All at once I can’t breathe. What the fuck am I doing here? If I had an ounce of intelligence, I’d run the hell away from this man and never look back. I’ve written dozens of songs to express the heartache of leaving him and how he will always have the best parts of me. Yet here I stand, like a mindless bimbo, waiting for a sign to prove that we still belong together. I must’ve finally lost my mind.
When I meet his pools of green, lit with an intensity that causes my entire body to flush, the idea of running before it’s too late becomes paralyzing. There’s no denying how much my body wants him. The dark way he’s looking back at me, I can see how much he wants me too. I imagine sex with him would be fucking phenomenal compared to when we were young and awkward in our own bodies. But how could I survive sleeping with him once without craving more?
“I thought you’d changed your mind,” he says in that rumbling voice I’d missed for so long.
“Still not so sure I haven’t.”
Dropping my gaze from his, I slip into the worn leather bench across from him and pull off my jacket, grateful he won’t be close enough to touch. Thanks to the tequila shots, I can’t be trusted around the strand of dirty blond hair falling down beside his handsome face, brushing against his chin. The need to tuck it behind his ear and trail my fingers down his sharp jaw is debilitating.
As he settles across from me, he motions for a passing waitress. Jutting out a hip, the skinny brunette grins, batting her fake lashes. “What can I get you this time, handsome?”
Wow. It takes a lot of nerve to openly flirt with a guy when he’s sitting with another woman. I’d call her out if I weren’t afraid Roman would take that to mean I still think of him as mine. Tendrils of panic slither down my throat when I’m struck with the hard reality. I do think of him as mine. And I probably always will. How can I allow myself to still feel that way after I’m the one who left?
Roman’s eyes swing over to me in a way too similar to how he’d look at me over the campfire. Like I’m the only girl in the world. Like he’s reading my thoughts and letting me know that I’ll always be his as well.
“Tequila mojito,” I wheeze out. “Top shelf.”
His gaze is still locked with mine when he orders. “And I’ll take another glass of Grey Goose, straight up.”
“Sure thing,” the waitress replies with a disappointed huff, swiping two empty glasses from the table. I feel her jealous gaze on me before she turns away, leaving us alone.
Looking down at my hands, my stomach twists and turns with unease. I want this beautiful man back in my life—so damn badly. But whatever we say to each other can’t be about the past. I can’t revisit any feelings that will make it impossible to walk away.
“So it must be exciting,” I blurt, curling my fingers around a salt shaker tucked against the wall. “Going on your first headliner tour.”
“Not sure ‘exciting’ is the word I’d use,” he grumbles. I look up to see him wiping a hand over his face before his expression intensifies. “There’s a lot of fucking pressure to do everything right.”
“You were born to perform. You’ll find a way to work through it.”
For a moment he studies my expression. Beneath the heat of his stare I’m vulnerable and exposed, as if wearing my heart on my goddamned sleeve. About the time I’m ready to bolt from the booth, he licks his lips and leans forward, his features lit with sincerity.
“I’d like you to come tomorrow night, Belle. It’d mean a lot if you were there for my first performance.”
Feeling ready to vomit, I pucker my lips and look away. “Stop calling me that. I’m no longer that girl from camp.”
“You don’t think I’ve noticed?” he replies with a dark, angry growl that sends a shiver down my spine. “You have no idea how much it fucking hurts to look at you and realize I missed out on so much of your life! It guts me to see how goddamned gorgeous you’ve become, and know you're no longer mine! I’d do anything to get you back!”
He wants me back? Heavy breaths fall from my parted lips as we engage in an intense stare-down. Knowing he’s still emotionally invested in us is a major turn-on. It also pisses me the hell off. It took me years to get over him. I didn’t want to stay away, but I had no other choice.
I snatch my jacket off the bench and begin to slide out. “I can’t do this.”
In a flash, he’s gripping my wrist and pleading with his beautiful eyes. “Belle, please. Don’t go. Not like this.”
Waves of tingling heat shoot up my arm from his touch, and all at once I’m transported back to the nights we made love on the shore of Lake Tahoe. Hands all over my body, whispers of how much he loves me as he filled me to the core. I’m useless to fight against the wave of sympathy that crashes into me. I hurt him. With a deep sigh, I shake my head. “I walked away from you. Why the hell would you want me there?”