Try Me (Take a Chance) Read online

  “You going to answer me,” Tommy growled, “or do I have to beat it out of you?”

  “Uh.” Jeremy raised both hands. “I might have run into Erica, but it was just for a night. We didn’t—I didn’t—”

  Tommy fisted a handful of his shirt and shoved him back, eyes blazing. “You shithead. If you hurt her, I’ll kill you here and now.” He shoved Jeremy again, snarling. “Or were you too chicken to go through with it? Did you turn tail once you saw her scars, huh? Asshole. I should have killed you the last damned time!”

  Jeremy held very, very still. If he didn’t, he’d punch Tommy right in the teeth. Had they still been friends, he might have. Tommy probably deserved a shot at him, since he’d just implied that he’d fucked his little sister like sex was a bloodsport and they were up for the gold.

  Wait. Scars?

  “What are you talking about? What scars? And why would I have been chicken?”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Tommy hissed, then glanced to the side. His grip went slack. “Shit. Play it cool. I’m not going to jail, even for the pleasure of kicking your ass.”

  Jeremy followed Tommy’s gaze. A trio of security guards forged through the crowd, hands hovering at their hips and a little too close to their Tasers. Jeremy had been tased once during a demonstration exercise in basic training. He had no desire to experience the 31 Flavors of electroshock pain a second time.

  He pulled free of Tommy’s grip with a frown. “Let’s finish this somewhere else. My room. Come on.”

  Together, they tried to skirt the security guards, but the men blocked their path. “Everything okay here?”

  Jeremy tried his best drunken grin. “It’s all good. We’re old friends.”

  Tommy nodded, but didn’t speak. His jaw was clenched tight, his arms tense. The guards looked less than convinced, but they let Jeremy and Tommy pass. They threaded through the packed casino and into the lobby. Jeremy led Tommy to his room without speaking. Anything they had to say to each other wouldn’t be pretty. Privacy was best.

  Once inside, Jeremy closed the door and leaned against it. “Tell me what the hell you’re talking about. Now.”

  Tommy eyed him. “You really don’t know about her scars?”

  “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” Jeremy ground his teeth. “What scars?”

  “You’d know if you’d actually slept with her. So where did the bruises come from, really?”

  Jeremy sighed and moved deeper into the room to sink down on the couch. Either he was getting old, or just worn the fuck out, but he was too tired for this conversation. “It’s not your damned business, is it? I’m pretty sure you swore off our friendship the night you accused me of screwing your wife.”

  Tommy blanched. “Look, I know I was wrong. I should have known then, too.”

  “Yeah. You should have.” Jeremy fingered his dog tags and stared out the window. “You, of all people, should have known I wouldn’t do that. Everyone else, I expect it. I know they’ll automatically jump to the worst conclusion. But you?”

  “I know.” Tommy sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

  “But you just did it again.”

  “You can’t blame that one on me. You practically told me you jungle-fucked my sister. That one’s on you.” Tommy tried a smile, weary and humorless. “Look, I knew better. I knew you wouldn’t sleep with Nicole. I knew you loved Erica, but I fell for the lies anyway. Nicole practically had me in a noose. When it comes to love, the brain stops functioning. I’m sorry.”

  Jeremy closed his eyes and dragged his hand down his face. He was too tempted to tell Tommy to take his apologies and go to hell, but unfortunately he understood him all too well. Love made people act like idiots. Just like how he constantly threw himself at Erica, even though he knew she didn’t want him.

  His mind knew he was wasting his time, but his heart refused to listen.

  “I know you’re sorry,” Jeremy said. “And I’ll try to accept that, but it’s not easy. That night ruined so much for me. So much for us. And Erica…”

  “I know. You loved her. I think she loved you, too. She cried every day for a month after you left. After you never came back.” Tommy’s fingers curled into fists. “After I chased you away.”

