But with the way the dress fit her, the dip of the bodice over her breasts, the sassy little pin-up girls and how it exposed her tattoos . . .

“Well, it’s sure as hell me,” she mused.

She turned away from the mirror.

Nothing in the closet was going to work any better.

Except maybe that wiggle dress, but if she put that on, she might as well issue an invitation for him to come on in and stay awhile. She’d bought it in a mood, not too long after that weekend she’d never been able to forget. She’d been thinking about him when she’d bought it.

Thinking. Missing. Wanting.

If she put it on, she’d do nothing but think about him peeling it off.

The phone started to ring again while she was pulling on a pair of heels, but she lunged for it this time. Farrah—it was the ringtone she used for Farrah and she needed her nerves soothed. Balancing on one foot as she fought one-handedly with the strap, she answered. “Make me feel better,” she ordered.

“Why?”

“Because my cousin just called and I didn’t talk to her and now I feel guilty and he’s going to be here soon,” she said in a rush.

There was a faint pause, and then Farrah said, “Fuck her. Half the time I don’t know why you even bother.”

“Because it’s my fault.”

“No,” Farrah said, her voice cold and hard. “No, it’s not.”

Ressa sighed. “Logically? I get that. Emotionally? Different story. Look, she’s my cousin. I love her. Now, tell me something to make me stop thinking about her,” she said, moving to deal with the other shoe.

“Are you ready?”

“No. I’m still buck-nekkid, with my hair in rollers and I’m shoving my face full of ice cream,” she said tartly. Her belly gave a demanding grumble. Maybe ice cream wouldn’t be a bad idea. Take the edge off. Ice cream made everything better, right? If she ate something now . . .

“Yeah, right. What are you wearing?”

“That red baby-doll dress I showed you a few weeks ago.”

“That?” Farrah’s disappointed tone did not go unmissed. “Why not that sexy black number?”

“Because that sexy black number says one thing—Do me. We’re going out for dinner.”

“Any reason you can’t have both . . . him and dinner?” Farrah sounded sly now.

“Whatever happened to the girl who was teaching me caution a few days ago?” Ressa asked wryly.

“Well, I want you to be cautious. Don’t get your heart broken. But if you can manage to have fun with him while it lasts and not get your heart broken? Go for it.”

Fun . . . while it lasts. Odd that even thinking that way made her feel kind of funny inside. Like she was already setting herself up for a heartbreak.

“I plan on having fun. Without jumping back into bed with him the very first time we actually have a date.” Rolling her eyes, she stretched out her feet, studied the shoes. They worked.

Then she glanced toward the hall, thought about that pint of ice cream she kept on hand for emergencies.

This wasn’t really an emergency, though.

Sighing, she turned her back on the thought of ice cream and made herself focus.

“Talk yourself out of a bite or two of ice cream?” Farrah asked.

“Yes. Damn it.” Ressa pressed a hand to her belly.

“Good. The dress fits perfectly now. Don’t go getting the nervous eats, okay? We don’t want to do another fitting. Now . . . how do you feel?”

“I’m nervous. I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous about a date.” Ressa grimaced.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this nervous about a guy.”

“Oh, I’ve been this nervous,” she said quietly.

There had been a guy. Ressa had cared about him. Enough to come clean with him about her past. He’d said he loved her. But when he learned about her past, he’d walked.

“He never really loved you. He just loved what he thought he knew,” Farrah said quietly. “You ready to go that route again with Trey? What if he’s the same way?”

The question had Ressa tensing. She had to focus, had to concentrate to make her muscles relax. Leaning forward, she scowled at the faint smudge in her eyeliner. She used one of the sponges to fix it before she answered. “It’s not the same thing; he’s not the same.”

“If that’s the case, then you see all the problems ahead of you, too, right? I mean, assuming this thing turns out to be anything . . . you know what kind of mess you could be asking for?”

“What problems?” She forced a light note into her voice. “Let me think . . . well, other than the fact that he’s this hugely successful author who is still dealing with some baggage—” That was a safe way to explain it, she figured. “He’s a widower with an adorable kid. Or maybe you’re talking about my mess.”

“There’s that,” Farrah said, her voice flat. “And other things. He’s white, you’re black.”

“Really.” Ressa eased away from the mirror, studying her reflection once more. “I never noticed.”

“That could be a problem . . . if it got serious. That, and a couple of things. Have you thought about that?”

“Yes.” Sighing, she turned away from the mirror. She didn’t want to think about serious. Not yet. Not right now. “You and I both know I’d just be hiding from the truth if I said otherwise. If . . . look, if we think we’ve got something, his skin color isn’t going to matter to me. I won’t care. I don’t think he will, either.”

“It affects more than just the two of you, though. It’s Neeci, it’s his little boy,” Farrah said quietly. Her sister had married a white guy. Her parents supported her . . . but the guy’s family? They’d cut him off. It had caused some rough spots.

Rubbing her thumb along the lines of the tattoo on her chest, Ressa said, “Mama Ang won’t care who I fall for, Farrah. All she ever wanted was for us to be happy.”

“Yeah . . . it looks like your cousin really got that memo.” Farrah’s voice was thick with sarcasm.

“Please.” Ressa closed her eyes. “Don’t. Okay? Just . . .”

“I won’t, honey. Although Kiara makes me crazy. Mama Ang, she tried so hard—Bruce, God bless him, he tried. You tried. Anyways . . . it’s not just about you all, you know that. Kids change everything.”

“We’re talking about things that might not even be an issue. For all I know, we’ll go out and we’ll bore each other senseless.” Plus . . . her gut started to twist, and as much as she didn’t want to think about Kiara, her cousin started to creep back into her mind.

Kiara.

The things that Ressa had done her best to overcome, to move past.

But they were still a part of her.

Shit.

The doorbell rang. “I’ve got to go. I think he’s here.”

“Honey, you already know you’re not going to bore each other senseless. That’s why you need to be careful . . . and maybe why you should put on that black dress and get him out of your system, now. While you can still can.”

Chapter Eighteen

Trey knew what it was like to have the breath knocked out of him. Normally, he didn’t associate the sensation with good things. He’d felt that way when he’d fallen out of a swing when he was a kid—when he’d gotten knocked on his ass time and again in middle school during his very, very brief interlude with school sports. Maybe he’d enjoyed basketball when it was one on one, or when he was playing with his brothers, but team sports had never been for him.

That hadn’t kept Travis from nagging him into trying out for football one year. Trey had given it a shot—for that one year. During that time, he’d spent so much time getting tackled, knocked down, thrown around, that he’d ended up feeling like the ball himself.

He’d given it up—he was more for individual sports. Swimming was his thing and even then, he’d known what it was like to feel breathless—or worse, like he was drowning. Like when he’d gotten a charley horse while swimming a few times.