“You’re the golden child,” he says it low, like a confession, and I can’t help but bark out a laugh.
“So that’s the story. Well, if it makes you feel better, I’m not feeling so golden at the moment, princess. How’s Dad, anyway?” It’s true. My father coddled, prodded, and molded me into his likeness. I was his very first project, and failure simply wasn’t an option.
“Asking about you. Mom is, too, by the way. Call her. Don’t be an asshole.”
“Her birthday is in a few weeks. We should bring her up.”
“I’d think she’d like that. You think she’d be okay sleeping between you and Zoey in that tiny little cabin?”
I kick his Italian leather shoe for the quip. “We’re not sleeping together, dude. And it’s not happening. I’m still—”
“Nursing an open wound of your own?”
“Something like that.”
“It’s done, Abel.” He leans in and demands I look at him—this well-groomed, far saner version of myself. “It’s over. She’s moved on. And whether you realize it or not, so have you.”
“How is she?” I glance back at the lake. It’s hypnotizing me into a comfortable numbness, and I like it. As much as I wanted to come here to forget Elizabeth, all I seem to do is rehash every minute we shared over the last few years, trying to pin down that one moment where everything went wrong. It went horribly wrong, but there’s something about this lake. This place that makes it feel okay on some level.
“She’s good.”
“You see him around?” I try not to think in proper pronouns when that asswipe is involved. The less I think about him, about them, their new life, the better.
“Yeah. He’s around. He’s asked about you a lot. He cares.”
“Oh, I know he cares. He cares that I don’t find a way to have his license revoked. He cares that I don’t find some magnificent loophole and throw some life-changing lawsuit his way. But mostly, he cares what I think of him because that is what his ego demands. It demands that I still like him. That I find him a good guy, and hell, if I tuck my tail between my legs and run back now, he might even make room for me in the wedding party.”
Caleb lets out a chuckle. “You always were the one with a great imagination. How’s that book coming?”
“It’s not.”
“It will.” He slaps me over the arm before helping me to my feet. “Go write a chapter, swim in the lake, head for the falls. Hell, jack off—just don’t think of her. Think of someone else, and not Zoey. For God’s sake, don’t fixate on Zoey. Then get the hell in your right mind and get back to the law firm. Dad and I miss the shit out of you.”
“You can’t miss me. You see me every damn day.”
“Just because I’m seeing you doesn’t mean I can’t miss you.” He jogs backward on his way back to his place. “Meditate on that one while I’m gone!”
“I will.” I frown back at the lake. “Right after I take your advice.” I head back to the boathouse and take a nice, long shower, finding my center, begging for my heart to give me one ounce of peace. I wrap my hand around myself and start taking care of business. Elizabeth bounces through my mind, and I bounce her right back out. Zoey comes to mind with those long stems she calls legs, those pouty lips, that body she doesn’t bother hiding. I take myself right where I need to be, but it’s Zoey that gets me there.
I thought about Zoey. Hell, I can’t seem to evict her from my mind. Caleb doesn’t want me to fixate on Zoey, but I can’t seem to stop. Nope, I never was good at taking Caleb’s advice. Zoey has the attention of both my mind and my body. I just pray she doesn’t get ahold of my heart. It’s not up for grabs anymore. It died back in Collingsworth, and I buried it deep under the lake with its proper name, Loveless.
* * *
As soon as evening arrives,I head over to my neighbor’s boathouse and give a careful knock. I’m coming in hot with flowers—a grower’s bunch of daisies that I picked up at The Corner Store. It’s a romantic gesture, and Zoey deserves to be romanced. She deserves every small and large act of kindness and everything in between.
Zoey opens the door, and for a moment, I can’t breathe, can’t formulate a thought, and for sure I can’t say a single word.
Zoey stands before me in a red dress that I’m pretty sure is against the law in fifty out of fifty states. Her body is perfection, smooth and luscious in all the right places. Mouthwatering to be exact, and it makes me wonder about the sanity of the idiot that let her go. Zoey is a pin-up girl, a supermodel, a prom queen—every accolade a body like hers deserves all rolled into one. Her golden legs, her svelte arms with just the right amount of sinewy muscle, her skin glows against the dark mouth of the boathouse like a paper lantern. Her creamy vanilla hair swings over her shoulders in waves, and I’m tempted to sink my fingers through it. But Zoey’s gorgeous face, those tempting ruby red lips, those large eyes that bat their long feathery wings at me—Zoey is a creature all her own. Venus in the flesh. The girl next door and a vixen all in one package.
“Well, hello to you, too.” She steps out and locks up before I can properly greet her. Zoey tries to make a break for the car, but I step in front of her, sending her crashing to my chest. Neither of us moves as she glances up, shy from under her lashes.
“You look beautiful. I take that back. Beautiful doesn’t begin to describe how amazing you look tonight.”
Her eyes latch onto mine and widen with a look of fury mixed with pain as if the only words she heard wereI take that back.
Zoey smirks at the idea. “You’re laying it on awful thick, aren’t you?”
“I only speak the truth.” I pull the flowers up and present them to her like a prize. I haven’t been this sheepish, this boyish since about senior year, high school. “These are for you.”
