When he was done, he pulled out. She gritted her teeth against the unfamiliar sensation. He shifted away and stood, then fastened his jeans. She lay there a second, waiting for him to realize what had happened. Despite everything, she wanted him to make it okay.
He gave her a lopsided smile. “Be right back,” he promised, then walked toward the bathroom.
Nevada lay there, one pant leg on, one off, tears beginning to leak into her hair. Finally she got up and dressed.
All her hopes and dreams and love crashed in around her and she sat back down on the sofa, sobbing into her hands. Everything she’d imagined was gone—broken by reality. Tucker didn’t care about her in a romantic way. He never had. He was in love with Cat. To him, she was nothing more than his friend’s little sister. She’d misread kindness as affection and had built a fantasy out of nothing more substantial than sand.
Still fighting tears, she got up and went back to her dorm. After spending an hour in the shower, she still felt awful. Worse, she felt stupid. She’d been a fool and she had no one else to blame.
She’d spent a long night lying awake, wallowing in self-pity, wondering how long it was going to take until she would get over her first love.
The next morning, she’d gone to class just as if nothing had happened. She’d talked to her friends, had fake-laughed at all the right places, had acted as if she was fine.
It hadn’t helped.
Two days later, Cat had called.
“Was it wonderful?” the other woman asked. “What?”
“Your night with Tucker. You were in love with him so I wanted you to have him.”
Nevada pressed her fingers against her temple. “I don’t understand. You said you broke up with him.”
“That’s what I told him, too. He wouldn’t have slept with you otherwise. It was my gift to you, Nevada. We’re friends. That’s what friends do.”
Everything about that night returned to her. How drunk he’d been, how he hadn’t even known it was her. At least, not at the end.
“Does he even remember what happened?” she asked, hating herself for wanting to know.
“Bits and pieces.” Cat laughed. “He was pretty hungover when I talked to him. He confessed all, expecting me to be angry. I wasn’t, of course. Having you with him was my idea. And now he’s grateful I’m taking him back.”
“You are?”
“Yes. I told you. I gave you your night with him. So, tell me everything. Was it wonderful?”
Nevada shook her head and returned to the present. To the living room she’d remodeled and decorated herself. To the life she’d made.
Ten years ago she’d hung up on Cat and had never spoken to her again. Never spoken to Tucker, either. She’d managed to move on with her life, to heal. But she’d never forgotten that night. The humiliation of it. She would have told anyone who asked that she was over Tucker Janack. Now she had the chance to prove to herself that she wasn’t lying.
DENISE HENDRIX SAT in the family room, the morning paper spread out on the coffee table in front of her, knowing she was flirting with disaster. At her age, skipping her yoga class wasn’t something she could afford to do. She was at risk of getting creaky or worse, and there were all those scary commercials about bone loss and hip replacements.
But the thought of spending an hour trying to perfect downward dog wasn’t appealing. Nor were any of her usual activities. She felt restless and on edge. It was like being a kid and knowing Christmas was only a few days away. Anticipation made focusing on anything impossible. The difference now was she didn’t know what she was waiting for.
Her children were all happy and successful. Her friends were healthy, her investments sound. She’d had the furnace checked for the winter, the gutters cleaned and there was plenty of food in the refrigerator. So, what was she waiting for? She needed to get on with her life.
The doorbell rang, saving her from further introspection. While she was excellent at understanding everyone else’s lives, she’d never been very good at ruminating over her own. She preferred to be going and doing. A good thing, considering she’d raised six children.
She walked through the living room, toward the front door, and pulled it open. Only to find herself staring at a man she hadn’t spoken to in more than thirty-five years.
To the day, she thought, realizing the source of the restlessness. This was the anniversary of the last time she’d seen Max.
Max Thurman had been her first love, her first lover, her first everything. She’d thought she would love him forever, until she’d met Ralph Hendrix. The two men couldn’t have been more different. Max had always been wild. He rode a motorcycle, was a troublemaker. Ralph had been responsible, with plans to go into his father’s business.
She’d impulsively accepted a date with Ralph during one of her frequent fights with Max. She’d expected to be bored but had instead been charmed.