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  Tia gasped. “No! How could you keep something like that from me?”

  Taylor shrugged, eyes trailing an old blue truck chugging toward the farm supply store. “I don’t know. I don’t like to talk about it.”

  “Well I’d tell everyone,” Tia proclaimed as she finished off her hamburger with zest. She wiped her mouth with a napkin as she chewed. “As I recall, he went through the whole cheerleading squad my senior year - when he wasn’t dating Gretchen Smith.”

  Taylor wrinkled her brow. “I wasn’t there when you were, remember? I didn’t move here until a few weeks before school started my senior year.”

  “Brady was already a big man on campus when he hit his sophomore year. His older brothers were athletic and nice looking also, but not nearly as much as Brady,” Tia explained. “Everyone adored him. All the girls wanted him and all the boys wanted to be like him.”

  “That explains his over inflated ego,” Taylor mused. “Besides, as I recall, all of his groupies were fake.”

  “Come on,” Tia jeered. “You know what it’s like in a school such as ours. Nothing but cliques.”

  “Yeah and I didn’t fit into a single one of them,” Taylor remarked. “Not even when I dated Brady. They were all nice to me, but that was just because of Brady. Not a single one of them speaks to me to this day. The only friends I have in this town are you and Josh. Both of you had already graduated by the time I got to Somersville High.”

  “Well, most of the people from high school high tail it out of here. I don’t know if any of Brady’s friends are still around. Jason is out in California, I think. A few might be in Indy.” Tia sipped her iced tea.

  “I don’t really care,” Taylor said. “I have no desire to see any of them anyway.”

  “So why did you and Brady break up?” Tia asked, eyes shining with curiosity.

  “That’s a story for another day,” Taylor told her. She frowned as her cell phone rang. “I have to go. It’s Josh. Thanks for lunch.”

  “Call me later,” Tia ordered sternly. “I’m going to need to calm you down before you meet Brady tomorrow.”

  Laughing, Taylor agreed.

  ***

  “Have a nice lunch?” Josh Parker asked as Taylor breezed back into the office. He gave her a sexy smirk that crinkled his brown eyes. She ruffled his dark hair and sat at her desk.

  “Peachy,” she replied. “What’s up? Lou Grant in a foul mood?”

  Josh laughed at her use of their nickname for their loud, sometimes boisterous, boss. “Nah. Just thought I’d help you prepare for your big interview tomorrow. You know, help you figure out what kind of questions to ask and such.”

  She flashed a crooked smile. “I’d appreciate that. I need to be in total control of the conversation tomorrow.”

  As he got up, he nodded at an empty interview room. She grabbed a notepad and followed.

  “So, Miss Lockwood, how do you want to handle this interview?” he asked as he closed the interview room door.

  She sighed as he slid into the chair across from her. Josh Parker was the first friend she'd made when she'd moved to Somersville seven years ago. His family had lived two houses down from her family and had welcomed them to the neighborhood immediately.

  Josh had graduated two years prior and attended a community college in Indianapolis, commuting back and forth instead of living in the dorms. Tall and thin, he loved basketball, though he wasn’t very good at it.

  He had dark brown hair and the sweetest brown eyes that hid behind wire framed glasses. When she'd first met him, she'd had a tiny crush on him - college boy from a nice family who treated her like he'd known her forever.

  That crush had dissipated quickly as a strong friendship had taken its place. Whenever her father had slipped into his depressive hole or had drown his pain in alcohol, Taylor would wander down to Josh’s house and they’d shoot hoops in his driveway until it either grew too dark or the mosquitoes drove them inside.

  He'd interned each summer for the Somersville Times and when Taylor had needed a job, he'd put in a good word for her with Luther.

  “I don’t know, Josh. But if he mentions Prom just once, I swear I’ll punch him,” she said in a firm voice.

  Chuckling, he reached for her hand across the table. “I know slugger. That’s what I’m worried about.”

