AN HOUR ON the treadmill hadn’t given Preston the clarity he had needed to understand what the hell was going on. What had Nathan been babbling about? Love locks? There were so many other things to do in Paris than attaching a stupid lock on a bridge. But the hurt on his face had been unmistakable. It had left Preston thinking he had done something stupid … again. Exactly what, he couldn’t be sure.
Seeing as working up a sweat wasn’t working, he returned to their hotel room and picked up his phone. Maybe another form of distraction would clear his mind. A quick e-mail check told him what he already knew. No response. Would there ever be one?
A call interrupted his thoughts. He grinned at the name that popped up and swiped his thumb over the screen. Stepping out onto the balcony, he brought the receiver to his ear.
“Is it that time of the month again?” he asked, not bothering with greetings.
“Shouldn’t you be in the pool?” asked a voice oozing with arrogant confidence.
“I’m not in Dodge Cove,” he said.
“Oh yeah? Don’t tell me you’re still in Colorado. Did they accept you already? That’s so awesome.”
The words were like a punch in the gut. “Believe it or not, I’m actually in Paris.”
“Holy shit.” The guy laughed. “Preston Grant actually traveling and not swimming? Should I prepare for the end of the world?”
“Fuck you. I already did my hundred laps, so no need to panic.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less.” A pause.
“Did I get my days mixed up again? I was pretty sure this call wasn’t supposed to happen for another week.”
“Is it wrong that I really wanted to hear your voice? I missed you.” The guy on the other end made exaggerated kissing sounds.
“You’re such an asshole.”
“I love you too, man.”
Preston threw his head back and laughed. He still considered Jackson Mallory a friend, despite the fact that Tash’s ex was persona non grata in DoCo. The internationally acclaimed DJ traveled the world, living it up. It was something Preston envied. The freedom. But he had swimming. There was a huge amount of traveling involved there too. If he got into the Bennett Club.
“Why the hell are you in Paris, anyway?”
“Nathan got it into his head to distract me,” he said.
“From what?”
He let out a long breath. “Results don’t come out until the end of September.”
“Ah.” Cocky confidence quickly turned into sympathy. “You know he’s just looking out for you, right?”
“I really don’t need this from you right now.” He scratched the back of his head, looking up at the clear sky. Guilt cramped up his already tense muscles.
“Look, I get it. Swimming is your life.”
“Like EDM is yours.”
“No. Creating electric dance music is a means to an end for me. It’s something I love doing, and I’m great at it, but I’m pretty sure that I can find something else if I need to. Can you say the same?”
The fear that scrambled through his veins almost brought Preston to his knees. He didn’t even want to think along those lines. Hadn’t since he had torn his rotator cuff.
He closed his free hand around the balcony’s railing. “Don’t even go there, man.”
“All I’m saying is maybe Nathan is doing a good thing taking you out of Dodge Cove.”
Preston knew what Jackson had left unsaid. They all knew he had the tendency to become hyper-focused. He had been denying it on principle since this trip started, not willing to give Nathan the satisfaction of knowing he had been right.
“Do I suck at listening?” he asked.
“What?”
“You heard me.” But he repeated it anyway. “Listening. Do. I. Suck. At. It?”
“You’ve got to give me more info than that, bud.”
“Nate’s pissed because I zoned out after lunch.” A hoot from the other end forced him to pull the phone away from his ear. “You don’t have to be an ass about it.”
“Who are you talking to?” came the question from behind him.
Preston whirled around to see Nathan standing in the middle of the living room with his arms crossed, staring daggers at him.
“I gotta go, man,” he said, and ended the call. To Nathan he said, “No one.”
His eyes narrowed. “Then why hide it?”
“I thought you wanted to be alone.”
“Don’t distract me away from this. Who were you talking to?”
Already seeing the fight about to happen, like a traffic accident he couldn’t do anything to stop, Preston sighed. Nathan was bound to find out anyway. “Jackson.”
The silence from his friend lasted so long Preston actually got it in his head that maybe everything was okay. That was, until …
“How long?”
“How long what?” he asked back.
“Don’t act dumb.”
A chill ran up Preston’s spine. “Since about a month after he left.”
“A month? A month!” Nathan began pacing, throwing his hands in the air as he spoke. “You mean to tell me you’ve been talking to Jackson for five months?”
“Only once a month. Sometimes two,” he said, completely missing the rising annoyance in Nathan’s tone. “The guy’s pretty busy.”
“I don’t give a damn how busy the guy is. I was just on the phone with Tash, who was telling me about how love is like acid, and here you are talking like everything is okay.”
“He’s still my friend,” Preston said, going on the defensive. “I know what happened. Believe me, I know. I was there.”
“Tell that to Tash.”
“I get it. She’s hurt. But I also have to respect the guy for pursuing his dream. I’m doing the same thing.”
“If that’s the case, then he should have told us. We would have understood. Natasha would have understood.”
Preston’s lips thinned into a grim line. “Maybe there are some things people won’t understand no matter how much you explain it to them.”
