Page 7 of Change of Course
“Yeah?” the other tall guy says. “Dibs, then. I wouldn’t mind blowing her back out again.”
A sort of seasick misery washes through me, and then I take another look. It’s that asshole Roger Wilkes, who I know never had sex with her.
“No way did you get past second base with her,” the first guy says. I can’t remember his name. Matthew? Mark? “She was a prude when I dated her, even if she was the hottest-looking girl in school.”
Wilkes smirks. “Just because she wouldn’t put out for you doesn’t mean anything.”
I scoff under my breath, deciding whether to take him out and get thrown out of this fancy hotel before I see my girl. Ah, fuck it. He’s just a talking asshole. “Excuse me,” I say, attempting to get past the group.
Heads turn. Most of the guys don’t know me. Neither do most of the women, but their eyes travel down my body, and when they come back up to my face, their expressions have changed from annoyance to interest.
Well, hey, seems like all I had to do to get their attention was grow up and make some money. “Are you here for the reunion?” one of the girls asks, giving me a flirty look. “I don’t recognize you.”
I take half a second to decide how I’m going to play this. Make them sorry they don’t know me, or pretend I don’t care?
I take the high road and introduce myself. I let myself enjoy the surprise on their faces. Only one girl says anything. “Jackson! I think we had a class together. I didn’t recognize you with your hair short. How are you?”
“I’m fine, Kayla. You look like you’re doing well.” I go on to ask her about herself, and she introduces me all around. We do the “what are you doing now?” dance, and it turns out I’m talking with a teacher, two insurance agents, a sales rep, one manager of a tire store, a stay-home mom, and one call-center representative. God, their faces when I say I’m a civil engineer who used to work on an offshore oil rig, and was able to salt away a nice chunk.
I have no interest in these people. All the same, it’s funny to see them notice how well I’m dressed, and treat me with the first respect I’ve ever had from them, so I let it wash over me before I tell them nice to see them again, I’m heading inside.
The minute I step inside, I see my Cherry. She looks good.
No, that’s an understatement. She looks fucking incredible—the same, but changed. She’s not the slender, lissome girl I last saw fifteen years ago; she’s a woman, and what a woman. Same long dark flowing hair, same dark eyes, same beauty. But instead of the fresh-scrubbed look she wore in high school, she’s wearing very sophisticated makeup, her eyes all smoky and her lashes eight miles long. And instead of the cherry lip gloss she used to wear, her full lips are a deep berry color. She looks like a long satin ribbon in that dress, all elegant and almost untouchable.
How the hell could any man leave her?
I nearly get a fucking hard-on, right there in the midst of our old schoolmates, and I need a moment to compose myself. And then I see her seeing me, and her reaction is everything I could wish for.
She’s glad to see me. More than glad: I know what sexual interest looks like on Cheri’s face, and it’s there. Good thing it isn’t just me.
I don’t finish my sentence, whatever I was saying to my old friend Rick. I just head straight for her.
She’s here. I’m here.
I can’t help it. A smile breaks out on my face, and her stunned look dissolves into that sunny smile that always drew me, and I want to hug her but I’m too chicken to do it, because what if she refuses to touch me in public, the way she used to?
“So,” she says, “it’s you.”
“Damn straight,” I say.
She throws back her head and laughs. “It’s really you!”
“Dirty talk and all,” I say, knowing that I need to get to her. I need to get close. I need her back. I need her more than ever.
And just as I planned, she stops laughing and inhales sharply. I’m looking at her face, but I see her nipples pebble under her thin dress, and that’s it, there’s no way I can totally hold back the beast in my suit pants. All I can do is try to contain it, but it’s hard.
Pun totally intended.
Because I remember my Cherry likes dirty talk. I didn’t do it on purpose, but when I realized she liked it, I kept doing it, while we were doing it, and it got to be a part of our thing.
Sneaking around, whispered naughty words, and tender kisses. Leather and lace. Silk and steel. That was us.
I get myself together and sternly tell my dick to back the hell off. I offer to get Cheri a drink. She says she’ll just come with me, but as we’re heading to the bar, another one of her ditzy cheerleader friends comes up to Cheri and throws her arms around her, shrieking with joy, so I just say I’ll come find her as the girls start talking. When I get back with two whiskey sours, Cheri is holding her friend’s hand, admiring the engagement ring on it. “Megan, I’m so happy for you!” she’s saying as I walk up. “Oh, thanks, Jackson,” she says, and takes the drink out of my hand. “You know Jackson Moore, don’t you, Megan? Megan O’Toole, Jackson.”
“Yes, of course,” Megan says, smiling at me. “You got tall, Jackson! How are you?”
Small talk again. I catch Cheri’s eyes and give her a small private smile, and once we’ve met Megan’s new fiancé, they head off to greet other people and it’s just me and Cheri again.