  She slid her hand out of his and flipped open her notebook. “Well, I need to keep the conversation away from that.” She turned businesslike as she gazed at Josh's face. “Keep the questions impersonal.”

  Josh sat back and rubbed his chin. “You can’t do that, Taylor. Your edge is going to be that you know him. You have to use that to your advantage.”

  Her eyes grew as something sharp skewered her heart. “You know what he did. I don’t want to dig up that whole sad, sorry memory. It needs to stay dead and buried.”

  “Sweetie, it’s going to be there and you know it. Even if he doesn’t want to bring it up, it’s going to be there between you two.” He eyed her carefully, watching her digest this latest bit of information.

  She sat back and folded her arms across her chest, determination filling her gut. “Well, I won’t let it control me or the interview. I’m better than that.”

  His eyes sparkled as an amused grin slid across his face. “That’s my girl!” He bent over the table and pushed her note pad at her. “Now come on. Let’s go over these questions and when the interview’s finished, you can come over and get smashed with me and Lacy.”

  ***

  That evening she sat on her sofa with the remote in her hand, not really watching the game. She tucked her legs underneath her as she tried to concentrate on the player currently digging his cleats into the dirt of the batter’s box. Her eyes glazed as the memories took over her mind.

  She fiddled nervously with her dress as her father greeted Brady at the door. Her dad had given her his credit card and she had shopped alone, hoping to find something perfect.

  She had chosen a white dress made of some soft, silky material she couldn’t identify; she was hardly an expert on fashion. It clung to her tiny waist and attached behind her neck, leaving her back bare while the skirt flowed well below her knees. She loved the ‘swooshing’ sound it made as it wrapped around her legs when she walked.

  Her father surprised her when he handed her a beautiful knit shawl to cover her shoulders. He grinned sheepishly as he told her it had belonged to her mother and he wanted her to wear it that night to keep the February chill away.

  Brady kept his arrogance in check when meeting her father and brother, but she could see the cockiness in his eyes as they swept over her body. He presented her with a beautiful white rose wrist corsage which he slipped on confidently and escorted her out the door to his waiting car.

  The dance itself was nothing short of spectacular. The smelly gym had been transformed into a winter wonderland, complete with sparkling snowflakes dangling from the ceiling and fluffy, cotton snow banks dotting the hardwood floor.

  White and gold lights twinkled overhead like stars in a cloudless sky. The ambiance enchanted and delighted her so much that she clutched Brady’s arm tightly as she oohed and aahed over each detail.

  Brady smiled gently at her and patted her hand, though she wasn’t sure if it was in amusement or not. When he led her to his group of friends, she stiffened momentarily until they smiled and invited her to sit down.

  She was surprised to see Amanda Allen hanging off of Jason Smith’s arm. Jason was Brady’s best friend and another of Somersville High’s most beautiful people. Amanda, though nice enough, was sort of plain and not the type Jason usually dated. Jason was comparable to a god with his blond good looks and sexy blue eyes.

  Brady’s group treated her friendly enough, even though she sensed it was more for Brady’s sake than anything else. The conversation mostly centered around themselves, although they did throw in the occasional insulting remark about a person or a couple who was unfortunate enough not to be one of them. Taylor const
antly bit back her retorts, not wanting to upset Brady, but it was difficult.

  Realizing what it was costing her to keep her mouth shut, he rescued her by whisking her off to the dance floor. He kept her close to his body when they danced, whispering how beautiful she looked in her ear. Her whole spine tingled at the heat of his breath on her skin and thrills as she’d never known shot through her stomach.

  And when he drove her home that night, he held her hand as he walked her to the door. Under the soft light on her front porch, in the biting cold air of that February evening, she received her first kiss. It wasn’t very long or very passionate, but it was sweet and full of promise. When he broke it, he cupped her cheek, rubbing his thumb softly over her face, and wished her a good night.

