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“I’m thinking we shouldn’t waste perfectly good toothpaste.” I pull her head down and touch my tongue to the seam of her mouth until she lets me in, then make good on my promise to kiss the hell out of her.
She groans.
And I need to stop before I can’t stop. I drag my lips to her ear. “Spend the day with me. Tourist date. We’ll count the crazies riding the DART. Hit the Aquarium. Mock modern art at the DMA. Snap selfies in Thanks-Giving Square.”
“Can’t.” She grips my upper arms. “And people will see you.”
“I’ll wear sunglasses and my hat.” I go for her weak spot. “I’ll throw in dinner at Reunion Tower. At a table next to the revolving view.” Where I’ll be keeping my back to the fifty-story death drop. The things you do for your girl.
“I have stupid conference stuff until almost ten tonight. Can we do something here after?”
“As long as it involves me and you.” We spend another fifteen minutes making out and making plans. Then Jess has to shower and get dressed. She turns down my very generous offer to help.
Even though we didn’t stray far off first base, I’m buzzing with enough energy to bat several homeruns. Desperate for a quick burn, I change, grab my running shoes, and drive out to White Rock Lake.
Myquickburn turns into pounding the shit out of ten miles of pavement.
Shirtless and sweaty, but chill enough to behave my ass with Jess tonight, I walk off my run on the old wooden fishing pier, the worn boards creaking under my heavy strides. I’ve been coming here since I was a kid. The rhythm of the water slapping against the posts anchoring the dock, the earthy smell of aging wood, the way the lake seems to go on forever if you look down the pier at just the right angle feels like home.
I don’t notice Gretchen getting out of the Lexus parked along the side of the road until I reach the T at the end of the dock and turn to come back.
Her gaze tracks me with the tenacity of a missile targeted to my DNA. She picks her way down the pier in heels that catch between the gaps in the boards.
As she gets closer, I pull on my T-shirt, forcing mywhat-the-hellexpression to relax. “Channeling your inner paparazzi?”
“There’s only a few places you go when you come home, Gabe.”
“I gave you the only interview you’re getting, and my stalker quota’s full for the day. Check back tomorrow.” I lean against the rickety railing, my breathing and heartrate not quite pre-run. They won’t be until she exits my space.
She flips down her black sunglasses from their perch on her head. “Your interview scored me the highest ratings this month.”
“I didn’t do it for you.” That interview shoved me between a jagged rock and a spiked wall.
She moves closer, and her heel sticks between two slats. Balancing carefully, she steps out of each shoe. “Big gesture for a girl you’ve only known a week.”
“What do you want?”
“A couple minutes with Meredith.” She straightens her skirt.
“Good luck with that.” I shove off the railing and pace down the left side of the T toward the far end of the pier.
“Luck won’t help.” Her voice chases after me. “But you can.”
“Told you. Haven’t talked to her.” I brace myself on the steadiest-looking section of the rotting railing and stretch my left calf.
“Sure about that?”
I push the muscle harder. “Pretty damn sure.” The guilt’s having me for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
She scoops up her heels and heads toward me, crossing the splintered boards like they’re a landmine.
Her slow pace gives me time to refortify my even expression.
“Remember when David hauled us all out here to go fishing?” She peers over the railing into the overgrown weeds in this section of the lake. “You were what? Seven?”
“What are you doing?”
Turning sideways, she gets in my space, her hip cocked against the wood, and smiles like we’re still friends. “Coley caught that devil bass with the missing eye and cried all afternoon and your mom insisted on wearing heels.” She lifts her shoes. “And ended up falling off the dock.”