  Jeremy blinked. “She did? Why? She didn’t love me. I told her…” He balked. It was hard to be honest with Tommy, after so many years—and so many unanswered questions. What had he meant about Erica’s scars? Was that why she’d pushed him away? “…I told her I loved her, and she ran away.”

  “She might have run away,” Tommy said, “but she regretted it. But how the hell did you end up with her last night?”

  Jeremy groaned and rubbed his temples. “It all started yesterday…”

  Chapter Five

  Erica stood in front of the mirror and tried to accept that the thing staring back at her was really her. This was her reality, now. She wasn’t ugly, she told herself. She shouldn’t hate herself. It wasn’t her fault.

  One night, one careless truck driver, and her whole life had changed forever. She hated what she saw. So did every man she’d been with since then. It had started with Nathan. She hadn’t been surprised when he’d left. Hell, she’d been ready to call it off before the accident. She could only take so much perfection before she wanted to hurt him just to see some real human emotion.

  But he’d only reaffirmed what she’d feared when she’d woken up in her hospital bed, bandaged and hurting everywhere. No one could see past the scars on her stomach and back. No one could ever want her again, without pity motivating them. She’d spend her life alone. She’d been all right with that. Accepting, even.

  Until Jeremy came back.

  He’d dared to make her want more. Dared to make her want him. But if he saw her, the real her, what would he do? Run away? Make excuses? No. She couldn’t bear to be rejected by the one man she’d loved since childhood. She was better off alone. Safer.

  But she didn’t feel better.

  A knock echoed up from the first floor. She dropped her shirt and smoothed it back into place. Who the hell was at her door at nine in the evening? Tommy, probably. She dashed down the stairs, cracked the door open, and peeked through, squinting into the darkness. The damned porch light was out again, and she wasn’t taking the chain off the door until she was sure it was Tommy and not some escaped convict out for revenge.

  Worse. It was Jeremy, standing on her doorstep with flowers in hand, Tommy’s clothes precisely folded in the other.

  He even folded shirts better than she did. She wanted to just slap an apron on him and keep him.

  He offered the bouquet. “Can I come in?”

  Erica bit back a groan. “Why? I think we said everything already.”

  “No, we didn’t.” His eyes captured her and refused to let go. “We need to talk.”

  Her heartbeat quickened. She wished she could grab it and just squeeze it until it stopped being so stupid and gullible. Why did he want to talk to her? Anything they said would only hurt more when she sent him away again. What would it take for him to realize she wasn’t his, and never would be? Did she need to give his heart a good squeeze, too—squeeze it until it broke?

  “You need to go.” She tried to close the door. He stuck his foot in the crack.

  “I saw Tommy at my hotel.”

  She caught her breath and checked him for more bruises. He looked the same; battered, beat to shit and back, still gorgeous, but no worse than before. “What happened?”

  He raised a brow. “That’s a topic best discussed inside.”

  “Are you going to tell me if I don’t let you in?”

  “No.”

  She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Then by all means,” she said, unhooking the chain and opening the door. “Come in.”

  Warning bells screamed in her head. Close the door. Slam it in his face before it was too late. She ignored them. Apprehension left her trembling—apprehensi
on and a tiny flicker of hope, that the impossible might happen. That she could tell him all about her scars, and he would love her anyway. Want her anyway.

  She really was a stupid, hopeless idealist.

  When he stepped inside and offered the flowers, she curled her fingers around the crinkling paper wrapper. Tulips. She’d always loved tulips, and she couldn’t help bringing them close to inhale their fragrance. “Thank you. Did you remember these were my favorites, or was it a lucky guess?”

  “I remember everything you’ve ever told me,” he said, his voice rough, each word nearly caressing her. “I couldn’t forget if I tried.”

  “I was ten when I told you.” Her breaths hitched. “How can you possibly remember that?”

  “I remember how old you were, too. I remember all of it.” He grinned. “And so do you.”