  When she went inside the house, she was surprised to find her father dozing in his beat up leather recliner, minus the usual empty glass of scotch. She woke him and he fixed them both a cup of hot chocolate which they enjoyed at the kitchen table as she told him of her amazing evening at her first formal dance.

  Once they finished their hot chocolate, he kissed her on the cheek, told her she looked beautiful, and sent her off to bed. She floated up the stairs and drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face thinking maybe things would really, finally be okay once again.

  She blinked rapidly, suddenly aware of the tears wetting her cheeks. Brushing them away in irritation, she turned off the television, tossing the remote to the coffee table. She wasn’t going to let Brady Nolan reduce her to a quivering, emotional wreck again.

  ***

  Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, her brows drew together as she frowned. She wanted to look professional and aloof, but not too much; he’d see right through that.

  She had tossed and turned all night wondering what to wear, how to do her hair, how to greet him. Finally, she'd rolled out of bed and showered until the water turned cold.

  After foraging in her closet, she settled on pale blue cropped pants and a crisp, white blouse with a pair of strappy sandals. Casual, she smirked. Let him think that she hadn't made much of an effort.

  She braided her long, chestnut hair and applied a touch of makeup to her hazel eyes. Perfume was a definite no. She didn’t want him to think she was trying to lure him back.

  She slung her messenger bag over her shoulder, grabbed her cell phone and keys, and headed out of the door.

  As she urged her car through the early morning Indianapolis traffic, headed toward Racers Stadium, she ran different scenarios over in her mind. She tried to imagine a more mature Brady - one who would be contrite and apologetic about the past. Unfortunately, a more realistic picture of him would knock that one out of her head - one of him as egotistical as ever and flaunting their past in her face. Sighing, she rubbed her temple before pinching the bridge of her nose.

  A fine tremble quivered throughout her body as a sign directing traffic to the stadium appeared. She took the exit and slowly made her way through the vast, empty parking lot. Time seemed to speed up as she begged it to slow down. But no matter what, she knew she’d have to do this - face him once more. Putting it off would only mean dragging out the agony.

  She pulled as close to the doors as possible and parked. As she grabbed her messenger bag, double checking to make sure she had ample notepads and pencils, not to mention her recorder, she gathered her courage. She flung her braid over her shoulder and lifted her chin. Exiting her car, she strolled with fake confidence to the glass doors of the administrative area like she’d been instructed.

  An ancient security guard opened the door when she flashed the press pass Luther had given her and directed her down a long corridor. Framed photos of past and present stars hung on the blue walls. She glanced briefly at the photos as she walked, wondering absently if some day Brady’s face would grace these halls.

  The Indianapolis Racers were an expansion team, joining the United League only six years prior. It was a welcome change to the city, as well as the surrounding towns, as sports fans felt they needed someone to root for when the football and basketball seasons ended.

  Taylor rounded a corner and stopped near double doors. A sign warning that only employees were allowed was pasted to each door. Taylor tried the knob, dismayed to find it locked. Tempted though she was to turn around and go home, she knocked instead.

  A peppy blonde dressed in a stylish navy blue business suit opened the door, extending her right hand. Taylor shook it carefully, a little startled at the other woman's sudden appearance. “Hi! I’m Stephanie Carmichael. You must be the lucky girl who gets to interview Brady Nolan!”

  Cringing inwardly, Taylor nodded. “Yeah. That would be me.”

  “Follow me,” Stephanie ordered as she held the door open. Taylor moved past Stephanie and then followed her through a winding hall and down a flight of stairs. Stephanie stopped before a door with a broad smile.

  “This is the press room. I think it will work.” She pushed the door open as Taylor took a deep breath. Stepping past Stephanie, Taylor was not surprised to find it empty. “Mr. Nolan will be here in a few minutes. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

  Figures, Taylor thought. He would make her wait; that was always his game. Well, that was fine with her. She’d use it to her advantage.

