She turns and walks down her front steps wearing a sleeveless dark purple dress that stops at her knees—the top half tight around her upper body but loose at her hips—and short black heels to match.
She looks like a dream.
Her olive skin glowing under the twilight and her long hair cascading in waves around her back and shoulders, her longer bangs curled back. I lean back against my car, crossing my arms and ankles.
Lana is putting her keys in her bag, then she looks up and stops short. “Jesus, Christian, don’t do that!”
I drink her in once more, wetting my bottom lip. “Where are you going?”
Her chin is in the air as she straightens out her dress. “I have a date.”
I chuckle. “With golden boy?”
“Don’t be mean, Christian.”
Keep saying my name.
I push off the car and take a couple steps toward her. “I’m not being mean. He’s blond. You never liked blonds.”
“Maybe I have a new type.” She pushes her shoulders back, adjusting her posture, and looking up at me with those caramel eyes. “And maybe you just aren’t it anymore.”
“No?”
“No,” she breathes shakily.
“No?”
“Damn it, Christian, no!”
I chuckle, but inside I think I’m dying. Tonight's meeting felt raw, like opening old wounds. Maybe that’s what I have to do for all of this to work, I know. That makes sense. But this is a different level of pain.
My hands tremble a bit, aching to reach out to her, and I can’t because she’ll only push me away. I won’t be able to hold it against her if she does.
“So is he picking you up?”
“Yes.” She rolls her eyes.
“Where is he taking you?”
She crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me through her long lashes. “That is none of your business.”
“Okay, fair enough.” I’ll play along. “Does his car have airbags? Are you splitting the bill or is he taking care of it?”
“Christian.” A warning.
“Does he hold doors open for you?”
“Chivalry isn’t the only thing?—”
“Isn’t the only thing that matters? You deserve chivalry.”
“Well, I’ve never really gotten what I deserve, have I? Much less from you.”
I run my tongue over my teeth and nod, my hands curling into fists in the pockets of my pants. Is this what it’s like to be shot? I’ve been punched in a stupid drunken fight, almost shattering my nose, but none of those hits have ever felt like this one. And worse? This one is warranted.
“Right,” I breathe, looking down at my feet.
A car pulls up in front of her house but she hasn’t taken her eyes off of me. “Christian, I shouldn’t have said?—”
