Chapter 5

I shookmy head as I stared at the photo in my hands. How had I not seen her in the weeks she'd been working at Lang Field? Eighteen-year-old me had been obsessed with her. She was the smartest girl in school, and she never put up with anyone's shit. Including mine.

By some miracle, she and I had been paired up as lab partners during my senior year. She was a grade behind me, but even then, her sinful curves were all woman. Add in a dimpled smile and long lashes that she hid behind those thick black glasses, and she was the star of all my teenage fantasies.

Near the end of the school year, I had all but begged her to come to one of my teammate's parties. We had been flirting for months, and I thought maybe I'd get to spend my last summer before college getting to call the bombshell of a girl mine.

Boy, had I been wrong.

"You talked me into coming to the party that I wasn't even invited to." She crossed her arms over her chest, taking a defensive stance. "You kissed me, and then you disappeared into a bedroom with another girl." Her jaw tightened. "In no world was that me blowing you off."

My heart and my stomach both plummeted. Was that what she'd been thinking for all these years? That I just left her for another girl?

"You remember what happened to Ian that night, right?"

"Who?" Frowning, she tilted her head, causing her ponytail to brush over the shoulder of her blue shirt.

I was instantly captivated by the way the blond strands rested over the swell of her tits. The fabric of the Revs polo pulled taut across her chest, and the two buttons she'd done up strained enough to make them look like they'd pop open with the slightest help.

She cleared her throat, and my eyes snapped up to her face.

What were we talking about?

I blinked, willing my mind to focus on the conversation. With a deep breath in, I tore my attention away from her and scanned the room. I didn't recognize the place. Which made sense, because I was in Aurora's apartment. Shit. I had to get my head in the game. The fog that hovered in my mind was frustrating enough to have me clenching my jaw, which only made my head hurt worse.

Her apartment was very her. Cute but totally uncluttered. From the look of things, she liked the girlie shit—curtains and plants and stupid knickknacks that collected dust—but nothing was out of place. The full wall of bookshelves sent warmth unfurling in my chest and made me smile. Eleven years ago, my girl had always had a book in her backpack. Quite a few of my own favorites held key spots on her shelf. Not many of my friends realized I was a super reader, especially back then. It didn't go with the shit-stirring jock image I'd cultivated. But Aurora knew me better than most people. At least she used to.

"Mason?"

At the sound of my name, I blinked at her, my brain clouding once again. What had we been saying?

She frowned again, concern swimming in her irises. "Ian?"

Right, I was talking about my best friend from high school. I almost shook my head to clear the cobwebs but stopped myself when I remembered that it hurt like hell to do it. I pulled out my phone and opened the most recent picture of my best friend. It was from last Christmas. He and his wife stood behind their three kids, both wearing big smiles.

When I turned the screen toward her, she studied the photo, but there wasn't a hint of recognition in her gaze.

"Ian Tilton?"

"Oh." She focused on me again, pressing her teeth into her bottom lip. "You played baseball together, right? He played second base?"

"Yeah," I said. "My best friend."

She pursed her lips and regarded me for another moment. "I vaguely remember him, I guess…"

Maybe she did, but the puzzle pieces still weren't clicking for her.

"He ODed that night. Remember that?"

"I, umm." She shook her head. "When people started yelling about the cops coming and taking off, I left too. Didn't everyone leave?"

"I didn't. I stayed. With the police and the paramedics." I was more concerned about Ian than I was about the consequences that could have come from being caught there. "Ian passed out in one of the bedrooms upstairs, so his girlfriend Kristy came to the backyard looking for me. She couldn't get him to wake up. I'm the one who called 911. And that's when everyone ran."

Her eyes widened, and she put a hand to her mouth. "All I heard after that night was that the cops broke up the party and a couple of people got in trouble."

I huffed. "Ian was the mayor's kid, so the details got buried. His dad made sure of it." I pinned her with my stare, because after eleven years, I had questions too. "But I texted you, so many times, and you never responded."

"I panicked. I was terrified. My parents would have killed me if they knew I was there. When that girl came out and whispered in your ear, you followed her without a glance back at me. So I followed you. And I saw you go into the bedroom with her." She blinked rapidly, as if fighting off tears. As if the memory still upset her.

Shit. Knowing she was hurt made my chest ache. But why the fuck would she think I would leave her for some other girl?

She cleared her throat. "I was devastated. So I blocked you before I even got home that night."

"You never got any of my texts?" I shook my head and immediately regretted it. Another pricking pain raced through my skull. This one was sharp enough to have me dropping onto her couch and putting my head down in my hands.

"Mason, we don't have to talk about this."

"No, I want to." Those first few weeks of June had sucked. My best friend had almost died. Then he'd been moved to rehab, and I couldn't contact him. And at the same time, the girl I was obsessed with wouldn't talk to me.

"Don't stress yourself." She placed her hand on my good shoulder and gave it a light squeeze.

The warmth of her palm bled through my thin T-shirt. I swallowed hard, fighting the rush that worked through my body at her touch. I wanted more of it. I craved it.

Before I could get my fill, she pulled back and frowned down at me. "We don't have to talk about this. Not right now. Let's go back to your apartment and talk over lunch. We have days, remember?"

I watched her, calling up an image of her as a sixteen-year-old. The girl with dark hair and glasses that I was obsessed with for well over a year. It's insane that I didn't recognize her right away or even that I hadn't seen her in the few weeks she'd been working with the team.

Did I really pay that little attention to the staff around the stadium? Maybe I did. My head throbbed, and my thoughts drifted back to years ago. What really happened after that night? It was all a blur. I wished, more than anything, that I could focus on it, understand how the events had played out. But she was right. We had plenty of time to hash out the details.