Remember When (Remember Trilogy #1) (35 page)

* * *

   There was a tangible shift in the air of the room, a gripping, electrical aura that stimulated the space surrounding his presence like a gravitational pull. I’d noticed this phenomenon when watching his movies, seeing the man that had emerged from the boy I once knew; but actually being in the same room with him was an entirely different animal. Trip
Wilmington
had been a gorgeous teenaged boy, no question. But Trip
Wiley
was a gorgeous young man just exuding raw, unabashed sex at every turn.

   It was only slightly impossible to remember how to breathe.

   I registered the jeans and black T-shirt Trip was wearing, along with the backwards jeffcap ineffectively attempting to contain his overgrown hair, which kicked out around his ears and behind his neck regardless. He was scratching the stubble at his chin and was five steps inside the room before he finally looked up, saw me... and froze.

   He literally did a double take, shaking his head in a futile attempt to rid himself of the sight of his old friend standing before him. I guessed he remembered me after all.

   I bit my lip to keep from grinning, and broke the silence with, “Hey Chester. How’s it hangin’?”

   His mouth went slack, but the corners of his lips were turned up into a smile. His eyes went wide as he said incredulously, “Layla. Effing. Warren.”

   I started to giggle. “Hi.”

   He came at me, arms outstretched, and wrapped me in a tight bear hug, as if not one single day had gone by.

   Still smelled like soap and sugar, the bastard.

   “Layla Warren! No way! How the hell are ya?” He swung me around and I almost caught a shin on the coffee table before he set me back down on my feet. He pulled back slightly, still keeping his hands on my arms. “Jesus! Look at you. Still as beautiful as ever.”

   I smirked a “yeah right” look at him, but didn’t call him out on his bullshit. Instead, the smile remained plastered to my face, as I was completely unable to stop beaming at him like a lunatic. But he was looking down at me with absolute euphoria and grinning ecstatically himself, so I didn’t bother trying to keep my enthusiasm in check either.
That familiar electric current was passing between us like lightning, that indescribable, all-consuming
thing
that he and I have always shared.

   “Sandy!” he called over his shoulder. “Sandy, come meet Layla. She was my... well, hell. She was my very first costar!”

   I laughed as Sandy came into the room saying, “We’ve met already, Trip.” I guessed since I was obviously a friend, Sandy allowed herself to drop the formal address. She shot me a conspiratorial look and added, “But she didn’t tell me you two already knew each other.” She shook my hand again, as if I were a brand new person for her to meet, which, I guess, under the circumstances, I was.

   Trip still hadn’t taken his eyes off me, grinning ear to ear like it was Christmas, blinding me with his perfect white teeth.

   Sandy was the first of the three of us to remember that we were all gathered in that room for more than just a friendly reunion. She started her schpiel about sitting in during the interview, and about the ground rules regarding acceptable topics for questioning, and godonlyknows knows what else. I couldn’t hear much of anything with Trip looking at me the way he was. It had been years since we’d seen one another. And Jesus. Suddenly, there he was, standing right there two feet away from me.

   Trip cut her speech off with, “Hey Sandy. Can we bump the next interview back so I can
grab something to eat
?” His palm slid down my arm, then he took my hand in his and kissed my knuckles. He was looking into my eyes, but his words were directed toward his publicist. “This is the girl that got
away
, Sandy. I’m going to need more than just a few minutes with this one.”

   I deciphered that “
grab something to eat”
was obviously their code for when Trip required privacy. I knew he was only teasing, but the fact that he and his publicist/assistant had obviously worked out some long-standing arrangement in order to perpetuate his sexual appetite was mildly unsettling.

   I shook my head laughing at him, but directed my commentary toward Sandy. “Actually, I happen to know from firsthand experience that he
won’t
need more than a few minutes.”

   Sandy slapped a hand to her mouth, poorly concealing a choking smirk as Trip’s jaw hit the floor and he laughed out, “Ouch! You’re breaking my heart all over again, sweetheart.”

   Sandy had to fight her laughter as she excused herself from the room, assuring Trip that she’d take care of the scheduling conflict.

   I smiled back at him, registered his teasing. I was still in awe that I was right there looking into those deadly blue eyes after so many years and thought,
Oh, my sweet, handsome, beautiful Trip. Your heart was never mine to break.

   And that’s when he leaned down to kiss me.

Acknowledgements:

   I’d like to take this opportunity to thank some very important people who, whether they know it or not, helped to turn the mere idea of this book into a reality.

   To my parents, thanks for always encouraging me (and for not weirding out over the more graphic scenes in this story!). I am the person I am today because of you. I hope that’s a compliment.

   To my sister, who, after reading one of my short stories years ago, stunned me with her flattery by saying, “Wow. You need to find something to write about and
write
.” Welp. I finally did it. Here ya go.

   To my high school girls: I am amazed that we still tolerate each other after all these years. The teenaged characters in this story are compiled entirely from little bits of each and every one of you.

   To my high school guys: Ditto.

   Lastly, I of course want to thank my boys for their enduring patience. I love you bunches. Now that the computer has finally been surgically removed from my lap, let’s go play.

   To Michael, my super understanding, rock star husband: That goes double for you. ;)

T. Torrest

Remember When

This is a work of fiction.
All names, characters and places in this book are the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance or similarities to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2012