Page 16 of The Fall

He was engaged, and, oh, Dallas, he tore your fucking heart out.

“Dean, this was wonderful, thank you. You can drop me off at my car.”

“Ready for bed?” His gaze was hot on mine as he took in my neck and bare shoulders.

“Still a smooth talker.” I winked. “I’m sure the three of us would be a little uncomfortable in your bed. You know, you, me, Helena—” I held my tongue as his stare grew a little colder.

His expression didn’t waver, and I felt myself sinking in my seat.

“I’d have to have you all to myself,” he said, his eyes lingering on my lips as I spoke.

“You have had me all to yourself,” I said as the heat in my lower half rose to an immeasurable temperature.

Oh God, this was a mistake, a huge mistake.

Things had gone from casual to dangerous again in a matter of seconds. I would never get used to this—to the way he made me feel. I drank in his sharp features, his chiseled chin, and perfectly full lips. His paralyzing eyes were accented by dark black lashes, and his smooth black hair only made them stand out.

Was he always this gorgeous? Yes, God. Yes, he was.

I remembered the feel of his lips on mine, his tongue, and the weight of him as he took me—

“And then you dumped me,” he said, dragging the dead horse to the table. He had said it in a way where it could be construed as a joke, but I knew better.

Shit.

“I think your memory may be a little foggy. That really isn’t how it happened. Besides, you had it coming,” I said, trying to tread lightly. “You put me through hell in high school and made sure no one would date me.”

“That was just so Jon Reiner couldn’t pop your cherry.” I laughed at his absurd statement, and he joined in.

I leaned in to whisper, “How could you get my cherry if you never dated it in high school?”

“I figured I had some time, but you turned into such a hoe.”

I laughed again, and so did he.

“One guy. I slept with one guy in high school. Let it go. God, you’re such a hypocrite, and if it makes you feel any better, Reiner was a disaster.”

I looked at the man across from me, replaying the night I’d boldly put the moves on him at his frat party. It had been incredible. All those years of pent-up sexual frustration unraveled around us as we explored each other—repeatedly. I’d replayed that night over and over in my head throughout the years—that night had changed everything.

I looked at Dean across from me at Chantilly and saw a sadness I hadn’t noticed until now.

I felt the guilt of what I’d done to him that night hovering over me. Long after our first time together, I recognized that I’d been so concerned with my agenda to get him in bed that I didn’t even realize what he was trying to tell me. He thought I was special. I wondered if I would ever think that way about myself. Then again, he was the only man truly capable of making me feel that way.

And taking it away too easily.

Pain ripped through me as I recalled the day it stopped. Dean saw the memory surface on my face and started to speak when I stood to excuse myself for the restroom, and to my absolute horror, I saw Josh standing a few feet away. He had his arm around an older woman I recognized as his mom. I quickly made my way over and hugged her in greeting, wishing her a happy birthday. Josh was far from civil as he spoke.

“An old friend, Jesus, Dallas,” he whispered harshly and only for me.

“Josh, it’s not like that, not at all. Please come outside with me.”

“Dallas, how are you?” His mom, clearly embarrassed by hearing our unpleasant word exchange, did her best to make conversation. “I’m fine, Mrs. Stephenson,” I piped in happily. “It’s so good to see you. Happy birthday.”

“What the hell is going on?” he hissed as Mrs. Stephenson was whisked away by the hostess. I glanced over my shoulder to see Dean behind me. “Dean, this is Josh. Josh, this is Dean. I ran into him yesterday at my OB. We went to college together.” They shook hands, and I begged Dean with my eyes to give us a minute, and he quickly conceded. He walked over to the table, laying his card down, waiting on the server to pick it up and check us out.

Josh eyed Dean, then quickly turned to glare at me. “I really don’t care how good of friends you are. That dress is not for a friendly dinner, Dallas.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I just…it was a bad call. I’m under a lot of stress lately, and you don’t want to hear about work—”

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