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“Sadly, no.” I sigh. “I mean, everything was perfect, and it was fun to get all dressed up, ride in a limo, and see all our friends decked out. I just think it would’ve been better to be with a real date and not a friend. Some of the couples looked so romantic dancing together,” I say wistfully.
Nodding, he looks down at something in his hands that I can’t see.
“Then why didn’t you go with one of the other guys who asked you? Guys who were interested in you as a girlfriend? Like the good-looking kid from the lacrosse team?”
My head snaps toward him. “Who told you that?”
“Lily.”
I look out at the water, not wanting to answer him, because I’m afraid I’ll blurt out the truth—that I have no interest in any kind of boyfriend. A long time ago, I accepted that my heart and soul are a thousand-percent his and his alone.
“Is it because you wanted Lily to go, too? And going with the twins as friends made that happen?”
“Yes,” I admit quietly, uneasy with the half-truth. “No one asked her to go. She kept acting like she didn’t care, but I knew inside she really wanted to go. There was no way I was going to get all dressed up and leave your house with a cute guy in a limo and have a great night while Lily stayed home. Screw that.”
“That was a really sweet thing to do.”
“She’s my best friend,” I reply simply. It’s the truth, but what I don’t tell him is that attending prom with a real date felt wrong to me. As ridiculous as it sounds, it felt like I’d be cheating on him.
“I know,” he says. “But we both know she can be a little difficult. She doesn’t do people well.”
I bump my shoulder into his. “I wonder who she gets that from?”
He laughs a little. “When Brianna was pregnant, I told her I didn’t want Lily to be like me.”
“Why would you say that?”
“I wanted her to be happy and confident, have lots of friends, and just love her life. I wanted her to be more like Brianna. Not unhappy like me.”
“You’ve both been through some shit, that’s all. There’s nothing wrong with either one of you. You’re both still lovable.”
He bumps my shoulder back. “You think I’m lovable?” he asks in that sexy, teasing tone that makes my thighs tighten.
“Immensely so.”
With a tilt of his head, he casts me a sideways glance that’s simmering with flirtatious charm. “You’re pretty lovable, too.” A hint of longing fills his deep voice.
Turning to me, he holds out a flower that he must have plucked from the yard.
“That kid fucked up and didn’t even bring you a corsage, so I picked this for you. I know it’s not the same, but I thought you might want to save it in that little memory box you have.”
My very first flower from a man.
Words catch in my throat. My heart is spinning like a top—twirling with so many emotions I can barely put a sentence together.
“Thank you.” The words drift on a quiver in my voice.
“I don’t have a pin to stick it to your dress, but how’s this?” Leaning closer, he tucks my hair behind my ear and pushes the flower stem in with it.
“That’s perfect,” I murmur.
“Yeah. It is.” His fiery gaze travels from the flower to my eyes, then drops to my lips.
He moves his hand to my cheek, slowly dragging his knuckles down the side of my face. I wonder if he can feel the flush of my skin.
He must because he pulls his hand away, clears his throat, and looks back out at the dark lake. He’s become as still and quiet as the water.
Slowly moving my bare feet back and forth, I say, “I love how quiet it is. What do you think about when you come out here?”
“Everything. The past. The future.”
“What about the present?”
His chest lifts with a heavy sigh. “I’m trying not to think about the present right now.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s off-limits.” The deepness of his voice is like distant thunder, rumbling with a subtle warning of the storm to come. It makes my insides tremble. “That’s why.”
Realization slowly creeps over me, causing my heart to beat like a hummingbird in my throat.
It’s me.
I’m off-limits.
My mouth is suddenly as dry as sandpaper. I wet my lips and try to mentally compose myself.
I can’t let him convince himself that this roadblock he’s trying to erect between us has to stay. I have to let him know I disagree. After a few moments, I muster up the courage to say something.
“What if it doesn’t have to be off-limits?” I ask carefully.
The crickets pause their symphony as if they are also waiting, with bated breath, for his answer.
“Trust me, little darlin’, it has to be.”
