Chapter 3
GIANA
What waswith him showing up yesterday? I can’t explain it, nor can I explain the text Byron sent this morning. It’s messed with my head since. I remind myself it’s a friendly chat over coffee, nothing else. Definitely not a date.
Yet my heart beats nervously, and I checked my hair and lipstick three times before walking out the door to drive to Santa Monica. I know what he’s doing. The last time we met out, we were in Santa Monica, and I told him how much I loved the beach. He booked the same café where we used to meet before I went to college. One particular time is ingrained in my memory—the day after we drank too many cocktails by his pool and ended up in bed together. The last time I saw him, he was not the Byron I thought I knew.
I was one of many who fell under the charm of Byron Hendricks, and today, I won’t be added to the count again. I need to maintain us being strictly friends so my thoughts aren’t confused by what my heart feels if I’m going to take the next step in my career.
A giant step out of LA.
Don’t be a prude.
It’s not like I haven’t had men in my life. They helped with the lonely nights spent in foreign countries. Italian men are fluent in the language of love, but Byron does something to me no other man can. I keep telling myself we were kids, and my first was special. Maybe it was the cocktails or the guesthouse overlooking the pool. Byron made me feel beautiful and caressed every part of me as though he loved every inch of my body. With him, sex came as a natural step in sealing the bond between us.
Until I went to college, and then I knew I wasn’t a love interest he wanted to pursue.
Before college, we told each other about our hopes for the future, and I don’t blame him for being focused on making his basketball dreams come true. We both did what it took to pursue those goals. After the last time we had sex, I tried to forget him. Within two days, an offer came through for a mentorship in Italy—an opportunity I ran to, leaving my heart back in LA.
So here I am, back where our story began. We are going to visit the place where we shared our fears. What Byron didn’t realize was that not keeping in contact after everything we shared was one of my fears on steroids. When he stopped texting, it meant I wasn’t someone he respected, not even as a friend.
After I park, I take my purse, which matches the tulip print of my Leto Designs dress, and walk the block to Coral’s café.
Byron waits out front. His foot is perched against the shop’s discolored white, rendered brick wall, his head lowered as he scrolls on his phone.
“Too vain to wait inside alone?”
He looks up at me, and a smile grows on those lips that have me swooning on the inside. “Giana. You’re late.”
I check my phone and roll my eyes. “By one minute.”
“Still late.” He leans in and hugs me. “It’s good to see you.”
I’m hugging him tighter than intended because being in his strong arms feels good. He releases me, takes my free hand while holding the door open, and leads me into the café. Is it so wrong I like that he has shifted into protector mode? My brain is telling me to set boundaries, and hand-holding is a no because Byron accelerates to familiarity faster than Maverick testing the limits of the Darkstar.
He pulls out a chair for me to sit, and I’m already liking this gentlemanly side of him. For a moment, I’m curious. I want to know more about the man Byron has become, but I squash that idea flat.
Rule #1: Do not get your heart broken in LA.
“Soy latte?” He eyes me, and I notice the slightest grin. No points to him, even though I’m impressed he remembered my choice of coffee.
“No. I take almond milk occasionally, though I prefer a short black these days.”
“Noted.” He orders my coffee and adds a green energy juice for himself. While he reads the menu, pondering food, I take the opportunity to make some mental notes.
His face has changed from a boyish look to that of a man, with an angular jaw and high cheekbones. His blue eyes remain deeply set with dark, thick lashes most girls would give a kidney for. Eyes that cause me to inhale ever so slightly, even though I worked hard to erase that face from my memory.
It’s not that he hurt me. More what we could have had, and he didn’t try. My stupid pride made sure he never got another chance.
“So, Italy…” He places the menu on the table. “How long were you there?”
“From the last time we saw each other, up to a week ago.”
His eyes flick over my face, his grin lost to an expression of deep thought.
“What?” I ask.
“You didn’t mention it last time?—”
“You were high, Byron. I doubt you even remember.”
“I remember everything,” he says, his voice low and deep. His eyes narrow. “Did you know you were going to head to the other side of the world when you were with me?”
“Does it matter?” I ask gently.
“Yeah, it does.”
How is he turning this around on me?
Fiddling with the fork, I meet his gaze. “No. Watching you achieve your dreams kickstarted my brain into chasing mine harder.”
“So it had nothing to do with what happened between us that night?”
I twirl the fork a little faster. “I thought this was a coffee date between friends? It’s feeling more like an interrogation.”
“You changed your cell and made a new private Insta account. As one of your friends, not being privy to your life hurt some.”
I let go of the fork and place my hands in my lap. We were young, and it was all so inconsequential. We were friends.
