Chapter Seven

Nash

Back in high school, I used to spend a lot of time imagining what it would be like to be Peyton Rivers' boyfriend.

Well, let's be honest: being a raging hormone-filled red-blooded teenaged male, I was imagining a lot more than just that. My fantasies about Peyton got pretty hot back in the day . . .

But anyway, the point is, I could picture all of the details when it came to dating my dream girl, including walking up to her front door to pick her up for an evening out. I imagined standing in her living room, making awkward small talk with her parents, shaking her dad's hand as I promised I'd take care of his daughter while she was with me.

I remembered all of those hours spent wishfully thinking as I closed the door of my hotel room behind me and headed for Peyton's room. We'd exchanged phone numbers this morning on our walk back to the hotel from the beach, and then she'd texted me this afternoon with her room number.

I didn't want to make more of our karaoke evening than it was, but it sure felt as though I was finally getting that first date with Peyton Rivers all these years later. As I stepped out of the elevator and approached her door, I actually pinched my wrist, just to make sure this wasn't a dream that felt like real life.

Honestly, this entire day had felt a little surreal. Walking on the beach with Peyton, finally finding out what had happened back in 1989 and letting go of that pain and anger had felt incredibly freeing. I'd known how much her sudden departure had hurt me at the time, but I hadn't realized fully how much resentment and bitterness had surrounded that wound, like scar tissue around an old cut.

Feeling so much lighter had made the prospect of spending the day in the Cove easier. Right after Peyton and I had parted ways in the hotel lobby, I'd run into a couple of guys who I remembered from calculus in our senior year. While we'd never been close friends, we had studied together and chatted regularly before and after class. Like me, Scott and Tommy had existed in that in-between space back in our high school days, neither popular nor total losers. We liked math, and we didn't dress like the guys who typically got the pretty girls. We weren't invited to the wild parties, and I don't think any of the three of us had a single date throughout our four years at Crystal Cove High.

So I was more than a little surprised to see Scott and Tommy sitting at a small table in the lobby, drinking coffee.

After we'd exchanged greetings, I'd eyed the two of them ruefully. "I know why I'm here—and that doesn't matter, it's work-related—but I have to admit, I didn't expect to see you guys at the reunion. Did you really want to hang out with people from our class?"

Scott laughed. "I didn't really care, but my wife insisted. She loves the Cove. We live in New York now, but we come down here for a couple of months every winter. When we got the invitation, she said we had to come."

"I hear that," Tommy chimed in. "My boyfriend wouldn't let it go, either. He's never been here, and so he always thought I was exaggerating about our hometown. He's in heaven—he signed up for both the golf outing and the tea."

"Missy made friends last night at the icebreaker, and they're taking her on a personalized tour of the Cove." Scott snorted. "Shouldn't take long, but she told me not to expect her back here before karaoke."

"Patrick said I should plan on amusing myself all day, too." Tommy looked from me to Scott. "Hey, I overheard someone on the committee say that there are still spots open on the dolphin cruise on the intercoastal. Do you guys want to see if we can get in on that?"

To my utter shock, I heard myself saying, "Yeah. That sounds like fun."

Which was how I ended up spending the day out on the water, catching up with people I had forgotten I once knew.

And it was also why I winced a little as I lifted my arm to knock on Peyton's door. I had missed a few spots when I was spraying sunscreen on my back, and the sun out on the intercoastal was brutal.

The door swung open, and Peyton stood in front of me. Her dark hair was twisted up in a messy knot on the top of her head, and she wore a short green dress held up by thin straps over her tanned shoulders.

"Hi." She smiled at me warmly. "Wow, look at you! You look like you got some sun today."

"Yeah, maybe a little," I responded, distracted. "But Peyton . . . holy shit. You look incredible. Beautiful." I could barely speak over the pounding of my heart. "I'd say that you don't look a day older than you did back in high school, but the truth is that you're prettier now than you were back then." I paused, grinning at her. "And back then? You were more gorgeous than anyone else in the Cove."

"Nash." She laid one hand over her heart. "That's the sweetest thing. Thank you." She nibbled on the corner of her lip. "I was a little worried that this dress was too young for me. But then I thought, what the hell? If people are already talking about me, why not give them something else to chew on?"

My brow knit together. "Why are people talking about you?"

Peyton rolled her eyes. "Because I was pregnant. I skipped out on graduation, left town with my baby daddy and his parents, and didn't even go to college."

"Peyton." I rested one hand on the doorjamb and leaned toward her, my voice low. "I spent today with a lot of our classmates on the dolphin cruise. A couple of people mentioned you, but no one said a word about any of that. All I heard was how great you look and how happy everyone was to see you again."

