Page 13 of Captivating Mr. Second Chance

“We’re getting tapas,” she went on, tossing her mascara back into the bag. “Rather, we’re getting two-for-one margaritas with tapas on the side.” As his gaze raked over her, she tugged on an oversized sweater. “How do I look?”

His eyes softened behind his glasses. “Perfect. Except for the hair.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” She whirled back to the mirror.

“It’s straight. You used to have all that hair, bouncing all over.”

She refused to laugh. “I still wear it curly sometimes. On a rare occasion.”

“Yeah?” He drifted his attention off over her shoulder for a few moments before meeting her gaze again. “I remember when we went to the beach, and you were so annoyed at me that I got your hair wet.”

Laney’s cheeks flamed that he would remember that small detail, or even bring up senior week. That was when they’d finally gotten together. Lost their virginity to each other down at the shore. Early on in the week, they had gone swimming together, and he’d splashed her with water, pointedly getting her hair wet even after she explained how hard it was to control. But then he’d snaked his arm around her waist under the water and pulled her close so that she’d forgotten why she even cared. She’d pressed her hand to the center of his chest and said, “I feel your heart beating.”

Ethan had done the same, his long fingers spreading across the space between her breasts. While most boys only cared about how big her cup size was, he had never made her feel like that was all she was worth. “I feel yours too,” he’d said. “It’s beating so fast.”

Her heart was still beating fast. Ethan had always done that to her, made her feel both exhilarated, like the high from a run, and safe, like she could be her honest self with him. Even now.

“It takes a lot of time and energy to put this together,” Laney said, aiming for nonchalance while images of their night on the beach and the few others that followed flashed through her mind. With his furrowed expression, she assumed he might have been thinking of the same things too.

“Lane…”

Her pulse stuttered and then galloped away. “I haven’t heard that name in years.”

“Really?”

“You’re the only one who’s ever called me that.”

He shifted ever so slightly toward her, lowering his voice. “Is it totally clichéd to say you haven’t changed?”

She swallowed the giant rock in her throat. “Totally.”

He accepted that with a gracious bow of his head. “Then I am a cliché, and you haven’t changed.”

As he stared at her, her lips parted, and his eyes settled on them for a long moment, but when a laugh echoed downstairs, Ethan looked over toward the steps. He’d come to the bathroom for a reason, and Laney shuffled out to allow him inside, accidentally brushing his side on the way.

“Sorry,” they both said at the same time, exchanging fractious smiles before she walked to her bedroom. By the time she’d picked a pair of boots from her closet, she met Ethan back in the hall as he pushed up his sleeves, showing off his forearms.

He had once joked with her that he had “drum muscles.” He was well over six feet, even in high school, and built like a twig, although he had definition from the hours he spent behind his drum kit. She had liked his forearms then and even more now. Curling her fingers into fists, she resisted the urge to reach out and trace the lines of muscle and veins running between his elbows and hands. Hands that once knew her intimately.

When he leaned against the wall, she followed suit opposite him. “So, you’re big-time now, huh? Vice president.”

His lips turned down the slightest bit, the tops of his cheeks darkening. She didn’t know much about his work, except for the random bits and pieces she’d heard from Dean.

“I’m assistant vice president,” he corrected. “Of one department of the company, not the whole thing.”

“What do you do exactly?”

“I’m a quantitative analyst.”

She raised her brows for more.

“My department is responsible for developing, testing, and implementing quantitative models for risk management of traded assets.”

“Right,” she said, not comprehending the language.

He wrinkled his nose and pushed his glasses back with the tip of his finger. “I basically make financial models with math.”

She kept her face blank. “Of course.”

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