The Palms, page 5
“The very same.” Lauren cut a bite of salad and popped it in her mouth.
Madeline bit her bright pink bottom lip. Somehow, even as a redhead, she managed to pull off shocking lip colors that should have clashed with her coloring altogether. In the past, this trait had made Lauren jealous, but today, Madeline’s color choices only made her look distorted, and a little crazy. Lauren decided Madeline spent too much time trying to look polished, instead of actually being polished.
“I don’t like this. Nope. I don’t like this at all.” Madeline wrinkled her nose and regarded her friend. “But there’s one thing about you— at least you don’t have a boring sex life anymore.”
Lauren laughed. “You’ve never told me that.”
“You’re always dating the same losers.” Madeline took a bite of her flatbread pizza.
“I wouldn’t call it dating,” Lauren replied, getting another bite of the salad ready. “More like forgetting.”
“Holy mother of God.” Madeline tried again, turning the conversation back to the point she wanted to make. “This is Trent Matthews we are talking about. You know what he did to you.” She slapped her hand on the table, and the flatware jangled.
“Whoa— Madeline— you don’t have to get so—”
“I don’t want my favorite cousin hurt again. Not with him.” Madeline sighed. “You remember, don’t you? Don’t tell me you forgot.”
Lauren raised an eyebrow. “Of course I didn’t forget. There’s no denying it hurt. A lot.”
“Right.” Madeline cut another bite of pizza but didn’t eat it. She furrowed her brow. “And I’m trying to think... there’s something else about him… something else I heard... I can’t think of what it was... must have been not a big deal.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll think of it later.” She turned more wary as she looked into her cousin’s eyes. “Listen. You’re not going to see him again, right?”
“I told him I wasn’t, but—”
“You can’t.” Now Madeline became insistent, and a maybe even a little bit annoyed. “Think about what he did to you.” She leaned over the table to emphasize her point. “You might not remember it, but I do. The crying, the stress, the whole bit.” She shuddered.
Lauren hid her smile. For all her faults, Madeline had always been a protective, loving relative.
“It’s just so hard when I’m around him, Mad. It brings up these feelings that I haven’t had since him.” Lauren shuddered. “And I lose control of myself.”
“Well, he is still hot,” Madeline admitted.
“I know.” Lauren exhaled and picked at her lunch, even though her appetite had faded. “You’d think after ten years you’d be over a person. But I worry I’m not.” The memory of last night’s kiss flooded her mind again. Not that it had ever been far from Lauren’s most prominent thoughts.
Madeline sighed. “And that’s why you have to ignore him.”
“Maybe “But it is interesting to think about… seeing him again. Seeing what might happen.”
Madeline’s shoulders sank. “You’re not going to stay away, are you?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” Lauren grinned and took another bite of her lunch.
3:00 PM, Palm Beach Biltmore Condos Lobby
Trent sat in the wide chair of the lobby and tapped his foot as he waited. He’d sat there for two hours, the whole time at war with himself. More than once, he made the move to get up, and had to force himself to settle back into the seat. Most of the afternoon, he’d stared at his watch, making a silent plea for time to pass.
But of course, time only passed slower and slower the longer he waited.
“She looked like she might be gone for a while. Just wantin’ you to know that, partner,” the overweight, leather faced door attendant told him. “Since you’re sitting there. She left before lunch.”
“Thanks,” Trent replied, pulling out his iPhone from the pocket of his dark jeans. He checked his email and Facebook for the fifth time in the last two hours. He looked down at his jittery left foot and sighed for the fifteenth time.
“Are you just plannin’ on waiting?” The door attendant’s voice raised a little, and Trent didn’t doubt that man’s curiosity. “It’s highly un—”
“She’s knows I’m here.” Trent smiled, hoping to disarm any concern. “Lauren and I talked last night.”
Well, at least that part wasn’t a lie.
Trent affixed a casual look onto his face and waited for another protest. It never came from the door attendant. After a few seconds, he exhaled with relief as the man returned to his work at the front desk.
Trent never did stuff like this — never. Not since her. Not since Lauren. For years, women had come to him; he’d never made a point to pursue anyone. Certainly not like this.
Yet, here he sat, a prisoner to his own past, worried that this time, a second chance might not wipe away all his regrets. She’d turned so angry the night before, so furious after he’d lost control and kissed her. She said she wanted him stay away — insisted that he leave their past life alone, and he know he should honor her wishes. For a long time, he’d worked on being a gentleman. A gentleman would leave her alone.
Even so, he knew he couldn’t — that he wouldn’t, no matter how hard he tried. That morning he woke up with nothing but guilt and memories, all of it made worse by the knowledge that she slept not even a mile away from him. He had to see her again, even if she only slapped his face and told him to leave her alone forever.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered to himself. “She is some kind of crazy obsession. I can’t get her out of my mind.” He sank further back and let the leather of the chair wrap around him. A clear afternoon schedule meant he could stay in the lobby for hours if he needed to — and he decided right away that he would. He didn’t care if it looked creepy or made him a stalker. He would talk to her. He would tell her about Cynthia Livingston. And he would right his broken life. He would wait for her forever if she wanted it that way.