"Hmmm." She nodded absently. "No one said anything to me, either, and I ran into some of the cattiest girls in our class today. Is it possible that no one knew why I took off? I figured after Ryan told Andy and Mike, they blabbed it all over the place."

"Well, if they did, no one remembers." I straightened up and offered her my hand. "Are you ready to go? Or have you maybe changed your mind about this torture called karaoke and would rather go out to dinner? Just the two of us?"

Peyton laughed and stepped out into the hallway, closing her door. "Not a chance, buddy. We're going to the Tide for karaoke. You have a classmate to wine and dine, after all. We have to start working on Jared."

I groaned. "I'll be honest, I was praying he'd be on the boat with us today, and I could just talk to him there. But he wasn't. I guess he opted for the golf outing instead."

"How lucky for us!" Peyton winked at me. "That means we are obligated to spend this evening at the Rip Tide, singing our hearts out."

"I'm not singing," I reminded her tartly. "I'm just there to watch everyone else make fools of themselves."

Peyton lifted one eyebrow. "I guess we'll see."

"Nothing to see. That's something you can count on." I paused just inside the lobby door that led outside. "Should I have my car brought around, or would you rather walk?"

"Oh, let's walk," Peyton answered. "It's so pretty out, and this way, we can both relax and have a couple of drinks without worrying about a designated driver."

"Sounds like a plan." I held the door open, and we stepped outside into the fading evening light. "So you said yesterday that you hadn't been back to the Cove since the morning you left, back in 1989. What about, ah, your parents?"

She didn't answer right away, and when I glanced down at her, I saw the way her face had tightened, the bleak expression in her eyes, and kicked myself for having asked.

"My father died a while back," she said slowly, finally. "I kept in touch with Jude as much as I could over the years, and she let me know about my dad. My mother is living in a nursing home in Elson now. She told Jude—" Peyton's voice cracked. "When my father died, my mother told Jude to tell me if I didn't show up for his funeral that I shouldn't bother coming back, ever. She said she'd refuse to see me."

"Jesus, Peyton. I'm so sorry." I thought of my parents, still healthy and active in their late seventies, living their best lives on the Savannah coast, so happy to be part of my life and Max's, too. "That's brutal."

"It wasn't exactly a shock after the way they kicked me out, but I thought they'd want to know Charlie. But when I reached out after she was born, they told me not to come home if I wasn't married." Peyton shook her head. "I can't believe they cared more about what people might say than about meeting their only granddaughter, being part of her life."

"I'm sorry," I repeated. "It's totally their loss."

"I know that." She was quiet as we walked down Beach Street, dodging tourists and the business owners who were shutting down for the night. "But let's talk about something happier, okay?"

"Sure." I searched my mind. "Um, did you have a good time today with the girls?"

"Oh, I did." Peyton's smile was genuine again, stretching over her face. "I'd forgotten what it was like to be with people who have known me my whole life. We caught up and laughed about memories—Emmy had pictures of us from one of Sheri's birthday parties, where we stuck this half of a globe under our nightshirts and pretended to be pregnant. At the time, we were mortified that Sheri had taken pictures, but now, it was just hysterical to see them."

I chuckled, nodding. "I bet. I didn't know Sheri or Delilah very well back in school, but I always figured if they were friends of yours, they must have been pretty cool. And Delilah—" I stopped, not wanting to return to a painful subject.

"Delilah what?" Peyton prompted me, curiously.

"Uh, on graduation day." I swallowed hard. "I was looking for you. And I was worried and maybe a little desperate. I guess I knew deep down that if you weren't there, you'd chosen Ryan instead of me."

Peyton halted in the middle of the sidewalk, closing her eyes. "Nash—that's not how it was?—"

"I know that now," I interrupted. "I'm just describing my state of mind at the time. I was upset enough that I stopped Delilah in the hallway before we went into the gym for the graduation ceremony, and I asked her if she knew where you were."

"Oh." Peyton's lips formed a perfect circle. "She mentioned today that you—that she had spoken with you on graduation day, but she couldn't remember exactly what she'd told you. What did she say?"

"She said—" I remembered it so clearly that my heart wanted to shatter all over again. "She said she had stopped at your house that morning because you all were supposed to get ready for graduation together, and that your mother had told her you weren't there. She suggested that Delilah should check Ryan's house. When she did, one of his neighbors said he'd seen the whole family leaving early that morning with a packed car and a girl he'd seen before with Ryan. Delilah figured it was you."

"Yeah." Peyton sighed. "I let everyone down, I guess."

I ignored that. "Delilah was really nice to me that morning. She didn't ask why I wanted to know or anything. She was just . . . kind."

"I'm glad." Peyton started walking again, but this time, she reached for my hand. "C'mon, Sampson. Enough of this stroll down rotten memory lane. We have a party waiting for us."

