I wake the next day with a hangover that threatens to split my skull right open. The blare of my alarm is like a gunshot right in the brain.I groan and roll over, slamming my hand against the screen of my cell until the horrible sound goes away. I'm stiff, and my skin is oddly both dry and sticky. The hair that flops across my face feels gross too, and it smells like the ocean. And that's when I remember everything that happened.I leap up from the bed, then nearly fall over as the hangover vertigo hits - and a sharp pain shoots up from my ankle. I fall back on the mattress, cursing at myself. How could I forget about my injury? I lift my foot, giving myself a better view of the damage. My ankle is currently a lovely shade of purple and about three times its normal size. I remember icing it sometime between the bottles of wine last night, but I'll need to wrap it before I do anything else."Jack?" I call. He was good enough to bring me back to my place after the party - and he thre
I've heard Dante's mesmerizing voice say my name a hundred times before, but it's the last voice I want to hear right now. If I weren't stunned out of my mind with pain, I'd hang up, but Dante rushes on while I'm still trying to figure out how to handle this."Where are you?" he says. "At your place? Have you moved since the last time I was there?"At least my shock has managed to completely shut down my sobs. But the panic is already setting in. He intends to come here."I'm fine," I force out through pain-clenched teeth. "I thought you were Jack. I'll be fine. I'm fine.""Like hell you are. You can hardly even speak.""I don't need you to come here. I'll call Jack. Jack will come." Fuck - but Jack is at work for another eight hours. I rush on, "Or Mama Pat. She'll help me." I grimace as another wave of pain sweeps through me. "I-I'll be fine. Really. Fine.""Where are you, Ashlyn?""I'm fine," I repeat, but my resolve wavers as the pain once again threatens to pull me under. A
My ankle isn't broken, thank God. But it's a bad sprain. And my wrist is sprained, too - though only mildly. The rest of me is just bruised, but those two injuries are going to put me out of commission for a couple of days, maybe longer.Dante stays with me the whole time at the ER, even though I know he probably has plenty of better things to be doing. He gets a couple of phone calls while we're there, but they go the same way as the phone call he took during our cake consultation - both end with him tersely insisting he'll send pages as soon as they're ready. In spite of everything, I find myself curious about these conversations, about the business he's always kept so private from me. His big movie just launched. Shouldn't he be on top of the world right now?I manage to bite my tongue until we're on the car ride home, and then my curiosity gets the better of me."It looks like Cataclysm: Earth had a great opening weekend," I say. "The newspaper in the waiting room said it broke
When Dante returns, my heart leaps into my throat. For the first time since he showed up this morning - hell, since he walked back into my life - I allow myself to really look at him, to face the demon who broke my heart.His dark hair is slightly ruffled, and I wonder if it fell that way on its own or if he's been running his hand through it. He used to do that - run his hand through his hair - while he was working, thinking his way through a problem in his script.And I used to run my fingers through his hair when we were making love.My belly warms as I let my eyes drop to his face, to that strong mouth with those eager, demanding lips, and then up to those rich, mesmerizing eyes. He's looking back at me, watching me take him in, and in those eyes I see things I don't want to see. That I'm not ready to see.Why is he doing this to me?I turn and grab a book from my nightstand, but that doesn't stop Dante from returning slowly and deliberately to the side of my bed."The food h
I force myself instead to think of the pain - of that night when everything fell apart. The years have done little to dull the hurt, to make me forget."Ash," Dante says, the rumble of his voice drawing me back into the present. He's still touching me - in fact, his hand has curled around the side of my face, and his eyes have softened just enough to make my insides go weak.I turn my face away from him."I don't know what you want," I say, "but I have nothing to give you.""Because of Jack.""Among other reasons."I don't have to be any more specific than that - I can tell by the look in his eyes that he knows I'm referring to how things ended between us the last time around. But he doesn't rise, doesn't look away."Ash.""Don't," I say, holding up a hand. "It doesn't matter now."He presses his lips together. That's another thing he always did when he was working through a plot issue in one of his scripts.And then he leans toward me. And though he doesn't touch me this tim
Dante's fingers freeze on my neck. His eyes are as deep and as vibrant as the ocean. "You were always a puzzle to me, Ash. As passionate as they come, quick to laugh and quick to anger, and at the same time so determined to bury your deepest, truest emotions way down inside." His thumb slides in a soft, slow arc against the front of my throat."I don't have to share everything with the world." I already seem to share way more than I'd like."No." There's a hint of a smile on his lips. "But you can't hide your emotions, Ash. Never completely. It's not in your nature. They shine out of you. Gleam through the cracks. Dance in your eyes and affect every move of your body. You fight them, but they find their way out."My eyes are stinging again, and even though there aren't any tears, if he's telling the truth, then I guess it doesn't matter whether my eyes are dry or wet or anywhere in between - either way, he can guess exactly how I'm feeling. I don't like it. It makes me feel too bare
It will never be over.The words haunt me. Torment me. Two days later, when I'm bent over a birthday cake in my bakery, they still bounce around in my head, still make my stomach twist and my breath quicken and my heart stutter.Because he's right, isn't he?It's been three years. Three years should be more than enough time to get over someone, even the guy who took your virginity. Even the first - and only - guy you've ever loved. Three years should be more than enough time to get on with your life - assuming you're a normal, well-adjusted person.I chew on my lip as I apply a scalloped band of frosting along the top edge of the cake. I'm perched on a stool today - a necessary adjustment, considering my ankle - and it feels unnatural. Normally I can lose myself in my work - hands-on vocations are wonderful for such things - but today I can't seem to find my zone. I suppose I should be grateful that it was my left wrist, not my right, that was hurt - that would have restricted me e
A week after my conversation with Mama Pat, I'm preparing for my first date in... well, way too long.I survey myself in the mirror. After much debate over what to wear, I settled on a flowy, emerald-green dress that matches my eyes. It has a sweetheart neckline that shows just the right amount of cleavage - and the scattering of freckles on my chest - and the skirt floats out away from my thighs. It's a great dancing dress, the kind that twirls up around you when you spin, but I won't be doing much dancing tonight. My ankle is still in a brace, but at least my doctor has told me I don't need to use my crutches anymore. I'm wearing the only pair of ballet flats I own that fit over the brace. They aren't especially cute, but they'll do. And with some luck, Dean won't be staring much at my feet.I run my fingers through my hair one more time - my wrist, at least, is nearly back to normal - and smile at my reflection. My lips sport a delicate coat of pink lipstick, and my eyes a less de