Page 73 of Faking Forever
To that end…why in the fuckwashe sneaking so many peeks at them? He was starting to feel distinctly stalkery.
He’d seen the quickly disguised dismay in her expressionwhen she’d first spotted him across the room and had immediately felt guilty about it.
But he hadn’t really known that they would wind up at Ralphie’s until they’d pulled up in front of the place. Harris picked him up, said they were meeting the guys for a night out, and the next thing Smith knew they were here.
He’d tried to convey his regret in that single exchanged glance, but she’d simply gone pale and quickly averted her gaze. Moments later, Sam Brand, another of Harris’s good friends, had informed Smith of the weird “no interacting with the women” rule.
He’d tried not to staretoomuch after that and sincerely hoped his presence wouldn’t stifle her enjoyment of the evening.
Kenny hadn’t interacted too much at first, speaking mostly to Tina and Libby. But the other women—especially Spencer’s take charge wife—were having none of that and she was constantly drawn into the conversation.
He’d been gratified to note that the other women had fully welcomed her into the fold and soon they were all chatting with the ease of old, familiar friends.
Smith shouldn’t care as much. It shouldn’t matter to him whether she fit in or not, but she’d looked so goddamned terrified.
Kenna’s uncertainty had twisted his heart. Had that shyness always been lurking behind her chilly reservation?
She’d been so good at hiding it. Had kept it ruthlessly locked away. Likely saw it as a character flaw. And instead of revealing that supposed weakness, she’d preferred having everyone—evenhim,for fuck’s sake!—believe she was anti-social, aloof…stuck up.
But here, in those tight jeans, and that simple tank top, a flimsy orange flip flop on her uninjured foot, she felt safe enough to simplybe.
He tamped down the surge of resentment and fury that flowed through him like lava.
This was just more proof of how doomed their marriage had been. Would sheeverhave revealed this side of herself to him? He doubted it.
He swallowed down his bitterness and anger along with a gulp of ice-cold beer and determinedly turned his back on her smiling face, so attractively framed by her long, pretty hair, which had been left to flow like water over her shoulders. He tuned out the sound of her rusty laughter, such a rarity he could count on one hand how often he’d heard it during their marriage.
It was time to stop obsessing over her.
Right fucking no?—
The opening lines of Roberta Flack’s “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face,” sung in a husky, low, trembling voice, short-circuited his thought processes and had him whipping around to face her again.
His beer bottle tilted and the cold liquid spilling over his knuckles startled him into jerking it upright. But he couldn’t wrench his eyes away from that pale, nervous face spotlighted up on that tiny stage.
Just her, McKenna, all alone and clearly terrified.
Singing the first song they’d ever danced to.
His eyes met hers. Held. She wasn’t even looking at the screen. She knew the lyrics—as he did—by heart.
Theirsong.
They hadn’t even known the song’s name that first time, but when that first note had hit and their eyes had met at what was supposed to be a boring work function, they’d been irresistibly drawn to each other.
They’d stopped in the middle of a crowded dance floor and flowed into each other’s arms without a word spoken betweenthem. And they had danced slowly, sensuously, each so completely captivated by the other,
It had been the start of a long, spellbinding night. And what had followed had been unforgettable, an exchange of names, breathless conversation, soft, shy touches, and then that first astonishing kiss…
All with this song—an intimate, heart-wrenching ode to love at first sight—perfectly encapsulating every emotion they’d experienced from that first startling glance to their last lingering touches.
During those four intense months where they ate, breathed, drank each other up, this song—which they’d both looked up after their reluctant parting on that first night—had become their anthem.
And it had been glaring in its absence from their wedding.
That had been Smith’s first clue of the shitshow to come. He’d been so stupidly shocked when their wedding dance had been to a pop song that he couldn’t even recall the name of right now. Dazed, disappointed, and hurt.
She’d refused his help with the wedding plans. And he hadn’t argued, because she had already seemed so harried and distant. He hadn’t wanted to stress her further.
