Page 53 of Takes Two to Tango

Rayne didn't say anything. It wasn't as if she was stunned by Dawn's words. Brent had left everything up to her with regard to their relationship. She knew he wanted more. He'd said so. And she knew she wanted something more, too. But sharing thatsomething out in the open felt too real. It made Rayne feel as vulnerable as a newly born fawn on shaky legs. She wasn't sure if the feelings Brent stirred were worth the problems that were sure to come. She wrapped her arms about herself, wincing at the stickiness of the drying paint. "Well, I better rustle up some olive oil for getting the paint out of your hair. Best be glad it's not oil-based."

Aunt Frances gave them a knowing smile before slipping into the house. This time she didn't allow the door to slam. She closed it gently.

Brent stomped around a few moments more before pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it toward a cardboard box he used for debris. Brent still had a football player's body. One that hadn’t gone soft. She thought about Brandi and the other women who used him for eye candy, and she turned away.

"I guess I shouldn't have gotten so carried away. I kinda outted us. Sorry."

She didn't respond. Wasn't sure what to say.

"Not to mention, I ruined your dress." He walked toward her and pulled the skirt that bore his mark away from where it hung at her side. "I don't think it will come out."

Rayne took the fabric from him. "It wasn't expensive. Don't worry."

"Rayne," he prodded, seemingly understanding she didn’t know how to deal with what had happened. "Don't clam up on me."

"I'm not sure about what we are. I've gotten past the hurt I felt years ago. I'm big enough to overlook the fact you were embarrassed to let others know we were-"

"What are you talking about? I've never been embarrassed of you."

"I'm not trying to dredge up the past. I'm accustomed to being your secret friend. Not so out in the open."

He took a few steps away from her."We really need to get this paint off, but I can't let that statement slide. First, we're not kids anymore. We've been to the Dairy Barn together twice. Henry's been with us, but that only enforces the idea that I'm serious about you, Rayne. I don't care if people know it or not."

She opened her mouth, but he held up a band. "I'm not finished. Look, when we were kids, I didn't parade our friendship around the school because... well, because you were mine."

What the hell did that mean?

"I know it sounds selfish,” he said, staring out at the empty street, "but when we sat in the swing or crashed on the grass and stared up at stars or clouds, it was the only time I felt like I was me. At school, hell, outside that fence, I played a part. I guess it's one I'm still playing."

He turned toward her. "But back then, I just wanted to protect this - the world that I had when I’m with you. I wasn't embarrassed about you. Just didn't want to mix my worlds because without you and those stolen moments I couldn't do it. I couldn't be that guy everyone thought I was.”

Her heart crumbled at his words. He wasn't embarrassed of her? He wanted to keep their friendship, their first inklings of love a secret? "Well, thanks for communicating that to me. Guess I didn't get a choice in the matter. Those three years of high school were freaking torture for me. I was teased about being a skinny, flat-chested freak whose parents were weirdos. I was calledbastardandretardand everything else under the sun. I don't think you endured that, did you? Instead, you passed me by in the hallway with a cheerleader on one arm and an entourage at your back. Then after the world went to sleep, you met me out back to twist my hair and dream about a better tomorrow. Sorta selfish wasn’t it? When you could have made life easier for me …at school.”

Brent opened his mouth but she held up her hand."No, it's my turn."

He closed his mouth, but his eyes showed a dawning. Had he really never thought about what her life had been like at Oak Stand High? Had he not realized what everyone else in town had thought about poor knock-kneed, skinny, redheaded Rayne?

She'd been like a broken toy that kept popping up. First, when she'd been in grade school, attending Oak Stand Elementary for three months before being jerked out because her parents found a place they needed to go in order to find peace, tranquility, and people who'd buy their art. The town saw her parents as burned-out hippies, and she and Summer got lumped in by default. When she'd finally come to live with her aunt and uncle, she thought it could be different, but her mold had been cast.

Being different in a conservative, small Texas town was beyond difficult.

''You decided for me, Brent. You had your cake and ate it, too. You can say all you want about pretending to be another person to please your parents or whoever, but being Brent Hamilton was, and is, not a hard thing to be.”

He opened his mouth again and she silenced him with her look.

"I walked around this town with nothing but a bad case of hero worship. I didn't get to go to the Dairy Barn after games with you or drive to the lake and drink beer. I sat at home on that damn swing waiting on you like some pathetic loser. It must have been nice to make out with Katie Newman as Brent the Stud and then come to me for chaste little kisses as Brent the Philosopher."

"I didn't treat you that way, Rayne." His words were tinged with irritation. No man liked to be called out. "Don't you realize you meant more to me? I loved you. You were my best friend.You gave me hope and peace and an anchor to my identity. When you left, I lost that. All those girls, football, drinking out at the lake-none of that was real."

"It felt real to me,"she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "It hurt me."

"But I didn't mean to hurt you. You were my soul mate. I could be myself with you. It's hard to explain, but you were like this perfect rose, beautiful to contemplate, a symbol of everything that was pure and good in my life. You were like reading Emerson, seeing a thing of beauty, not to partake, but to observe. To treat you like other girls would be... sacrilege."

Rayne stilled her hands. "Are you cracked?"

He stiffened. "What do you mean?"

"Seriously? You're talking to me of Ralph Waldo Emerson? Of things erudite and fanciful? I wasn't a muse. Or a... a... freak anomaly. I was a teenage girl who was in love with you."

---