refused to answer whenever it’d been broached by a member of the press. He wasn’t sharing the inspiration behind “Lightning” with anyone. Especially her.
Their burgers were delivered. In between munching on a fry, she asked, “Is there someone special in your life right now?”
He lifted his sandwich. “You’re nosy. Did anyone ever tell you that?”
“Everyone tells me that.” She didn’t take offense. Nor did she let up. “So, are you?”
“No. Are you?”
“I’m focusing on my career.”
“Same,” he said, then stuffed the burger in his mouth to keep from saying more.
The truth was he’d managed to live his life separate from the women he dated even while he’d dated them. They knew the score, honored the code, and he didn’t have to worry about breaking another heart.
After breaking Pres’s young heart, he’d consoled himself that at least they hadn’t slept together. That would have made moving on harder, and he didn’t only mean for her. He’d already been in neck-deep with her. Stripping her bare and taking her virginity would have made it damn near impossible to walk away from her, and by then he’d already made up his mind to leave.
Not sleeping with her was both the smartest thing he did back then—or didn’t do, as it were—and also one of his biggest regrets. The other big one was selfishly dogging his own goals and leaving her in the wreckage. He’d been so focused on himself back then, on achieving success and stardom.
Presley, either too angry to speak to him or for her own self-preservation, hadn’t reached out to him after he left. He hadn’t reached out to her, either. When he’d heard she’d been in town two years ago talking to Gavin, he’d been pissed off. She’d sneaked back into town to talk to his family, never bothering to let Cash know about it. He’d blamed Gavin for the subterfuge, but it wasn’t his brother’s fault. No wonder Gav hadn’t alerted Cash of her arrival this time. Cash hadn’t exactly been gracious before.
What he’d never shared with anyone was why her avoiding him had bothered him so much. Seeing him would have hurt her, and he guessed that even years later, she hadn’t been able to forgive him for destroying her heart while prioritizing his goals. Damned if he could blame her.
“Did you ever?” he asked. “Have someone special?”
She took a bite of her burger, proving she wasn’t a big fan of answering questions about her personal life, either.
“Well?” he prompted. “Did you?”
“I’ve had a boyfriend or two since, you know, us.” She shrugged and he wondered if it was to downplay her mentioning the “us” thing—the “them” thing. He didn’t make it a habit to rehash old relationships either, which explained the awkwardness. “Nothing as impressive as a famous sitcom actor like Heather Bell or an award-winning singer like Carla Strouse.”
He’d be damned if she didn’t expertly steer the conversation back to him and his celebrity exes.
“I was the only famous person you dated, huh?” he asked, deflecting.
“You weren’t famous when we dated. Only after you left.”
He didn’t think she meant it as a jab, but he felt the knife-slice all the same. Leaving her crying in her bed hadn’t been easy. It’d nearly gutted him. Which was probably why he offered up a few details without her having to ask. “Famous people date each other because it’s easy. We have the whole fishbowl lifestyle in common.”
“So you dated Carla and Heather out of convenience? No sparks?”
Sex, yes. Sparks, not so much. He hadn’t felt “sparks” in years. Unless he counted a certain elevator ride with his lunch date.
“The women you’ve dated are drop-dead gorgeous. You would have made beautiful babies together.” Presley sounded nonchalant but her eyes swam with another emotion. That same hurt he’d just been thinking about.
“The women I dated were nice enough, but there wasn’t more than attraction to glue it together. And...off the record?”
She nodded, leaning forward a little in her seat.
“You’re prettier than any of ’em.”
Her lips pursed. “I thought you were going to say something serious.”
“I am serious,” he defended. But she didn’t believe him. Maybe it’d be easier if she thought the years between them had erased every emotion they’d shared. As if every memory of her in his arms had gone up in smoke the moment he’d crossed the Tennessee border.
Thing was, it hadn’t worked out that way. Cash had told her he’d left to pursue the dream absolutely eating him alive. That was true, but what he hadn’t admitted was that committing to her would have cost him both his time and attention—two things he couldn’t afford to give up while throwing everything he had at being a musician.
It was an ugly truth he still hadn’t forgiven himself for. And if he couldn’t forgive himself, he had little hope that Presley ever would.