When it came to Lauren Crawford, another chance to make things right was all that mattered.
5:00 PM
Lauren saw him before Trent saw her, and the sight stopped her cold on the blacktop outside the entrance to the historic building. She stood there a few seconds, outside the front door, wedged between an Audi and a taxi. People walked in and out of the lobby and some of them stared at her, but she didn’t make a move. Not yet.
Should she leave? Should she confront him? Did she want to see him right now? Did it matter?
Well, of course it mattered. It mattered a lot. She’d come to realize that even more after lunch, when she walked from Taboo Restaurant down to the spa around the corner from the Biltmore. She couldn’t stop thinking about Trent, or his kisses, and she didn’t want any of it out of her life at all. No matter what, she needed to see him again, wanted to know why he still kept secrets from her, and had to find out the truth.
But she also knew something else. At that moment, she had on no makeup. None. The deep clean facial she had at the spa took care of all that.
Perfect.
A bare, clean face was the last thing she wanted Trent to see — especially since that morning in the mirror, another small spray of acne right along her right temple greeted her.
“Shit,” she said a little louder than she intended. An older woman with a large straw hat turned to her and frowned. “Sorry,” Lauren told her. Her face reddened, but not from the woman’s disapproval. She grew more uncomfortable every minute she stood there.
“Come on, Lauren,” she muttered. “You’re a strong woman.” She looked down at her navy wrap dress and red sandals. The rest of her looked great, even if her face didn’t quite match, and she knew it. In the last few years, confidence had not been a problem for Lauren, and she was not about to let it become one. Her left hand reached up to the top of her head and pulled her black sunglasses down on her nose. She’d keep them on until she made it to the condominium’s front door. People did that all the time.
“I’m a little surprised to see you here, Trent,” she told him after a collected, calm walk through the glass doors and into the lobby. “Good afternoon, George,” she said to the door attendant. He smiled and acknowledged her. She stopped a few inches from the large leather chair.
Trent stood up and caught a whiff of her perfume. Intoxicating. “I’m a man full of surprises,” he replied, sheepish.
Lauren sized him up behind her large glasses. Deep inside, she wanted to let him know how happy it made her to see him, but she didn’t. She couldn't. She had to maintain control. Well… at the very least she had to try. For now.
“How long have you been here?”
“Just a few minutes,” Trent lied.
Lauren called over her shoulder. “George, how long has he sat here?”
George looked from Lauren to Trent and back again. “Over three hours, Miss Crawford.” He smirked. “Make that four.”
Lauren’s laughter filled up the lobby.
“Has it been that long?” Trent looked at his trusty watch and feigned surprise. “Seemed like only a few minutes to me.”
Lauren’s lips twisted to one side of her face. “Right. I believe that one.”
A moment of awkward silence passed between them before Trent shoved his hands in his pockets. “Listen, about last night...”
“Don't worry about it.” Lauren took a step backward to the elevator bank.
He followed her out of instinct and rubbed his hand on his neck. “That's not... I mean...”
“I think we both know what happened last night, Trent.” She opened up her straw purse and fished around for her keys. “We don't have to talk about it again. We're just two people...” She broke off too, realizing the idiocy of her words even as she said them. Of course, Lauren wanted to talk about it all again. She wanted to go back and relive it, even. She'd wanted moments like these for ten years. But maybe for a different reason than Trent.
“I’m not the same girl you knew,” she said, desperate for him to hear and process the meaning behind her words. “I’m just not. I moved away.” She gestured at the rest of the lobby. “Stopped coming here. Went to college. And left you behind.”
“I know I hurt you—”
“You more than hurt me. You devastated me.” She looked down at herself. “I’ve done a lot, you know. I’m about to start a great job that I’ve always wanted, after years climbing the ladder at P&G. And I’m not going to let myself just go down this road.”
She didn’t add that, even as she said it, a part of her ached, desperately, to explore another chance with Trent.
“At the very least, you owe me a full explanation,” she said after a beat. “And not just in the form of some make out session.”
“We need to talk,” Trent admitted. He glanced around the immaculate lobby. “But not here. Some place more private.”
“Some place more private,” Lauren repeated.
Trent looked around the lobby again. His face twisted as he tried to figure out a place for the two of them to go.
“Alright. Fine. Let’s go up to the condo,” she said, allowing herself to give in to this one request. “Come on. We’ll talk there.”
Trent gulped. “Are you sure?”
“Well, why not?”
Trent smiled. “The last time I was in your parent’s condo, we—”
“Oh, God. You’re referring to that time on the kitchen floor.” Lauren rocked forward on her heels, and the memory pulsed through her. “We were kids.” She tried to laugh it off, but the action didn’t break the energy, it only heightened it.
“You let me feel you up pretty good that time,” Trent whispered. “And those cookies—”
They both laughed together.
“Mom said I could never bake in the condo again,” Lauren said. “And I haven’t ever since. Not even once.”
“Do you believe me when I say I am sorry? Because I am. I really am.”