“There are some things a girl doesn’t want to see on social media. You had your new life and were soon to be in the NBA. Your new friends were strangers to me. As to how you spend your time off the court, you and the team had access to a fast-flowing river of fish.”
He pulls a face at the analogy. “We agreed not to wait for each other,” he murmurs. “We supported each other’s aspirations, and I wanted to watch you achieve everything you hoped for too. Instead, you cut me off like I was nothing to you.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I didn’t think you cared for art, and believe me, my account was all paintings. That was until some big collabs, then I needed another Insta account for the business.”
“Yeah, I found it.” He smiles at me, and this time, it reaches his eyes. “You’re a big deal, Gi. I’m proud of you.”
More than anything, I want to hug him, fall into his arms, and absorb every word he is saying. It’s the one thing I remember from when we sat here after graduation. He sang my praises, made me believe I could accomplish anything, and told me to chase my dreams without limits. He made me believe, but I struggled to let go of him.
I needed him in my life.
“If I didn’t cut you off then, I wouldn’t have achieved anything you convinced me I could.” I watch his face change as he absorbs my confession.
“You would have stayed for me?”
“I knew there were no promises, but I couldn’t handle seeing you with other girls.” I make a face. “Selfish, I know.”
His lips twitch. “Do you have a possessive trait I’m unaware of?”
“I have been known to be jealous maybe once or twice.”
“And was that directed my way, or did you experience these feelings with an Italian lover?”
“Ah, my Italian lovers. A girl never kisses and tells.”
He leans forward and holds my gaze. “I’m glad I didn’t see.”
My stomach flutters, but we are interrupted by the waiter. “Coffee,” I enthusiastically say as it is placed in front of me. “If we’re here to fill in the void, let’s backtrack a few years. Tell me what I’ve missed and about your new goals in life.”
Byron takes a sip of his green drink. He fills in the gaps about his family—his brother’s new wife and how his father bought the basketball team. “There were whispers he did it so I could play in the NBA. It’s such bullshit,” he says in a way that reminds me of a younger Byron. He was skinny and smaller than the average basketball player but had the tenacity of a tiger. If Byron set his mind to something, he always achieved his goal. It’s why I listened to him about my career. His advice was influential and motivating, though he struggled to cope with his own doubters. Still, Byron was filled with determination.
“I’m not sure if you remember…” he continues, “… but in high school, my father rarely attended a game. He was always busy with work or traveling. Basketball was insignificant to him. I remember his embarrassment at my choice to play in college. He believed it was taking valuable time away from study. Frank spent most of his years at college working his ass off for my father’s approval, then Jobe partied his way through. I have nothing in common with either of them.”
I tilt my head at him and pull a face. “I remember when you?—”
“Okay, I maybe have something in common with Jobe, but I knew I didn’t want to work for my father, pumping out numbers all day in an office.”
“And yet here you are, employed by the team your father owns.”
He rubs at his temple for a few seconds before taking another sip of his energy drink. “Yeah, but it’s the family’s team. When I announced I wanted to go pro, my father couldn’t see how it would assist the family name. The Hendricks work so millions accumulate in the name of family. Going pro would help me as an individual. If anything, it was an insult because my father didn’t hold elite athletes in high esteem. Then Lottie suggested he buy the team.” Byron chuckles. “Back then, she told me if I weren’t up to the level, I wouldn’t be selected. She made it clear there were no favors, even for family, because business is business.”
“Lottie said that?”
“Hell, you wouldn’t recognize her now. The team is her life. She’s working her way up the corporate ladder.”
“Our little Lottie?”
Byron’s lips curl. “She watches me like a hawk so I don’t mess up.”
I can’t help but giggle. “She was so cute and fun.”
“Emphasis on the was. It’s why I never wanted to work for my father.”
Reaching across the table, I take his hand and give it a gentle squeeze. “Look how far you’ve come. I’m also proud of you, Byron. It’s hard to believe we sat here years ago and told each other our hopes and fears.”
His eyes are gentle and caring. “I never forgot you,” he whispers.
“Neither did I,” I murmur. No matter how hard I tried.
His voice is gravelly and deep as he says, “The one that got away.”
I shake my head. “No. We knew each other’s dreams.”
“Right.” He holds my gaze.
Oh shit. The way he is staring at me makes me feel like I’m his new goal.
Rule #2: Only date people you’re not attracted to.
As much as I want to be his new favorite toy, I’m not prepared for the disappointment until I convince my brain that we’re merely having fun and can let my guard down. Right now, everything is still fresh in my mind.
His eyes twinkle. Already, I can’t picture saying no to whatever he suggests. But it’s too soon. I still remember the pain.
I look at the time on my cell. “Sorry, Byron, I have to go. Can we do this another time?”