I hadn't spent a lot of time at the Rip Tide growing up, but I'd stopped for a burger now and again—especially after I'd figured out that Peyton hung out there often with her cousin Jude. Still, I hardly recognized the place now; it had been updated and added on to over the past years.

And tonight, it was crammed full of the class of 1989. When Peyton and I pushed our way through the crowd, we were greeted like long lost friends by classmates, many of whom had been pre-drinking, I decided, judging by their flushed cheeks and glassy eyes.

"We need to keep our eyes open for Jared," Peyton said, her mouth close to my ear. "It's going to be hard to spot him in this crush of people."

"Yeah," I agreed. "Unless we split up and shove our way through the crowd?—"

"I have a better idea." Peyton smiled up at me. "I bet we'd have a good view from the karaoke stage."

"Oh, no," I objected. "I'd rather trust the universe to bring him to me than sing karaoke."

"Not you, silly." She swatted my arm. "I'll do it." And with that, before I could stop her, she eased over to the bar and leaned closer to the bartender to place an order. A few minutes later, I watched in amusement as she tossed back two shots of some kind of yellow liquor.

Once she'd finished her shots, Peyton hustled to the DJ's table and scribbled something onto a piece of paper. The guy who was managing the karaoke glanced down and grinned before he yelled something that had Peyton pumping her fist.

I figured out pretty quickly that somehow, Peyton had found a way to cut to the front of the karaoke line. The DJ announced her name to a huge crash of applause, and then she was climbing the steps to the stage, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright.

"This one goes out to Nash, for reasons only he will understand."

The music began, and right away, I recognized the Adam Ant tune about someone who didn't drink or smoke. Peyton sang it loudly and only slightly off-tune, but what she lacked in her singing abilities she more than made up for with her dancing, swinging her hips to the beat and wriggling her body.

Her eyes met mine, and everything in the world clicked into a place of absolute rightness. Peyton Rivers had dragged me to a party—well, to karaoke, and this was definitely the kind of gathering I hadn't experienced in high school—and now she was singing to me in front of God and our classmates.

She ended the song with a dramatic flourish and a squeal of laughter, rewarded by shouts and claps from the crowd. Jumping from the stage, she returned to me, catching my hand and pressing her body close to mine.

"I didn't see him," Peyton murmured, and for a confusing second, I didn't know what she was talking about.

"Oh—Jared. You didn't see him at all?"

"Nope." She shook her head. "Sorry."

"I'm not. Watching you up there—" I wagged my head, an irrepressible smile stretching my lips. "You were amazing, Peyton."

"I haven't done anything like that in decades. It was so much fun." She poked me in the chest. "You should do it, Nash. You should sing a song."

"We already went over this. No way."

"Oh, but . . ." She stopped, going still and then lifting her face to mine. I recognized the scheming expression and had a sinking feeling in my gut.

"What if I dare you to do it?"

I burst out laughing, tossing my head back. "That won't work. I never was susceptible to the whole truth or dare shit."

"Well, that's no fun." Peyton's lower lip jutted out, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Listen, sweetheart, I'd have to have a very strong incentive to get my sorry ass up there and sing."

She tilted head. "You called me sweetheart."

Had I? Damn. "Sorry. I slipped."

"Don't be sorry. I liked it." Peyton licked her lips, and my body jolted with awareness. "A strong incentive, huh? That's what you need to make you sing?"

I groaned. "I said the wrong thing."

"What if . . ." Peyton reached up and wrapped one hand around my neck. "What if I promise you a kiss if you sing karaoke tonight?"

A kiss from Peyton. As motivations go, there really wasn't a better one in my estimation. But still, I needed some clarification.

"What kind of kiss?"

"A kiss that will make your toes curl." She stood on her toes and whispered into my ear. "Just the two of us. Alone. The kind of kiss I always wanted to give you, back when we were in school. A very hot kiss."

Holy hell.

"Don't move," I ordered. "I'll be right back."

Peyton's eyes opened wide, but she only nodded.

I was tempted to follow her example and do a couple of shots to reinforce my courage before talking to the DJ, but I knew that I wanted to be stone cold sober when she kissed me. So I bypassed the bar and went straight to the table.

"I want to sing." I had to yell to be heard over an OG football player who was screeching out a bad version of a Guns and Roses song.

"Okay. Fill out a form, and I'll call your name when it's your turn." The DJ pointed to the pile of slips. "You might have a little bit of a wait."

"Yeah, that won't work." I slid my wallet out of my back pocket and peeled off a fifty-dollar bill. "Does this move me up in the line at all?"

"It helps." He regarded me with interest. "Why the rush, buddy?"

