Game of Love (The Remingtons, Book One: Love in Bloom Series)

Chapter Two, Game of Love

Chapter Two

NO WAY. NO fucking way did Dina just leave me alone on my first night in the city. Ellie stared at the table. You know how to get to my apartment, right? Just give us an hour; that's all I ask, Dina had said before handing her an extra key. Great. Dina and a guy she'd known for less than an hour might or might not be having sex while she slept on the couch. I just need to get through the interviews; that's it. I can do this. Her mind weaved through the tangled afternoon of rushing to Union Station, missing her train and having to wait for the next one. Spending three hours on the train practicing for her interviews before pulling into Penn Station, exhausted and late. She was contemplating ordering a drink—or five—when very definitely male fingers touched her table. Why did they look familiar?

"Ellie?"

Ellie sucked in a breath at the sound of his voice. Dex. Oh, God. Dex. Her gaze followed those familiar fingertips to the large hands that had kept her safe when she'd climbed into his window late at night. Her heart remembered, thundering in her chest as her eyes traveled up his sinewy, muscled arms, and she took in all six-foot-something of him, ending at his seductive, midnight-blue eyes. Jesus, they still slayed her.

"Dexy?" His name came out as one long breath. She needed to stand, to hug him, to say hello, but her body wouldn't obey. She was frozen in the booth like a wallflower. Ellie was no wallflower, damn it. She closed her eyes for a beat and centered her mind. It's Dex. Just Dex. The truth was, Dex had never been just Dex. But she knew better than to get too attached to anyone. Even Dex. Especially Dex. Self-preservation was a skill Ellie had honed at a young age.

Ellie didn't have time or energy to dwell on the unkindness of her upbringing. She soaked up the good memories, and knowing she was always on the brink of chaos, she swept the bad memories under the carpet with mummified silence and pushed on. No matter how shitty the day appeared—and she'd seen her share of shittiness in her twenty-five years—nothing compared to moving from one foster family to the next, all the while praying her mother would finally find sobriety and do the right thing by her. But her mother had drunk herself to death when Ellie was eight, ending her internal longing for the mother she'd never have. Admitting to the awfulness of her upbringing would be like falling right back into that needy little girl, and she was never going back there.

Dex ran his hand through his dark hair. He still wore it long on top and a little shorter in the back. And damn if he didn't have that sexy facial hair thing going on. The hair on his chin was lighter than the hair on top of his head—closer to the color of Ellie's. Not quite black, not quite dark chocolate. His thick eyebrows and dark lashes still shadowed his eyes, giving him that serious brooding look that had always made her heart skip a beat. God, you're here. And you're hot. No. I can't go there. Shit.

"I can't believe you're here," he said, sliding into the seat across from her. "It's been—"

"Too long." Ellie cleared her throat to strengthen her voice. She didn't want to rehash the details of when she'd come to see him four years earlier. She'd fought the painful memories day in and day out, tried to forget the weekend ever happened—Oh, how I tried to forget. But she could no sooner forget a day with Dex, much less the best weekend of her life. She hadn't even been brave enough to return the few messages he'd left, trying to figure out why she'd gone away. The thought of hearing the pain in his voice was too much. She'd had to leave. She'd had to separate herself from him. Dex was better off without her hanging around his neck like a needy, fucked-up noose.

She dropped her eyes to the table, barely able to breathe past the guilt of what she'd done. He was right there with her again. He was always there for her—and she was always soaking him in, taking the comfort he had to give. And breaking his beautiful heart. She kept her eyes trained on the table to keep from...what? Begging for forgiveness? Crawling into his arms and telling him how much she loved him? How he'd scared the living shit out of her four years earlier when he'd professed his love for her? Fuck. There was nothing she could say to fix what she'd done, and she was in no position to make up excuses or promise a damned thing, which was why she hadn't had the courage to call him when she'd decided to return to New York. She'd worried that he wouldn't want to see her again after the way she'd left the last time. The way she'd always left, without so much as a goodbye.