“Did you really have to turn her down?” Victor asks me.
I give him a puzzled look. “You’re not suggesting I sleep with every woman who approaches me at a party, are you?”
“No. But you could have accepted her offer.”
“And let her sink her claws into me? No thanks.”
Victor shrugs. “You could have at least flirted with her. Or smiled.”
I bring my glass to my lips and finish the last of my champagne. “You know I don’t play with women.”
“No, you don’t,” he agrees. “When you’re in the mood for a fuck, you bury yourself in more work. That’s more fun, right?”
I hand him my empty glass with a frown. A lot of times, I find Victor’s candor refreshing, helpful. Sometimes, it’s a tad annoying.
“I think I’m going outside for a bit.”
“Outside?” His eyebrows furrow. “You do realize we’re miles above ground, don’t you?”
I don’t answer as I start to walk off.
“You’re not going to jump out a window, are you?”
I give him a wave. “I’ll see you later, Victor.”
I leave the ballroom and head to the elevators at the end of the hall. I step inside one with the intention of going to the bar on the third floor. I need a gin tonic, not another glass of champagne.
At the eleventh floor, though, the doors open and a woman enters. One whiff of the flowers that seem entwined in her brown hair and my shoulders straighten out. I recognize that smell, that hair, even though it’s been cropped short like a boy’s. I recognize the tips of those eyeglasses hooked behind her ears, those slender shoulders and that bag hanging from one of them. I even recognize that red coat that has the tag sticking out.
I hold my breath.
When the button for the third floor lights up, the doors open and a couple walks out but I stay in place. The elevator attendant casts an inquiring glance at me but I ignore him. The doors close again, opening on the ground floor. Everyone in the elevator goes out into the lobby. I do, too.
Halfway across, I stop.
“Jenna.”
She freezes. I see the tension in her shoulders. Her fingers clutch the strap of her canvas bag.
Ah. She remembers the sound of my voice.
My chest puffs with hope. Jenna hasn’t forgotten me. And maybe, just maybe, she still feels the same way about me, because right now, I know I still feel the same way about her. No. Not the same. Stronger. My hands clench into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms in an effort to keep from grabbing her arm. The urge to pull her into my arms is so strong I nearly shake from keeping it at bay.
But maybe I won’t have to. Maybe she’ll turn around and throw herself into my arms. Then everything will be like it was before. No. Not like before. Better.
Jenna’s shoulders rise then fall. Then slowly, she turns around. My eyes meet her amber ones and my breath catches. Then I see the sadness in them and my heart plummets.
She’s not happy to see me.
“Dax,” she says my name without much enthusiasm. “You’re back.”
“Yes.” I try to curb my own excitement. And disappointment. “I – ”
I’m about to say I’ve been back for a while but realize that’s not a good thing to say. I’ve been back for three months and yet I haven’t tried to get in touch with her?
The thing is, I’ve told myself I’ll leave her alone, that I have no right to take her back after leaving her behind. I never expected to see her again, though, and now that I have, I feel like it’s a sign. A sign that maybe, just maybe, she’s meant to be mine after all.
“You look good,” I say instead.
She does. She always has. She thinks that because she’s wearing glasses, no one will notice it. She tries to hide it with plain clothes. She doesn’t wear makeup. But I always saw how high her cheekbones were, how her lips had a perfectly shaped Cupid’s bow, how her shoulders, breasts, waist and hips were all in perfect proportion. And I was able to verify that with my own hands. That hasn’t changed.
Yes, she seems to have lost a bit of weight, but she still looks as beautiful as ever.
“Thanks.” She makes a gesture to tuck strands of hair behind her ear even though there’s nothing to tuck with her new haircut. I think it suits her, although I probably prefer the longer tresses. “You, too.”
My eyebrows arch slightly. Is that an automatic polite response because I gave her a compliment or does she really think so? Either way, it’s a good sign.
“How have you been?” I ask her. “How’s NASA?”
Jenna shrugs. “Good.”
Then why the shrug?
“I’ve managed,” she adds. “I mean, I made it to the last day of the year, right?”