“You’re more than welcome.” His gaze traveled down her body, touching her like a warm caress.
She resisted the urge to curl up against that body. She needed to stay focused and not get distracted by the double dose of testosterone that seemed to roll off Chance every time she stood near him.
“You see many people from high school?” Libby climbed up next to him and settled against a second set of pillows, careful to put the bowl between them. She needed a little distance if she was going to delve into deep waters. Lying in bed with him wasn’t exactly the best way to achieve that.
They planned to watch True Grit from the on-demand channel. Right now the TV was tuned to ESPN, and the sound was on mute. Baseball scenes flickered silently across the screen.
“Charlie Morris and Wayne Ross compete, so we cross paths now and again,” he answered, scooping a handful of popcorn from the bowl between them.
“I remember Charlie. He’s the one who got sick on his prom date’s shoes.” It had been truly gross, and Libby had felt sorry enough for the girl that she’d spent a considerable amount of time helping her clean off those high heels, though she bet the smell had never left them.
She’d gone with Chance to that prom despite her father’s threats. In the end, Sam Brennan had relented and even provided a Lincoln Town Car so they could ride to the prom in style. She’d always suspected the driver had been a mechanic at one of the dealerships, there to report back to her father, but she hadn’t been able to prove it. She’d never forget the thrill of walking into the hotel with Chance. On his arm, she’d felt like a princess.
“That’s him. Still drinks more than he should.” Chance grabbed another handful of popcorn and proceeded to pop the kernels in his mouth, one by one. He had such a nice mouth, such talented lips. Kissing him had always sent her pulse into overdrive. Who was she kidding? Everything about Chance sent her into overdrive. Still.
“You keep in touch with anyone from those days?” he asked.
Her whole world had been Chance back then. The group of girls she had hung with had warned her off Chance and his wild ways. Warned her about his broken home life and his bad-boy attitude. She hadn’t listened, and in the end, she’d thrown them all over for Chance.
The friends she had now were those she’d made in college. Girls who hadn’t known Chance, but they certainly had heard a lot about him over the years. But those girls were scattered across the country. Facebook and the infrequent text message was how they kept in touch.
“Not beyond a Christmas card.”
Unexpectedly, he stretched his arm around her shoulders. His touch sent her pulse hammering as he nudged her toward him. She slid closer in an almost automatic response. The warmth from his arm seeped into her skin, into her veins, causing her blood to heat.
“People move on,” he said. He placed his other hand over hers. She could feel her face flush, but she didn’t move her hand away. She didn’t want to. She only wanted to be closer.
But when he faced her as if he wanted to say something more, Libby took a hard swallow. There would never be any hope with Chance if she didn’t face what she had done to him.
“I want to explain, Chance.”
*
Chance blinked. Was it him, or had the mood just shifted, and not for the better? He recognized the grit in her eyes. This wasn’t going to be some lighthearted conversation about old times. There was only one thing between them that bore further explanation.
He’d been looking forward to a nice quiet evening watching a movie with Libby and maybe starting where they’d left off earlier.
Annoyed as he had been at her invading his home, he’d been thinking about some of the benefits. If they could keep things light and casual, why shouldn’t they enjoy each other? He knew that was playing with fire, but hell, he hadn’t gotten as far as he had by playing it safe.
After the way she responded to that kiss, he figured tonight would be an opportune time to make his pitch. They were both adults. She said she was taking a break from her current relationship. What was wrong with a little “buddy sex,” if she was open to it?
But now she wanted to talk, and unfortunately, nothing she could say would do anything but open old wounds. Wounds that had never fully healed. Wounds that would definitely kill any possibility of a little romance. Hell.
“Explain about what?” he asked, not holding out much hope for the subject matter.
“Why I left you that night.” The sincerity in her eyes tugged at him, but it didn’t change the fact he didn’t want to know the excuses she’d been telling herself all these years. He knew the reason. He hadn’t been good enough, and she’d lost faith that he would be. It still hurt.