I take my shirt off as I walk across the hallway, throwing it down on the floor. Missy is standing with her back to me, testing the temperature of the shower. She peeks over her shoulder and smiles. “I know you probably hear this all this time, but damn, Rowan Kyle. You should never take that shirt off in public again.”

I go for my pants, unbuttoning them, unzipping them. She watches every move. And then I kick off my boots and fling them into the hallway with the shirt. She turns all the way around now and I feel myself getting hard as she presses her palm against my cock, squeezing it through my pants.

“If I knew you were coming back I’d have waited for you.”

God, that hurts.

“I just…” She stops, her sad eyes lingering on mine. “I just didn’t think you would. Come back, I mean.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. And I mean it. I’m so fucking sorry I wasn’t her first.

“It’s OK. We get to skip all that awkward fumbling, right?” She swallows hard and I know she’s sorry too. She was the only girl I dreamed about. The only girl I ever wanted. Even after all my rock-star nights, Melissa Vetti is still the only girl I want.

I place both my hands on her cheeks and lean down to kiss her mouth. Her lips part, her tongue seeking out mine. It’s soft, and slow, and short. Way, way too short.

She pulls away, taking her hand off my cock, and turns, stepping into the shower. I let my pants fall to the floor and toss them in the hallway. The shower has a clear glass surround and I watch her as she stands under the water, her fingers massaging it into her hair.

I step in with her and place my hands on her shoulders so I can turn her towards me. “Melissa—”

“Shh,” she says. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. I just want to enjoy this.” She picks up the soap and starts to lather me up, massaging the bubbles along my arms. Over my chest. Up and down my back.

I grab the bottle of shampoo and squeeze some into my palm, then rub my hands together and begin working it through her long, dark, hair as I study her face. The makeup is smearing as I watch. It makes her look like she’s crying.

“I feel like this is a dream,” she says, her soapy hands moving to my front. “I feel like I’ve been granted some wish but it’s all fake and you’re just going to disappear again. Leave me here alone. Lonely. You want to know why I stay home, RK?”

No. No, I really don’t.

“Because I’m lonely. Because you were my life. And I know I was having doubts back when we were about to graduate, but they were small doubts. Growing-up doubts. Not-knowing-what-I-wanted doubts. But I was never going to break up with you, RK. Never. And I was certainly never going to walk away from us.”

Fuck. I guess I haven’t looked at it from her point of view very much. “I walked away.”

“You walked away.” Her frown is so deep it hurts my heart.

“I’m sorry. I don’t even know why—”

“Shh,” she says again. “Later.”

Her hand slides up and down my cock as she looks me in the eyes. It’s a very intimate moment. Probably the most intimate moment I’ve had in years.

“Rinse,” I say.

Missy turns away, and I swear, I know what she’s feeling. Every time she does that I think she will never turn back to me again. I hate when she turns away. I watch as she rinses the shampoo out of her hair. The water streams down her face like that waterfall where we had our first kiss.

She’s not Melanie. How could I ever think she was Melanie?

“Can I make you dinner tonight? Before the show?” she asks when she turns back. The relief that she’s still here is real, as irrational as it is.

“Dinner?” I say, trying to wrap my head around the change of subject. I was about to attack her, lift her up, press her back against the wall, and fuck the shit out of her and now she’s talking about dinner.

“Yeah. Do you still like lemon pasta? Like your mom used to make?”

“Jesus,” I say. “The angel hair with the white wine sauce? I haven’t thought about that in years.”

“Yeah. Remember when I made that for you on your seventeenth birthday?” She laughs. It was a fun night. A really fun night. The kind of fun you only have with the girl of your dreams before you turn to drugs and need alcohol and sex to force the fun. “I fucked it all up,” she says through a giggle.

I grin as I picture her attempt to cook me something. “I’m not sure how anyone can fuck that recipe up, but yeah. You did.” She bites her lip and I almost die. “It was perfect though. Because you made it. And you made it special for me.”

“You ate every bite.”

“There was no chance in hell I wouldn’t, Missy. Not after you went to all that trouble. So sure. I’m not gonna complain about a trip down memory lane with you tonight.”

“Good,” Missy sighs. “Good.” And then she grabs the conditioner and the possibility of sex fades away.

I’m actually glad it fades. I’m glad she changed the subject. Turned us in a different direction. I know I hate-fucked her when I first got back into town, and I’m sorry about that. I’d like to take it back and get a do-over. I’d rather wait. Like we did when we were kids. I’d rather wait until we know for sure this is real, and special, and maybe even permanent.

I’d like to take my time with Melissa Vetti.