  She flushed and shook her head. How could he remember a detail as small as her favorite flower? That had been sixteen years ago. He was probably bluffing, and just pretending he remembered. “Fine. Who was my favorite band back then?”

  “Backstreet Boys. Especially Kevin. You liked them dark and broody.” Not a moment’s hesitation. Damn him. “You didn’t like NSync, but you liked Justin Timberlake. Do you still?”

  “Uh. Yeah.” She stared at him. “How do you remember that?”

  He laughed and brushed a finger down her cheek. The touch left chills in its wake. “Because you told me.”

  “Favorite color?”

  “Purple. You’re not even asking hard questions.”

  “Damn you,” she muttered.

  She took refuge in the kitchen and set the tulips on the counter. His laughter followed. How could he possibly know her so well? She barely remembered which damned Backstreet Boy she’d liked best. Why did he?

  She opened a cabinet and, with unsteady hands, retrieved a vase. When she turned to grab the flowers, she collided with his chest. He chuckled and steadied her—and didn’t release her. She stared up into his irresistible blue eyes. Why had she turned him away, again?

  Oh. Right. Her scars.

  “Still can’t walk in a straight line to save your life. Never could. I thought lawyers were supposed to be all methodical poise.” His fingers stroked against her arms. “But I like that that didn’t change about you. I like everything about you. Even if you are a dull, boring lawyer.”

  She tried to smile. “I couldn’t pull off ‘poise’ to save my life.”

  Tension crackled between them. His gaze traced over her lips, until she could almost feel the deviant things those eyes promised to do to her mouth. She licked her lips. He leaned closer, and she bit back a moan.

  “I’d b-better put the flowers in water,” she mumbled.

  He shook his head, released her, and leaned against the island. His fingers played over his dog tags. He always seemed to do that when he had something on his mind. She wondered what it was now—and regretted it when he asked, “Anything else you want to test me on? I’m a master of Erica pop trivia.”

  Question number three, for the prize: why can’t I get you out of my head?

  “Who did I like in tenth grade?”

  “Me.”

  “Be serious.” She couldn’t stand to let him know how close to the truth he was. She scowled. “Come on. Guess again.”

  “All right, all right. Kenny. No idea why. He was a loser.”

  “That’s why. I was in a bad boy phase.” She chuckled and set the flowers in the vase. “Every girl needs at least one bad boy in her life at some point.”

  “Are you still in that phase?” He straightened, his movements lazy and powerful, and tugged a lock of her hair. “I can play the part to perfection. Even got the background and tattoos to prove it. And I come with references. Cops count, right?”

  She burst into laughter. “Sorry. I grew out of that a long time ago.”

  “Then I retract my previous statement, and request that the judge strike it from the record. I’m a good guy, I swear.” Jeremy smiled, about as innocent as the big bad wolf in human form. “I’m harmless.”

  “Doubtful.”

  He said nothing, only watching her with those intense eyes and continuing to toy with that lock of her hair. If he didn’t stop looking at her like that…

  She drew out of his reach. “I’d offer you a drink, but this shirt is dry-clean only.”

  He winced, but his eyes creased at the corners. “Ow. Not nice.”

  “You had it coming.”

  “I usually do.” He grinned. “I’ll get the glasses if you get the wine?”

  “Sure.”

  They moved about the kitchen in companionable silence. It felt so…domestic. As if they’d been working alongside each other like this for years. Erica watched him pour the wine. She couldn’t quite figure out what to make of him, or why he was here. Why had he shown up with flowers? That was taking semper fi a little too far, especially when she could only turn him down no matter how faithfully he pursued her.

  They headed to the living room with full glasses in hand. She settled on the couch with her legs tucked under her. “So what happened with Tommy?”

  “He saw me wearing his clothes and flipped out.”

  “Shit.” She took a sip of her wine. She was tempted to guzzle the whole damned thing. “What did you tell him?”

