Page 7 of Hearts on the Line

“You’re a handsome boy, Wally.”

That’s all it takes for my dog to be won over by Sloane Arden. To be fair, that’s all it took for me to fall when I saw her at the carnival that summer before middle school. She and her group of giggling friends dunked me, and I shot up from the tank with a stupid smile on my face.

And now… she’s still fucking gorgeous and standing in my apartment, drenched, and wearing what I assume is a wedding dress.

“A shower would be nice.”

“Sure.” I grab a T-shirt from my room and some shorts, even though she’ll swim in them.

I flick on the bathroom light and scan the room, relieved it’s not a total disaster. But that lone bottle of Pantene and a bar of Irish Spring is all I have.

When I step back out into the small open living space, Sloane is on her knees, her head buried against Wally, and he’s just there holding her up, with that dumb smile on his face.

“Hungry?” I ask, pathetically. I grip the doorway, wondering how I ended up here, with Sloane Arden in my living room.

She stands and turns to hide the fact she’s wiping her eyes. “No, I’m good, thanks.”

“Well, if you change your mind, help yourself to anything in the kitchen. I’m heading out early in the morning, but we can talk more tomorrow if you want to.”

“Okay.” She takes my clothes from me and disappears into the bathroom. She mutters a string of curses before opening the door a crack.

“Um, sorry. I… Ethan, I need your help.”

“With what?”

“I can’t get out of my dress.” Her voice catches.

Her wedding dress. She can’t… “Come here,” I say calmly.

She spins around and lifts her hair for me, brushing it over her shoulder. There’s a small freckle at the base of her neck that stands out against her perfectly tanned skin. The last time I saw it, my lips were committing every curve of her body to memory.

I reach out, my hands shaking as I slip the first tiny button free, then two more before the hidden zipper is revealed.

“Sorry,” she whispers.

The zipper doesn’t budge at first. “I need… just a second.” I gingerly place my hand against her shoulder blades. My rough palm scratches against the satin of her dress, and I’m afraid I’ll make a pull or something. It still won’t move. “Is it okay if I…”

She nods.

I curl my right hand over her shoulder, my fingers delicately touching the slip of exposed skin. If she can feel my hands tremble, she says nothing. I grip her shoulder, then tug on the zipper with my other hand. A rush of air leaves my lungs as the zipper finally unsnags and slides down, revealing the curve of her back.

I clear my throat, pulling my eyes away. “There you go.”

“Thanks,” she says, awkwardly.

“All set?” I whisper. It’s such a small question for what I really mean.

“Mm-hmm.”

She shuts the door, and the water turns on before I hear the first sob. I lean my forehead against the wall, brace my hand on the door, and swallow back the questions.

Because I’m an asshole, I head to bed without another word. I’m not the guy who asks why the prom queen’s running from her wedding. I’m just the idiot who still remembers the small dimples hiding under that dress at the base of her back. For twelve years, I’ve been telling myself I was over her.

Unzipping her just proved me wrong.

Chapter 3

Sloane