with the empire waist, v-neck, spaghetti straps, and shirred front. Tried to change the look on Boone’s face when he picked her up, scrutinized her with those approving eyes.
PJ settled into the dream, feeling royal as she stepped from Boone’s father’s Cadillac, floating into prom on his tuxedoed arm. Roger Buckam stood near the door and nodded toward them. His eyes tight, he shook Boone’s hand, his gold pinky ring glinting under the light of the torches that lined the walkway.
Couples strolled the golf course just outside the halo of light pushing through the club windows. Boone winked at her, then ushered her into the dance.
She hadn’t been much of a drinker, even then, but when Trudi slipped her a taste of the liquid she’d poured into a medicine bottle in her purse, well, she hadn’t been able to eat strawberries since without thinking of schnapps. She laughed too loud, even in her dream, danced hard, flirted well, and by midnight, Boone pulled her tight and offered an invitation that, even in her mood-heightened state, made her blush.
She’d agreed to meet him on the fourth tee, and he disappeared. “Boone? Boone?” She heard her voice, wondered if she spoke aloud, but then found herself at the pond, high heels swinging from her fingers. Overhead, the night sky played along with Boone’s plans, stars winking at her, a slight breeze sullying a nearby willow, a golden near-full moon stealing her breath as well as any last remorse.
He loved her. Boone loved her.
And tonight, she’d love him back. A swirl of anticipation tightened inside her.
She heard laughter—Boone’s, husky and deep, from the country club, and it lured her near enough to find him sitting on the back steps with his football cohort Trudi’s date Greg Morris. Boone held the cigarette between his thumb and when he saw her standing barefoot in the shadows next to the dripping air conditioner. looked up at her like a deer in the headlights.
Yes, that’s right, she’d heard him.
She vaguely heard him tell Greg to get lost as she yanked the cigarette from him. He found his feet. “PJ—”
“Don’t even try, Boone.” She stared at the cigarette, her entire body shaking. “You totally cheapened our . . . wrecked—“
A group of boys walked by—football buddies—and Boone lifted his hand in greeting. They laughed, and one gave him a thumbs up.
“What, does the entire school know?” She had the urge to fling the cigarette to the ground, but she was barefoot, and not about to put it out with her pedicure. “Here.” She handed the smoke back to him. “That’s the most ‘fun’ you’re going to have tonight.”
She turned away, sliding out of Boone’s reach as he tried to catch her arm. Above her thundering heartbeat she barely heard the swish of her bare feet scuffing through the stubbly grass of the putting green. Even the trees seemed to want to hush her as she fought tears.
“PJ!”
He caught her on the tenth tee, his hand on her arm. She whipped out of his grasp, slipped on the slick grass and went down in a silky heap.
She felt ruined.
Boone knelt next to her. “I’m sorry.”
He ran his thumb under her eyes, wiping her tears. “We weren’t talking about you.”
“Then who—”
But she never finished because he kissed her. Softly, his eyes in hers as he drew away. “I love you, PJ. I always will.”
When he kissed her again, her arms went up, around his wide shoulders. Her breath mixed with his, and she could taste the champagne he’d snuck into the prom. She lost herself inside his embrace, moving into his advances, barely aware of her shoulders bared, how he’d managed to woo her nearly out of her dress, wrap her in his jacket, how he himself had lost his tailored shirt.
Her heart had already said yes, long before this night. It was only a matter of time before her body followed.
“Daniel Buckam, what in the—?”
Boone sprang away from her. PJ reached out to pull him back, but she’d
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