“I’m still terrible at math, I’m afraid, but I don’t really need algebra as a stay at home mom,” Claudia said.
“How many children?” he asked more out of politeness than interest.
“Four,” she said, holding up four fingers. “All boys.”
“I’m sure they’re a blessing.” He patted her arm and turned away scanning the crowd for a certain gorgeous brunette.
“Most days. You have kids?” Claudia asked.
“No,” he said, “I haven’t had time for that stuff yet. Excuse me.”
His eyes found Dee Peterson, the meanest girl he’d ever had the displeasure of knowing. Tall, blonde and uncommonly beautiful, she was surrounded by the majority of the varsity cheerleading squad, who were all twittering excitedly about how wonderful their lives in suburbia were. Michelle was conspicuously absent from foray. He guessed she had decided not to attend. He’d done a bit of snooping on her Facebook page—so sue him—and had enjoyed looking through all the pictures of her travels around the world. As a nature photographer, she was absent from her stunning scenic and wildlife shots. The only self-portrait on her page was her profile picture where she was bundled up in parka, hat and scarf—the only visible inch of her were a set of sparkling blue eyes, crinkled at the corners from laughter. Michelle had made quite a life for herself. And he wasn’t surprised. Of all the pretty, popular girls in his class, she’d been the only one he ever considered worth his time, even if she’d never felt the same for him. He wasn’t sure why he wanted her to recognize how wrong she’d been about him. He was good enough for her—had been then, and definitely was now—but it was probably pretty juvenile of him to want to show her up. Prove her wrong. He’d had such a crush on her in high school and he didn’t fall for women easily, so there had to be something great about her. Something he’d picked up on in high school when she’d been glued to Dee Peterson’s hip. He’d hoped that seeing her in person would remind him why after ten years he still thought about her. Either that or it would show him that she wasn’t as wonderful as he recalled and he could stop thinking about her for fuck’s sake.
But she apparently wasn’t here, so it didn’t matter.
Deciding he might as well leave, Devlin turned to head out the door and caught sight of Michelle standing at the punchbowl. He almost swallowed his tongue when she slid her silky red dress up her leg, glanced around to make sure no one was watching and removed a flask from a black garter on her thigh. She unscrewed the top, took a swig, shrugged her shoulders, and then poured the remaining amber-colored liquid into a clear plastic cup before topping her beverage off with nauseatingly pink punch from the bowl on the table.
Things were definitely stirring below his cummerbund when she showed off more thigh and returned the flask to its hiding place.
So she was here. And she was even more stunning than he remembered. Watching her, he was instantly transported back to his awkward teen years and his hard-won adult self-confidence took a sudden nose dive. It was almost instantly returned by Dee’s distinctive false laugh and the roll of Michelle’s eyes as she glanced at the obnoxious woman who Devlin had assumed was her bestest best friend in the whole wide world for all eternity. So Michelle no longer worshipped the local high school goddess? Interesting.
Michelle collected her glass of modified beverage and left the buffet table. He expected her to wander over to the huddle of ex-cheerleaders and ex-football players, but she headed in the opposite direction to an empty table in the corner. He followed, oblivious to everything in the room, but the sway of her hips and the way the silk of her dress danced around her long legs as she walked a dozen paces ahead of him. He had no idea what he’d say to her when he caught up with her. She’d probably think he was a creepy stalker for coming to the reunion just to see her. Hell, he was starting to think he was a creepy stalker.
She’d just settled into a chair and lifted her glass to her lips when he paused before her table. His palms went damp, his mouth dry as her eyes slowly rose to examine him from thighs to eyes.
She sputtered on her beverage and lowered her glass. “Devlin McAllister? Is that really you?”
How had she recognized him? He didn’t even recognize himself in the mirror most of the time. And then he remembered he was wearing his nametag. He glanced down at his badge only to find the card missing from the plastic sleeve.
“Um, hi, um, Michelle,” he said, that awkward seventeen-year-old in him choosing one hell of a time to make an appearance. “I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me.”
“Of course I remember you.” She pulled out the chair beside her and patted it. “Sit.”
Could he sit? With Michelle? What would he say to her? Why did he feel so unsettled? He usually had no problem talking to women. Seducing them with a glance. Fucking them until their bodies trembled with fatigue. Leaving them before they woke the next morning. But this was Michelle—the woman who made all other women just an entertaining hobby of his, because he just couldn’t get her out of his mind. A part of him wished he no longer found her attractive, but all his other parts wanted him to hike up her silky red dress and get lost between her thighs.
The DJ’s voice came over the sound system. “How about we get this party started with your class song?” There was a spattering of applause and a few whoops of excitement from across the room.
Eve 6’s “Here’s to the Night” began to pour from the speakers.
“Would you like to dance?” he asked.
She smiled, her gorgeous blue eyes lighting up with delight. “Of course I would.”
He offered her a hand and when she took it, his heart tried to thump its way through his sternum. On the dance floor, decency demanded he hold her loosely, but his arms ignored propriety and tugged her slender body against him, one hand clutching the fabric of her dress at her lower back, the other brushing the bare skin of one shoulder. He couldn’t stop his lips from brushing her collar bone.
He half expected her to slap the shit out of him, but she didn’t. She released a throaty chuckle and relaxed against him, “Why, Devlin McAllister, you have changed.” she said, her warm breath tickling his throat and inciting an uprising in his pants.
“Not so much, really,” he said. He’d been dreaming of holding her like this for years. He wasn’t about to let this opportunity pass him by.
“In high school, you practically hid from me.”
Because her football hero boyfriend had threatened to kick his nerdy ass if he so much as looked at his girl. Wayne had given Devlin more than one sampling of what that entailed exactly. Wayne had particularly enjoyed introducing people’s faces—Devlin’s most frequently—to the front of his locker. “You were involved with Wayne Bridges at the time. You didn’t marry him, did you?”
“God, no,” she said. “I like men with a brain in their head. They say some men are ruled by their little head, well in Wayne’s case, that would have been a benefit. His little head was the smarter of the two.”