Page 79 of Dream On

“He did.” I fold my arms across my chest while he dips his gaze to my cleavage for the barest breath. A drumbeat. When our eyes meet again, his are darker, and mine are blacker than midnight. “So let me get this straight,” I begin, my tone low and even. “You crash my car and nearly kill me, and when I lie to protect you—”

“I never asked you to lie for me.”

“—you repay my kindness by leaving town, ignoring my texts and phone calls, and changing your number. You disappear for four years—forfour years, Lex—and then you drop back into my orbit with your sensationalized television show, embellishingmylife, dramatizingourrelationship and experiences, and you expect me to do you a favor by prancing around some fancy gala as your date?” The blood returns to my face, heating to boiling, and my chest contracts with labored breaths. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Good to see you too,” he mutters, a picture of stony indifference. Lex steps closer to me, invading my space, smelling like a cloud of citrus and sea breeze. “For the record, I made you an overnight celebrity. You’re welcome.”

I gape at him, jaw unlocking. “You took pieces of me, twisted them into something they’re not, and broadcast it for the world to see, all while another actress got to play the part ofme—a part I didn’t even get to audition for.” Tears spring to my eyes, wretched little daggers. “That is not a courtesy. That’s a slap in the face.”

His eyes flash, a familiar shade of hollow. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like the show.”

My heart fumbles.

Wow.

I find my balance through the upheaval and take a deliberate step toward him, tipping my chin until our gazes lock and hold. “Honestly? It was a bit…” Pausing, I draw out the next beat, toying with the silence, pretending to think over my response. Then, with a firm set of my jaw, I finish: “Underwhelming.”

His expression falters. The mask slips.

Warm breath skates across the top of my head as he exhales a breath. Then he sniffs, shaking off the comment. “Fair enough. Art is subjective.”

“I’m going to go. I can’t say it’s been a pleasure.”

He snags my wrist before I can retreat. “Just hear me out. Five minutes.”

“You’ve had four years.” I try to pull away, but he holds firm, guiding me toward one of the VIP rooms. “This is pointless, Lex. My answer is no.”

When he lets go of me, I have my chance to run away. To race down the stairs and never look back, to put Lexington Hall behind me for good. But he knows me better than that. He saunters into the candlelit room, adorned with plush couches and red velvet chairs, and turns to face me, just inside the threshold. Tipping his head, a gesture to join him, he slips his hands into his pockets and waits. Waits for me to be weak, to be his audience once again.

I stand there, dangling between wisdom and logic, the glow of flickering candles casting long shadows on the walls.

It’s my stupid heart. It remembers everything I long to forget. It dreams in color and silly wishes despite the nightmares lurking in the back of my mind. Ithas my feet inching forward, into the room, as Lex steps over to me and closes the door behind us, hesitating before he moves away. Our faces are inches apart, just a breath, a kiss he never returned.

I angle my head to the side, gritting my teeth.

With a hard exhale, Lex retreats from my personal bubble and stuffs his hands back into his pockets. “Listen, this was not my idea.”

“Wonderful. I guess all is forgiven then.”

“But it’s a good idea. It’s one date, and it could benefit us both.”

I glance over at him, a buzzing ball of tension and nerves. “That’s funny. I thought you only did things to benefit yourself.”

“Not true. I bought you a car.”

“And then you totaled it a week later.”

“That was an accident.” He stabs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “It was an accident I regret every day—every fucking second of every day.”

That ancient trace of vulnerability weaves into his words, causing me to waver. I hate that I do. I hate that he can still reach me after all these years, after all this radio silence. My resolve slowly cracks, piece by piece.

I stare at him.

He stares back.

“It’s one date,” he says. “One event. All you have to do is wear a pretty dress and pretend to like me.”

I swallow, forcing the cracks to seal back up. “Above my skill set.”