Page 47 of SALT

"Nice to see you too, Everett. I had to make a change to the last tournament. The coach from UA couldn't make it until Friday night. I moved the schedule around so that the Bulldogs would be the first game he sees."

Damn it. That's a good call, one that requires I at least be cordial. "I'm assuming that's not all you came up here to talk about since a schedule change can easily be communicated via email."

She walks across the room and stands beside the window. "No, it's not. What I want to talk about is personal."

I take off my blue-light glasses and spin my chair toward her. Lauren coming to me with something personal feels out of place, which is more reason to listen. "I'm listening."

"Mind sharing some of that liquid courage?" she asks as she nods to the cognac on the shelf behind me.

"Sure," I say as I spin around to grab the bottle and pour two glasses. After the glasses are poured, I turn back around. "I don't have any ice. Hope you don't mind it neat…" My words die off a little when I realize how close she's moved. While I poured the glasses, she crossed the room and found her seat on the corner of my desk. Lauren has always been attractive, and that hasn't changed with age, but she's not my type. I hand her the glass I poured and take a long drink before reclaiming my chair. "Well…" I gesture with my hand for her to start.

"Do you remember Jenny Busch's wedding?"

"Yes," I lean back in my chair. "That was over twenty years ago, but I vaguely remember."

Jenny Busch's wedding was the talk of the town. A small-town girl marrying into a dynasty. It's all anyone could talk about for months, made worse by the fact that she convinced her soon-to-be husband to have it here in Waterloo. What started out as a small wedding soon encompassed the whole town. I am trying to remember why I got invited.

"Do you remember Ramsey, Granger, and Amber?"

"I do, they were hanging out with Damon that night."

She nods and takes another sip of cognac, holding it in her mouth and letting the flavors marinate before swallowing hard. "Do you remember who Amelia was hanging out with that night?"

"I don't know. That was a long time ago," I say as I close my eyes and try to remember details from the wedding. I remember that night being one of the last nights everyone hung out before Damon moved out to the East Coast. We graduated that summer, and he was getting his master's at Cornell. I pinch the bridge of my nose, and that's when I remember seeing Amelia sitting in a corner talking to Brady Busch. Damon was pissed. Rightfully so, he did marry a gold digger, but I don't know where Lauren's going with this walk down memory lane. "What parts specifically are you trying to get me to remember?"

"I just want to know what that night looked like for you because, for me, it looked a lot different. That night changed?—"

"Hey, Everett…" Cameron steps around the corner only to step back when she sees Lauren sitting on my desk. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you had someone up here. I'll come back?—"

"No," I say a little louder than intended as I rise from my chair. "Lauren was just leaving."

Cameron's eyes flick between us, and I'm sure she sees my bluff. Lauren was right in the middle of trying to tell me something, but I'm not about to let the woman I can't get off my mind walk away from me again. When I turn to Lauren, she raises her eyebrows at me, her expression now as equally offended as it is intrigued.

"Right, well, maybe I can stop by later, and we can finish our conversation." I don't correct her. Instead, I clench my jaw, intent on not showing more cards than I already have. Lauren was here to tell me something, but the way she sat on my desk and attempted to take a walk down memory lane with me suggests maybe she has other ideas about us. While I don't care to entertain those, I don't entirely want to push her away, especially since Garrett is still sniffing around her trail. He wouldn't blindly follow a trail without good cause. Stopping in front of Cameron, she puts her hand on her hip and asks, "Hey, is Stormy picking you up for the away game on Saturday?"

"Yep," she answers as she rubs her thumb over the top of her forefinger. It's her tell. She's lying.

"Okay, well, maybe I'll tag along. I should probably go to one of the games since I work here." Her gaze flicks back to mine, and she gives me a once-over before finally taking her leave.

Once I hear her heels click down the stairs, I say, "Close the door."

"Oh, I didn't plan on staying. I just came up?—"

"Close the door, Cameron."

"Fine," she fumes as she shuts the door. When she turns her gaze back on me, it's only a moment before she focuses her attention out the window.

"You lied just now. Why?"

"No, I didn't." She rolls her eyes. "Or I don't know that I did. Stormy has a way of making plans for us and letting me know at the last minute."

"You've been avoiding me," I say as I walk around my desk and lean against the front.

She crosses her arms. "Didn't realize you cared."

"We both know that's bullshit."

"Do we? You said we were trying. You asked me to have dinner with you and made 'Marry Me Chicken.' Then, on my birthday, we shared something, Everett. You may not have been inside of me that night, but we both know your words were. I know you want me, Everett, and you're scared, but I don't understand it. Help me understand it. Tell me why your answer is no when we both know you want it to be yes." Admittedly, my reasons for saying no are getting harder to hold onto, but that's only served as more of a reason to push her away rather than pull her close. My softening to the idea doesn't erase its perversion. When I take too long to respond, she asks, "Is it because of my dad?"

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