I decided that the truth was my best friend here. "The girl I crushed on all during high school, the one who was always meant to be mine, just promised me a very hot kiss if I sing karaoke tonight. I've waited a long time for this kiss. I don't want to delay it another minute."

"Well, fuck." The dude slapped his hand down on the table and chortled. "That's the best damn story I've heard all night." He offered me his hand. "That just got you to the on-deck slot, buddy. Good luck with that kiss."

"Thanks." Anticipation and need surged through my veins, my pulse thudding so loudly that I almost didn't hear the DJ's question.

"What are you singing?"

"Oh—" I hadn't thought that far ahead. "Um, can I see a list?"

"Sure." He handed me a laminated card with rows of songs printed. "I can help you narrow it down. Who's your favorite artist?"

I shrugged. "Ah, I guess Billy Joel. Billy Idol. Genesis, Journey, the Stones—oh. Bruce Springsteen." I tapped the card and angled it so that the DJ could see it. "Let's do this one."

"You got it."

Moments later, the football player stumbled off the stage as his friends cheered his attempt. The DJ nodded toward me and raised the mic to his mouth.

"Coming up next is a very, very special song from Nash Sampson, who's been waiting a long time to sing this." He shaded his eyes with one hand and squinted out into the bar. "If you're the woman who promised him a reward for this performance, all I can say is, get ready to deliver. Here's Nash singing . . . the Boss!"

I remembered watching Bruce sing this on the music video channel back in the day. I could still hear Clarence's sax croon and see Bruce swinging his hips, his white button-up shirt and blue jeans hugging his body as he reached down and pulled a very young, not-yet-famous Courtney Cox from the audience to dance with him.

And I worked hard to channel my inner Boss as I belted out the words about not being able to start a fire without a spark, my hips beginning to swing in spite of my natural tendency toward reticence and invisibility. It helped that everyone in the audience began singing along with me, clapping their hands and yelling out the words.

But I only had eyes for the beautiful woman watching me with heat and promise in her eyes.

Right at the end, at the point where Bruce grabbed for Courtney's hand back in the 80s, I whistled and thrust out my hand toward Peyton, motioning her forward. She covered her mouth with both hands, laughing, but once she was close enough, she twined her fingers with me and let me drag her up, joining me as we danced out the last beats of the song.

Then I pulled her against me, bending my head down to murmur against her cheek while our classmates went wild.

"Outside. Now. Just us."

The air outside felt cool after the stifling atmosphere inside the Tide. A luminous full moon shone a path across the placid ocean, and on the sand, the only sound was the gentle, rhythmic swoosh of the waves . . . and our own beating hearts.

"That was—Nash, that was incredible. You're a really good singer." Peyton blinked up at me. "You've been hiding your light under a bushel. Why didn't you sing back in school?"

I huffed out a quick laugh. "I guess no one ever gave me the motivation."

"Oh." She snuggled closer to me and reached up to link her hands behind my neck. "I guess I do owe you something, don't I? Do you want to claim your reward?"

I bent my head over hers, every inch of my body on fire. "I want to claim . . . you."

Unable to wait another single heartbeat, I cover Peyton's mouth with mine, the first touch sending an undeniable spark through me, lighting me up all over.

Groaning, I slipped my arms around her waist and tugged her closer to me, splaying my hands wide on her lower back so that my fingers brushed the top of her luscious ass.

Peyton made a small noise, opening her lips under mine and meeting the thrusts of my tongue with forays of her own. Her fingers tangled in the ends of my hair, and she pressed against me, the softness of her breasts crushed into my chest.

If we had been truly alone, back in her hotel room or mine, this kiss might have been the prelude to a night that neither of us would ever forget. But we were here on the beach, with the Rip Tide filled with our classmates behind us, and so I knew our kiss could only go so far.

But I still planned to enjoy the hell out of what we were doing right now.

I wasn't sure how long we stayed there, our bare feet in the cool sand and our arms twined around each other, our mouths exploring and learning, teasing and tantalizing. Peyton brushed her palm over the side of my face and arched her head back to give me access to the slim white column of her neck, and I let my hands venture down to cup her backside, pulling her center against me so that there could be no doubt in her mind about how much I wanted her.

A yell down the beach tore us from the world we'd created with just the two of us. Still, even as I eased back, I didn't let her go, and I noticed that Peyton's fingers still gripped my back.

"That was . . ." She dropped her forehead to my shoulder. "Better than anything I've ever experienced in my life."

"I was going to say it was long overdue, but I guess we can go with what you said." I rubbed gentle circles on her back. "I guess we should probably start to head back to the hotel. It's probably getting late."

"Not yet." Peyton raised her face to look up at me, her lips puffy from my kisses. "We don't have to go back yet. Just . . . one more kiss."

I nuzzled her jaw. "How could I ever say no to that?"

And I didn't.