It was an old observation. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t have bothered her. Tonight, however, she snapped in exasperation, “Do you want to analyze me or do you want me to tell you about my day?”
“Actually, I want you to tell me about that.” Again, he used the tines of his fork to point, this time toward the class reunion invitation that, somewhere between belting out “My Heart Will Go On” and hearing about Simon’s newly single status, Chloe had forgotten all about.
She shrugged, striving for nonchalance. “It seems our ten-year reunion is right around the corner.”
“I know. My invitation arrived in the mail last week.”
“Last week? Are you kidding? We live in the same city, practically in the same zip code. I bet the unholy trio had something to do with that,” she alleged.
So much for nonchalance.
“Chloe, really. It’s been ten years.” Simon said it in that patient way of his that usually served to talk her down from whatever ledge she was on.
Not on this day. Nope. She was poised to jump, ushered to the edge of reason by the wine and some very unhappy memories.
“Seems like yesterday to me,” she muttered.
Damn the cabernet for her loose lips. Even so, she reached for her glass now and took a liberal sip while she waited for Simon’s well-reasoned rebuttal.
It didn’t come.
“So, are you going?” he asked.
“Am I going?” she repeated incredulously. She returned her wineglass to the table with a smart click. “You’re kidding, right?” The question was rhetorical and they both knew it, so she plowed ahead. “You couldn’t pay me enough to make so much as a token appearance at that thing. I’d rather give up ice cream for … for … forever than to step foot in the …” She craned her neck to read the invitation. The outrage whooshed out of her and she snorted. “The Tillman High gymnasium? Gee, that’s classy. They couldn’t spring for a banquet hall or something?”
“I don’t know. I rather like the idea of seeing the old school again, even if I never spent much time in the gym.”
Simon laughed then. He’d been a geek, not a jock. Chess club, computer club, debate team—those sorts of interests had been his thing. And Chloe’s, too. His geek status had never bothered him as much as hers had bothered her.
Her gaze narrowed. “Wait a minute. Do you mean you’re going to the reunion?”
Simon regarded her over his wineglass. Actually, he hadn’t planned to attend until just that moment. Chloe needed to go. He’d never met anyone so haunted by high school. The invitation’s crumpled appearance was a testament to that, as was her mac-and-cheese binge and wine indulgence.
She’d grown into a lovely, bright, funny and creative young woman. But then, he’d always found her lovely and funny, bright and creative. She, however, still entertained a ridiculously warped view of herself. It was time she exorcised her demons. To do that, she had to face the past. But he couldn’t, wouldn’t, send her into the lion’s den alone.
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I?” he asked.
“Did we or did we not attend the same high school?” Purple-hued lips turned down in a frown. He had to be crazy, but he still found those lips incredibly sexy.
And that was his problem. And the reason why women like Sara never lasted for very long. They simply couldn’t measure up to Chloe.
“Those days are over,” he told her, taking her hand in one of his. “Those girls have nothing on you, Chloe. They never did.”
“They made my life hell!”
“They were cruel,” he agreed in a tone more moderated than hers. “But they can’t make your life hell now, unless you let them. Go back, face them and show them how far you’ve come since high school. You’ve got a lot to be proud of.”
“Yeah, right.” She pulled her hand free. “I’m twenty-eight years old, single, working part-time and living with an antisocial cat.”
Simon waved hand. “All cats are antisocial. I told you to get a dog if you wanted companionship from a pet.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Must you lecture me now?”
“It seems so.” He waited a beat before asking, “Are we going together? Or are you bringing a date?”
“A date.” She frowned, apparently realizing what she’d said. Her hands fell to her sides. “How do you do that?”
“What?”
“Talk me into doing something that I absolutely don’t want to do?”
“Years of practice,” he replied.
“Okay. Since you think I need to do this, I will.”
“Thanks.”
“But only because I know you’ll hold it over my head forever if I don’t.” She ended on a long-suffering sigh.
They both knew it was a cover and that she was grateful for the push.
“You’ll thank me someday,” he said.
“Or I’ll blame you indefinitely for the years of therapy to follow.”
“I’ll take my chances.” He shrugged and started in again on the mac and cheese. It was good, nearly as mouthwatering as Chloe’s pout.
She was quiet while he finished off the last of the pasta, which was never a good sign. It meant she was thinking. More accurately, it meant she was plotting.
Sure enough, just as he blotted his mouth with a napkin, she said, “You don’t mind if I go with someone else, do you? We can still sit together.” Her expression brightened. “You can bring someone, too. We can double-date. That will be fun.”
Simon ignored the twinge in his chest. He always felt it when Chloe talked about other men. In fact, one of the things Sara had flung in his face that evening during their breakup was what she termed his “unhealthy attachment to that woman.”
Sara wasn’t the first girlfriend to mention it. Nor, he suspected, would she be the last. He was attached to Chloe. How could he not be? They’d been close friends since before puberty and had seen one another through the good, the bad and the ugly of adolescence. They’d also been there for one another through high school and college and, now, the better part of their twenties. She was the only constant in his life.
“Well?” Chloe was frowning, and obviously waiting for his reply.
“Why would I mind?” Even to his ears, the words came out sounding hollow and defensive. He cleared his throat and shifted the conversation in a new direction. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone.”
“I’m not. But I plan to come up with the best-looking, most successful guy I can find, even if I have to pay him to attend with me.”
Oh, yeah. Those wheels had been turning, all right.
“Chloe, really—”
She cut him off. “Yes, really. I want Natasha, Faith and Tamara to take one look at the hunk I’m with and drool an Olympic-size swimming pool.”
“That’ll show ‘em,” he drawled.
She nodded, oblivious to his sarcasm.
“Where do you plan to meet this Adonis?” God, please, tell him that she wasn’t going to say the internet. He’d talked her out of cyberspace dating twice already.
Her smile was overly bright despite the fact that her teeth were tinted