Page 49 of Tony

I smile and flutter a little as that sick, falling feeling begins to subside. “You have a point there.”

“We could be in prison right now.” He steps forward and places his hands on either side of my head. His fingers grip my hair as he stares down into my eyes. “That was a risk,” he whispers. “I’m not a risk. I’m a fucking promise.”

I swallow hard and nod my head. “OK.”

His deep frown disappears immediately.

“One date. But if it feels weird, or I get any suspicion that this is a bad idea, then…”

“Then we go back to friends.”

It’s never going to work. I think I just signed away our friendship by agreeing to this.

Sure, it could go right. It could go great. But even if it does, how long will it last?

And what if it doesn’t go great? What if the whole thing turns into a disaster?

No one, not even perpetually optimistic Vann Vaughn, really believes that we’ll just go back to the way things were.

This date is either the end of us—or the beginning of us.

Vann leans down and kisses me. And it’s as heart-stopping as the one yesterday inside Anna Ameci’s.

It doesn’t linger. But this kiss gets its point across in less than a single moment.

This kiss is the stuff of fairytale fantasies.

It makes me want him, it makes me long for more, and it breaks my heart at the same time.

“I promise you,” Vann says as he pulls away from me. “I promise you it will be good. And I will not waste this chance. You’ll see,” he says, and takes a step back towards the stairs. “I’m going to prove it to you. I’m going to prove that you and I were meant to walk this life together starting… now.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - TONY

I hear every word Vann Vaughn pours out to Belinda from the side of the garage. I wasn’t going to spy—what I just overheard was a lesson in gut-wrenching, heart-crushing unrequited love. On Vann’s part, of course. Not mine. But… there is still something about Belinda—Rosalie, whatever she wants to call herself these days—that prevents me from walking away.

I don’t use the word prevent lightly.

I feel this tug. And I can’t even begin to explain it because it makes absolutely no sense. I could never—would never—stand up in front of Belinda and say those words that Vann just said to her. Never in a million years would I be able to force those words out of my mouth and mean them.

But he meant them. That shit came from his heart.

Fine. You know what? He can have her. I don’t even want her.

Congratulations, Vann. You win. If that pathetic outpouring of emotion is what changes Rosalinda’s mind—slow clap, my friend. Slow clap.

But I’m certainly never going to grovel at her feet like that. I should just go back to my rental and pack up my shit. Hit the next flight out of Denver International and settle back into my amazing Key West life.

That’s what I should do.

Hell, that’s even what I want to do. So bad.

But… but… but… I can’t. I don’t know what it is about Rosalinda—I’m not sure if it’s the memory of who Rosalie used to be or the revelation that Belinda is still her, still mine, and yet not her and not mine at the same time. Or if it’s just some misplaced sense of obligation. I. Don’t. Know.

I don’t get it.

The only thing I do know right now is this: I will not be going back to the rental and packing my shit. I will not be in Key West by tomorrow. I will not be putting her behind me.

Why? Or better yet, how? How the fuck does this little pink-haired girl control me like this?