Page 3 of When it Comes to You

But one day is an eternity when you are forced to spend it in the company of a man like Westin Carver.

I watch my carefully laid, get in and get out plan, start to fall apart right in front of me.

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THE CEREMONY GOES BYin a blur. With stolen glances and a mounting weight on my heart, I manage to get through it without incident. And I’ve successfully managed to avoid Westin for the first hour of the reception, thanks in large part to the women constantly flocking him and pulling him onto the dance floor to grind on him in ways that should be made illegal outside of a dark nightclub.

And even though watching him makes my stomach twist in the worst sort of way, I can't stop myself from looking. It's like a car accident that is so horrific it doesn't seem real, yet you can't tear your eyes away from the scene.

I cope by throwing back champagne like I’m doing shots at a frat party, determined to have a good time in spite of everything.

Chloe's dad manages to drag me onto the dance floor shortly after the formalities of the night are over. By that point, my alcohol buzz is in full swing, otherwise I probably never would have agreed. While I love John like he’s family, his connection to my parents leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

Of course, he doesn't miss the opportunity to tell me how much my parents miss me and how I really should visit them while I'm in town. Normally, drinking makes me loose lipped but somehow I manage to force a smile and simply nod, able to politely excuse myself at the end of the song without confrontation.

Unfortunately, as I step out of John's arms, I step directly into the arms of the one person that I want to avoid more than John.

“I don't have time for this, Westin.” I sigh in defeat, as he pulls my body flush with his and guides me deeper onto the dance floor.

His deep, masculine scent invades my nose, seeming to increase the effects of the champagne. I feel unsteady on my feet.

“Time for what? A dance with an old friend?” He lets out a light chuckle, pulling me closer.

“Last time I checked, friends don't do what you did to me.” I can't help the bitterness in my voice.

I’m embarrassed that I’m still holding onto what happened all those years ago.

“And what did I do, exactly?”

My heated gaze shoots up to his.

“Are you serious?” I don’t miss the slight slur to my words. Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have drunk so much champagne, but dammit, what else was I supposed to do? Getting through this night sober wasn’t even an option. “You left,” I needlessly point out. “Like disappeared. Poof. Gone.” I over exaggerate my words.

“Isn't that exactly what you did?” he asks, his head cocking slightly to the side. Something about the way he's looking at me, pity mixed with guilt, and something else I can't quite pinpoint, has me squirming under his stare. Suddenly, the room feels too small.

“I did no such thing.”

“But you ran away just the same.” His statement is soft, yet it leaves me wanting to rear back and sock him right in the nose.

“I didn't run, I flew. And I didn't have another option. You, of all people, should understand that much.” It’s the first time I’ve let myself acknowledge just how close we were when he pulled his little disappearing act.

“Your parents, have you spoken to them?” he asks, knowing full well that no matter how much I despise my parents, I would never have the heart to cut them out of my life completely.

As much as I don’t want to do this with him, I know refusing to answer will only make things worse.

I can do this.

I can carry on a meaningless conversation with someone I used to know like his very presence isn’t the most unnerving thing I’ve ever experienced.

Faking it is my specialty.

“I call Mom every few weeks. Check in. I wish I could say that my leaving somehow changed them, but honestly, I think it made them worse,” I say, immediately regretting my decision to open up to him so easily.

Stupid alcohol.

“You were always too good to be their daughter anyway.” He shrugs, pulling me closer. As much as I want to escape the closeness of his body to mine, a part of me wants to sink into his embrace and never leave.

“What about you? What have you been up to?” I ask, changing the subject, no longer wanting to discuss the inner workings of my fragile relationship with my manipulative, controlling parents.

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