  “Well…” He cleared his throat. There he went with the dog tags again. She wouldn’t like this, would she? “It would’ve been easier to explain if I hadn’t told him the bruises came from going round for round with a wild woman the night before.”

  She gasped. Every drop of blood in her body rushed to her face. “You didn’t!”

  “I did,” he admitted sheepishly. “But in my defense, I forgot I was wearing his clothes, and he took me by surprise. I tried to backtrack, but he didn’t believe me.”

  She was dead. Tommy would never let her live this down. “What did he do?”

  He tossed back the rest of his wine and set the glass on the coffee table. When he looked at her, every trace of teasing amusement had disappeared. Prickles of alarm raised the fine hairs at her nape.

  “He told me he’d kill me for seeing you, then running away.” He watched her steadily. “Why would he think that? Why would you?”

  She choked on her wine. Fear sent her heart tumbling over itself at impossible speeds. Jeremy watched her intently, practically daring her to come clean. But how could she? Her secrets were hers to keep. Tommy didn’t get to decide when and where she told them, or to whom. She’d kill him. Get rid of Jeremy, then head right over to Tommy’s and kill him. She might be smaller, but she’d kick his ass so hard he wouldn’t be able to sit for a week.

  She slammed her glass down on the coffee table and lurched to her feet, hands on her hips. “You need to go. If you don’t, I can’t guarantee your safety. Or that I won’t just punch you in the face.”

  “You wouldn’t be the first.” He stretched an arm along the back of the couch and made himself comfortable. “Go ahead. My left cheek isn’t bruised yet. I think it needs a little color, don’t you?”

  “Jeremy!” She snarled and stomped her foot. “I’m serious. You need to leave.”

  “No. I’m not running away again.” He stood and gripped her elbows. His eyes pleaded. “Every time we get close to something good, something real, you run away. Not this time. I won’t let you. I know we have something here. I know we can be something, if you’ll just let me in. Why won’t you?”

  His calm control infuriated her. She was supposed to be the calm one. She was supposed to be in control. How dare he be composed and rational when she was ready to break something over his head?

  Maybe she’d start with the wine glass.

  “I don’t let you in because I don’t want to. I don’t want you.” But her voice broke on the last word, and she couldn’t meet his eyes.

  “Bullshit.” His fingers tightened. “Yes, you do want me. But you refuse to admit it, like you refused to admit it seven years ago. Your act ma
y have worked on me then, but it won’t now. I’m not leaving until we talk about this like adults.”

  Erica closed her eyes and prayed for patience. Patience remained conspicuously silent. Damn it. She’d always been the rational one. She was a lawyer, for the love of God. If lawyers went around screaming at the judge, they’d end up getting traded for cigarettes in the local clink. She’d never, ever lost her temper, but her temperance had left her high and dry just when she needed it most.

  She dragged her eyes to his. “Please. Can’t you just accept that I don’t want to be with you, and go?”

  “Only if it’s the truth. Then I’ll go away and you can take out that restraining order. Or I can stop by at Christmas and Thanksgiving to say hi to the folks and catch up with old friends. Whatever you want…as long as you’re telling me the truth. Are you?”

  She parted her lips to lie, but the words wouldn’t come out.

  “Talk to me,” he coaxed. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  She jerked free from his hold, turned her back on him, and smoothed her shirt down with sweaty hands. “You have no right to barge in here and demand anything of me after I haven’t seen you in years.”

  “Do you remember the last time we saw each other?” His voice was so quiet she almost couldn’t hear him. “Do you remember what I said?”

  How could she ever forget? If only she hadn’t been so afraid of the feelings he roused in her.

  If only she hadn’t run away.

  She sank to the couch and knotted her hands together. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t stand to see his eyes, so warm and filled with love. Love she wanted so much it hurt. Love she could destroy so easily.

  “Of course I remember,” she whispered.

  He sat beside her and clasped her hands. “I meant what I said. I’ve loved you my whole life. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I’ve never stopped thinking about you.”