“Maybe I will one day.”
Trent couldn’t stop himself. He reached up, pushed a dark strand of hair out of her eyes and hooked it behind her ear. She didn’t pull away from him. “I wish I could go back to the way things were,” he said, his voice still low. “I’ve wished I could go back for ten years.”
“Well,” Lauren replied, unable to resist. “I want to hear your explanation, first.”
5:15 PM, The Crawford Condo Kitchen
amn,” Lauren said, closing the refrigerator. She turned and looked at him, pouting as she did. Trent sat on one the metal stools that faced the bar. From there, the condominium opened up into a large living room. “No cookie dough. We’re fresh out.”
Trent feigned despair. “What will we do?”
Lauren pressed up against the counter between the refrigerator and the small stove. She kept her eyes on Trent, determined to read his expressions carefully. “I guess we’ll have to settle for something more... adult.” Trent’s eyebrow shot up as she cocked her head at the wine rack on the other side of him. “Like maybe some white wine.”
“White wine?” he checked his watch. “At 5:15 in the afternoon? My, my, Miss Crawford, you are a rebel.”
She smiled at him. “Hey, we’re past five. Fair game. And it is a good vintage. I’d hate to see it go to waste with both of us standing here like this. Plus we’re both on vacation...”
“Sort of.”
“Okay, maybe only I am. But it is good wine.”
Trent stood up. “I guess that settles it. Where are the glasses?”
“No, I’ll get them.”
She waved her hands in front her face to make him sit down, but he ignored her and made his way into the kitchen. He opened a cabinet next to the entryway. “Do you have a wine key?”
“In the drawer, right there.” She pointed at cabinet next to him, and as she did, his thigh brushed against her hand. She gasped as a shiver of excitement passed over her. A moment later, an image of herself naked on her bed with Trent’s body above hers flashed through her head. “So... um... you can...”
“Are you okay, Lauren?” he asked, keeping his face and voice neutral. He fished around in the drawer for the wine key and pulled it out. When he looked up, he found her staring at him, an unreadable expression on her face. “How much wine do you think you want?”
Thank God, he couldn’t read her thoughts.
“Half the bottle,” she whispered.
His loud laughter answered her. “You’re going to need a pretty big glass.”
She shook her head. “Right.”
She turned her rigid body and opened another cabinet. As she rose up on her tiptoes to reach the shelf, Trent’s eyes roamed over the tumbling waves of her long brown hair, her small, sculpted breasts, and finally the way her navy dress accented her round bottom. He brushed past her again, letting their bodies come into contact more. Once he got around her, he reached out and picked up the bottle of wine by its neck. “Merlot. Interesting.”
“You don’t like merlot?” By now, she’d found the glasses, and had one in each hand.
“Well, I mean— isn’t that normally…”
“What? No good?” Lauren smirked. “I’ll have you know, merlot’s making a comeback.”
“No, I don’t mean that. Not at all. It’s just that I’m a white wine drinker.” He stepped closer to her, narrowing the space between them again. “But today, that doesn’t matter.”
“There’s a wine shop down the street. We can go over there and get a bottle if you want. Good selection.”
“No,” Trent replied, moving closer to Lauren until his body stood flush against hers. He could smell her, almost feel her, and if he wanted to, taste her. “This is perfect.”
Lauren’s stomach flipped in response to his nearness, and excitement filled every cell of her body. Having him this close to her made her feel alive, nervous, and exhilarated. It also almost made her forget why she’d even been mad at him in the first place. A little voice inside her head reminded her of all the heartbreak.
“If you think I’m going to let you get away with not telling me what happened back when we were kids, you’re wrong,” she whispered.
“I know.” Trent placed the wine bottle on the counter right next to them, but he didn’t turn his body away or take his eyes off her. “You deserve to know the truth.”
Lauren moved closer to him, so that his nose and hers were less than one inch away from each other. “So why won’t you tell me?”
Trent let a second or two pass, drawing out the moment as long as he could and weighing responses in his mind. “I will,” he finally said. “After we open up the wine. We’re going to need it.”
5:30PM, The Crawford Condo Living room
“It’s good wine,” Trent said from his place on one side of the small, black leather couch. He grabbed a coaster from the coffee table and set his glass on it. They both were on their second glass. “It’s very good.”
“I told you.” Lauren draped her right hand over the arm of the couch and let her half empty wine glass dangle from her fingers. “I know my wines.”
“I can see that.” Trent smiled. “I’ll make a note of that.” He raised an eyebrow. “Where’d you learn about them?”
Lauren grinned at him. “Oh, no. Not this. You’re not getting off track, Trent.” She took another sip of the wine, and by now, she had a slight buzz. “You promised to tell me what happened back in 2002.” She placed one pointed finger in the center of his chest. “You promised.”
Trent shrugged and a lock of his hair fell down in front of his eye, enhancing his features and making him look younger than thirty-one. “Maybe I hoped you’d forget.”
With that answer, a spark of familiar annoyance about their relationship bubbled up inside of Lauren. “Of course I haven’t forgotten. How could I?”