Nathan opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Preston reached out as if to touch him, even though they were standing on opposite ends of the room. “It was a shitty thing he did—”
He didn’t have a chance to finish the rest of what he wanted to say. Nathan stormed out of the living room straight for his room and slammed the door.
* * *
Not half an hour later, Nathan grabbed a fistful of his favorite buttery-popcorn-and-malt-balls combo from the bucket that he’d ordered from room service. The salt created a perfect harmony with the melted chocolate. And the crunch. Got to have the crunch. The kind where every chew drowned out the dialogue from Pretty Woman. Even if it was dubbed in French.
During the opening credits, he’d sent a quick e-mail to Natasha, explaining the fight but omitting the Jackson details, of course. She didn’t need to be flying off the rails from the knowledge that Preston had been communicating with the jerk all this time. He scooched farther into the thousand-thread-count sheets, enjoying the soft mattress.
He stuck his hand inside the bucket and brought another fistful to his lips as he mouthed the lines Julia Roberts’s character, Vivian, spoke to Edward, Richard Gere’s character. Even in French the dialogue still held up. He hadn’t been born yet when the movie came out. It was only because his mother had an almost unhealthy obsession with Richard Gere that he had discovered this movie. Almost immediately something had drawn him to the story of a hooker with a heart of gold, swept up into a whirlwind romance by a handsome businessman. He sighed. No matter how many times he’d seen it, the movie never failed to make his heart flutter.
Like the scene where Edward walked into the lounge of the hotel to pick Vivian up for dinner and he didn’t even recognize her until she turned around. Classic ugly-duckling-turned-swan moment. It reminded him so much of the time Caleb first saw Didi at the garden party after her makeover. He knew in that instant that his cousin was a goner. The same thing happened with Edward. The look on his face showed everyone watching that there would be no other woman in his life. Nathan sighed again. That was the magic of Pretty Woman. It made him believe in true love and happily-ever-afters.
He was so caught up in the movie that he didn’t notice the mattress dip until someone was already plopping down beside him. Opening his mouth to protest between bites of popcorn, the familiar scent of bath soap and chlorine blocked the words from coming out.
Preston reached for the bucket.
“Get your own comfort food!” Nathan said, holding it out of reach.
“But I’m hungry.” Preston reached for the bucket again.
Feeling obstinate, Nathan leaned to the side and stretched out his arm away from the other’s reach. No matter how petty it seemed, he was not sharing the bucket.
“Fine. If you don’t want to give me half of what you’ve got…” Without warning, Preston grabbed his hand.
“What are you doing?” Nathan whisper-hissed.
“All that fighting made me hungry. And since you don’t want to give me popcorn, I’m taking matters into my own hands.”
Nathan almost lost all coherent thought the second his index finger entered the heat of Preston’s mouth. He tried to pull away, but Preston tightened his grip.
“Didn’t you learn how to share in kindergarten?” he teased.
“Stop,” Nathan said, breathless.
“I will if you share your popcorn with me.”
“G-g-get…” He swallowed. “Your own.”
The grin that stretched Preston’s lips prevented air from reaching Nathan’s lungs. “All right. I still have four more fingers.”
Unwilling to endure Preston’s devious scheme to get food, Nathan shoved the bucket his way. “There. All yours.”
The bastard actually broke out in chuckles. “You are so easy.”
“You’re such a jerk,” Nathan replied, frowning.
“But you looked so serious about not wanting to share your popcorn that I had to mess with you.”
Then Preston smiled. Bits of chocolate clung to his teeth. Nathan snorted in surprise. He had to cover his mouth with both hands to keep from losing it.
“What?” Preston leaned in. “Do I have something in my teeth?”
He knew exactly what he was doing, and Nathan was falling for it hook, line, and sinker.
Barely managing to maintain a stern expression, he said, “You honestly think I’m going to overlook everything that happened today?”
All humor vanished. Hugging the bucket to his chest, Preston leaned against the headboard and sighed. Nathan waited, staring straight at him.
“Look,” Preston finally said, giving him a sidelong glance, “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry…”
Preston rubbed a hand down his face. “I was stupid for not paying attention. I have a lot on my mind.”
Nathan’s eyebrow arched. “And?”
“And…” Preston let out a long breath. “And I’m sorry for not telling you about Jackson. But”—he finally faced Nathan—“I’m not sorry for talking to him. He’s my friend. And once upon a time he was your friend too.” He raised a hand, forestalling the rebuttal begging to be said. “He hurt Tash, and you’re on her side. I get it. I’m not exactly on anyone’s side, but I don’t support the way he did things either.”
How could Nathan stay mad when faced with an explanation like that? Snatching back the bucket, he grumbled, “Fine.”
“Fine what?”
“You better not tell Tash about this, or she’ll skin you alive.”
“Does this mean you forgive me?”
“For the fights? Yes.” He squinted at the flat screen. It was the part where Edward was coaxing Vivian to go back to the hotel room after their fight. “For Jackson? Jury’s still out.”
“I’ll take what I can get.”
The next time Preston reached into the bucket, Nathan let him.