The Prince and the Player

His presence is so soothing, but it’s time for reality. I have to let him go. A flash of pain tightens my chest.

“I’m not as free as I’d hoped,” I say quietly.

Our eyes don’t meet. I watch as Cal traces his finger through the condensation on my glass. “Do you have a departure date?”

I shake my head. “Reggie’s working out the details. It will probably be in the next few days. Maybe a week.”

Unable to stop myself, I look up for his warm hazel eyes. My sadness is reflected back at me, and I want to step forward into his arms, hold onto him—as if I have the right to keep him.

“Do you think you can stick around for the race?” he asks “It’s only a few days away.”

“I don’t know.” I don’t know what’s coming next.

“You can definitely stay for the gala. It’s tomorrow night, and I need a date.”

“I’m sure you can find a date.”

A hint of that smile plays around his lips. “Of course, I can find a date, but I want to go with you.”

This time I do move forward into his arms. They tighten around me at once, and my cheek is pressed against his chest. He holds me, and I inhale deeply the spicy-citrusy scent of his clothes. It takes me back to the first night when he loaned me his shirt, which I never plan to return. Ever. The thought of letting him go forms an aching hole in my chest.

His hand moves up, sliding over the back of my neck. His fingers thread in my hair. “Maybe I’ll visit you in Texas. It’s close to Vegas, right?”

That makes me laugh, and I pull back to meet his eyes. “Compared to what? Here?”

“I think I’d like Vegas.”

“I’m sure you would. It’s perfect for playboys.”

The hostess comes to lead us to our table. Cal gives me a tight smile and steps back, catching my hand and threading our fingers. I study his perfect ass in those jeans as we walk, and my mind is frantic trying to think of something, anything I can do to change my situation. I’m so far out of my league in this place. I have been since the first night I attended that charity ball.

Our table is outdoors on a small patio overlooking the sea. Only a few other diners share the space, and a blonde waitress quickly appears.

“I’ll have the burger and chips,” Cal says, handing her the oversized menu.

“To drink, Monsieur?”

“What are you having?” Cal asks me.

“I’ll try the sushi.”

“Good choice.” He glances up at the waitress. “Vinho Verde.”

She nods and takes down my order before disappearing into the restaurant.

“Green wine?” I say, taking a sip of my water.

“Look at you! Picking up the language.” He smiles, and gives me a wink. “It’s not actually green, but it is effervescent. I think you’ll like it.”

“So it’s like champagne?”

“Hm,” he looks out over the sea. “It’s lighter. Better for summer.”

Our waiter returns with two white wine glasses, and a tall, skinny bottle. She serves us both, and places the bottle in an ice bucket.

Cal holds his glass out to me. “To memorable days.”

I give him a little clink and take a sip. It’s crisp with mineral notes, and the fizz is so delicate. “It tastes like a day at the beach.”