  Taking in the large, spacious room, she tried to figure what would be the best way to position them both.

  Her eyes landed on a small table shoved against a wall. She pulled it out and set a chair on each side. Next, she visited the water cooler in the back corner, poured them each a cup, and set them down in front of each chair.

  She retrieved her recorder from her bag and checked that it had a fresh, clean tape inside before placing it in the middle of the table.

  Sliding into the chair facing the door, she casually bent over the table to flip through her notes. She wanted him to walk in and see her as comfortable as possible.

  But as the minutes ticked by on her watch, her confidence started to fade and her fingers itched with the need to smack him the moment he sat down.

  Finally, the door opened and she fought the tension that threatened to scrunch up her shoulders. She forced herself to finish reading the sentence she was staring at before looking up to face him.

  When she did lift her head, she found him leaning in the doorway, arms folded over his chest, smirk permanently plastered on his lips. He looked nearly the same as he had all those years ago except his hair was cut shorter and he’d acquired a few lines around his mouth.

  Dressed in faded jeans and a hunter green, collared shirt, it wasn't hard to see that the well-defined muscles in his arms and chest had developed over the years.

  Her heart thudded as her blood pumped fire through her veins. She reached an amazingly steady hand to her cup and sipped slowly at her water, eyes never leaving his. He barked out a short laugh as he pushed away from the door frame and approached her. As he sauntered toward the table, she briefly wondered if she should stand. She decided against it - he wasn’t royalty.

  “Taylor, Taylor, Taylor,” he muttered, smirk still gracing his lips. “I wondered what happened to you.” He loomed over her, causing her to look up. Perhaps she should have stood.

  “Just sit down and let’s get this over with,” she told him, glaring coldly. “I have more important things to do.”

  Laughing, he bent down to plant a kiss on her cheek. “There’s that attitude I love. Oh wait, what was it you called it? State of mind?”

  “Sit down,” she repeated, fighting the urge to childishly wipe away his kiss. “I don’t have all day.”

  “Of course you do,” he replied, his smirk lingering as if it was the focus of the interview. “Your editor is dying for this interview. He’d send you away for a week with me if I promised him an exclusive.”

  She didn’t reply, just continued to glare at him, fury dancing in her eyes. With a shrug, he dropped into the chair across from her. She took a deep breath and flipped the pages of her note pad. “Where do you want t
o start?”

  Reaching across the table, he took her hand. She tried to pull away but he held it tighter. “Let’s have dinner tonight. We can talk about old times.”

  She squirmed as little electric currents shot at her heart at the mere touch of his hand. “No. Now let go of me.”

  He grinned, eyes crinkling in the corners, and released her. “Okay, if you don't want to have dinner, how about you come to a party with me instead?”

  She groaned. “I am not going to any party with you Brady. Now can we just move along?”

  Sitting back, his narrowed eyes raked over her body. “You’re even more beautiful than I remember. I bet you have men knocking on your door, begging you to give them the time of day.”

  She ducked her head. “No. Now will you please just answer a couple questions so we can move on with our lives and never have to see each other again?”

  His smirk faded as he bent over the table, invading her space. He placed his index finger under her chin, lifting her face. His green eyes probed her, hard and firm. “Not at all, Taylor. I have no intention of doing any interview here and I definitely have no intention of letting you go again.”

  Chapter Three

  Sitting stiffly in the passenger seat of his car, she glared at the passing scenery, refusing to even glance his way. How the hell had she totally lost control of this situation? One second she was standing her ground with him and the next she’s in his car on her way to some cookout-party thing. She clenched her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her flesh. How she absolutely loathed him!

  “Don’t pout, love,” Brady said from the driver’s seat, that irritating smirk still lingering on his lips. His left hand gripped the wheel while his right rested on the console between the seats. “It doesn’t become you.”

  Folding her arms over her chest, she scowled, feeling a bit childish. “Don’t call me that.”