She remains on the other side of the door, glancing down at the dress before looking at me. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this dressed up,” she says. “Also, I can’t stand next to any candles tonight. I’m fairly certain the bottle of hairspray Poppy put in my hair makes me super flammable.” She lifts an arm, but stops, like she wants to touch her hair, but thinks better of it. The sleeveless dress has deep cut lines, exposing only the hint of where her breast swells from her side, and fuck if that image doesn’t feel like the most erotic thing in my life.
“This dress doesn’t do you justice.”
She closes her eyes, unwilling to accept my compliment, or skeptical of my honesty. My heart pounds in my chest, the obligation to go, and the desire to stay warring within me—allies to enemies. I step closer. “You look amazing.”
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she says, reaching for her purse and a slip of fabric that looks nearly gold, which she wraps around her shoulders.
It takes everything inside of me to let her step out onto the porch rather than invite myself inside and forget about the damn charade of an engagement party.
I offer my arm, and she slips her hand through, her grip light as she gathers her dress with her free hand. She keeps her chin forward as we take the steps, the air miraculously dry so we don’t have to contend with umbrellas or puddles.
“How’s your shoulder?” she asks, glancing at me. Her eyes shine in the darkness, patient as they remain on me like I’m capable of casual conversation while she’s on my arm, her lips a breath away. She grins. “Your reaction is confirming I spend too much time in jeans and sweatpants.”
I stop at the passenger side of my truck, opening the door. “I like you in jeans and sweatpants.”
She laughs, shaking her head like she doesn’t believe me. Then she gathers her dress again, eyeing my truck before turning back to me. “Can you close your eyes? I’m not sure this is going to be my most graceful moment. I feel like I’m going to flash the entire neighborhood.”
“If there’s a chance of seeing your underwear, there’s no way I’m looking away.”
She cocks her eyebrow, her lips pursing as determination flattens her brow. She grips the fabric in one hand and raises a foot, balancing it on my truck, exposing a high heel and her bare leg up to her thigh.
Fuck me.
I reach for her to help, but she climbs in, settling into the seat before slowly lowering the dress back into place and flashing a confident smile that radiates to her eyes, stealing my breath. I close the door, my mind taunting me with memories and thoughts and possibilities of what could have been. I imagine her looking at me like that had I not played the friend card and set up every fucking barrier in my arsenal to stop her from continuing to slide into every aspect of my life, making me want her in each part of my day and routine.
I climb into the driver’s side seat and turn the heat higher. “I’m worried about you freezing tonight.”
Her laughter dances across the cab, playing a tune across my heart that makes it pinch with unease. “I might just hide out in here during the party. You guys can eat and mingle, and I’ll take a nap.” She leans back, resting her cheek against the seat and closing her eyes as though testing the possibility.
“You’ve made it this far, Lawson. Don’t make me carry you in there.”
Her eyes remain shut, but her lips curl into a smile.
“You gonna tell me what that comment was about the other night?”
That has her eyes popping wide, her lips falling into a straight line. “Which comment?”
“About giving up cetology.”
“I was enjoying the playful banter. Can we go back to sarcasm?”
“Have you been back out on the water?” The stoplight turns red, earning me the time to set my full attention on her, reading all the words she rarely says.
She sucks in a breath but holds my stare. “Not yet.”
Her answer is a bruised rib, painful each time I breathe. “Why not?”
“Because my life went from expectations to consequences in the blink of an eye.” She shrugs, her gaze volleying to the streetlight. “And I’m still dealing with them.”
“Paxton said they gave you the green light. That you’re fine.”
Her eyes strike me like a slap. Accusation apparent as her lips purse and relax and then purse again, fighting to say things or maybe fighting to hold them back.
I want her to say it. Want to hear her accuse me of being a shitty person and a shittier friend by not knowing this information first hand, but rather through Pax.
She doesn’t.
“You can’t let that night change the entire course of your life,” I tell her.
“I’m not. It’s not just about me.”
I shake my head. “What does that even mean?”
She smiles. It’s a veil, though. A distraction. “No one’s asking or telling me what to do. I just had a wakeup call, that’s all.”
Last year when I hurt my shoulder, the team’s trainer was insistent on talking to me each day while doing stretches, knowing that athletes face a plethora of issues after an injury, things like isolation, lack of motivation, anger, sleep disturbance, and more.
“It’s not a big deal,” she says.
“Yeah, it’s just your life and shit.”
She passes another glare, this one filled with frustration. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Are you? Are you ready to do this? Because when I told you my dad wants me to drop football, you flew off the handle telling me that was crazy, and here you are, talking about giving up your passion, and you won’t even tell me why the fuck you’d consider it.”
A horn blares from behind us, bringing my attention to the green light ahead, connecting a memory to the last time I’d stopped at a red light with Raegan that ended in my windows steaming up and me professing my intentions for her—naked and undone. This conversation is a separate dimension entirely, yet I feel the same hesitance to move forward, fearing, like then, the moment will end.
“You have a talent. An unmatched and uncharted talent. I have a curiosity and obsession for learning about orcas and other dolphins that will be difficult to find a job in and may never even allow me to use my degree in the way I want to. Our situations are polar opposites.”
The car honks again and then pulls around us, speeding off.
“So, this all comes down to money?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Then uncomplicate it because right now, it sounds like you’re saying you want to give this up because it’s going to be tough, and then you want to tell me I should keep going. You can’t preach shit that you won’t follow.”
“Why are we fighting over this? We’re going. I’m talking to this guy, and I already know he’s going to blow me off because the second I mention volunteering for the aquarium, he’s going to write me off completely and blacklist me.”
“Don’t let him.”
A cry of frustration leaves her. “Will you just drive?”
“What are you going to say to him?”
“What?”
“What are you going to say to help make you stand out?”