And the fact that I’m thinking all of this with my head pressed to her hotel room door because I feel bad I pushed her away and hurt her feelings proves all of my overly introspective thinking right.

My God this place fucks with your head. Although I’m sure the shots of Fireball don’t help either.

Just as I get a grip on my rambling thoughts, I fall forward as the door opens inward. I stumble inside, and all I see is her back as she’s walking away from me farther into the room. And fuck me, she’s wearing short shorts that cling to her ass, highlighting every damn line of her legs, and a tank top so sheer in color, I swear I can see the bronze of her skin through it. Of course my mind immediately jumps to the thought of what the front of her tank looks like and if her nipples are pressed against the thin material.

I shake the thought from my head and kick the door shut behind me as she sits on the edge of the bed facing the window with her back toward me. “Save your breath, Tanner. I got your message loud and clear. I was only good enough that first night when you considered me disposable, but now that I’m here to stay…” She laughs derisively. “I’m no longer good enough for you.”

I’m definitely the asshole for putting that hurt tone in her voice. “That’s not it.” My words come out on a sigh when I continue to explain. “It’s a lot more than that, Beaux.”

“It’s BJ to you, Tanner.”

That simple statement stings deeply, and now that the taste of the rejection is fresh on my tongue, I don’t like it at all. I don’t know how to explain – what I need to say and what I want to say are two different things.

“Beaux…”

“No, you don’t get to Beaux me. You lost that right,” she says as she turns to face me, and damn it to hell, the sight of her is like a one-two combo punch. First her sheer beauty with her face bare of any makeup and hair piled on top of her head and two, that I was right about exactly what I’d be able to see through the damn fabric of her shirt. “You kissed me today like a man who wanted more and then walked away the minute you realized you wanted more. You know why? Because I got to you. I heard what you said upstairs loud and clear. But it’s the things you aren’t saying that I think you need to listen to.”

“You’re so far off base!” I’m practically stuttering in my rush to deny it, needing to refute what she’s said only because she’s hitting way too fucking close to home.

“Keep telling yourself that.” She stands and takes a step closer to me. “You like me and yet you can’t admit it for some reason. You’re so damn busy trying to keep me at arm’s length because of your trust issues that you can’t see what’s sitting right in front of your damn face. As much as I want you, I won’t be coming on to you again. No. Not after what you said to me upstairs.” She pauses, and it’s like her words have knocked mine from my tongue.

She walks toward the window, then stops and turns to look me in the eye. “There’s something between us. You can’t deny that, Tanner – a blind man would be able to sense it… You’re so quick to accuse me of playing games, and yet you’re calling more shots than a bartender. Have sex with me and then get mad at me. Kiss me and stalk away like I’m at fault. I’m here to do my job, not get sucked into whatever this is so my head gets messed up and I can’t perform… So I think it’s best that you leave my room.”

With those final words she turns, slides into her bed, and turns the light off, effectively ending the conversation without giving me a chance to respond. And maybe that’s for the best, because she’s just unloaded so many truths on me that I don’t even know which one to focus on first. I just stand there in the darkness with her comments suffocating the air around me.

I’ve never been at a loss for words when it comes to a woman, let alone an argument, and yet I am right now and it’s unnerving. And exhilarating in an odd way to know that someone can see so clearly inside of you that you’re not sure you want them to see. But I guess I should expect this from her after what I saw through the lens of her camera – she already knows all of this.

“Stella was my one constant over the past ten years.” The confession is out of my mouth before I even realize it, and I instantly wonder if this is my apology in the form of an explanation, the comfort of the darkness around us allowing the words to come. She doesn’t say anything in response, but she stills in bed, and I know I have her attention.

“We met when we were assigned together, butted heads instantly, but fell into bed not too long after we met.” The minute the words are out, it’s like my subconscious finally acknowledges the correlation between Stella and me and now Beaux and me. The similarities become clear for the first time. Is this why I keep rejecting Beaux one minute and then pulling her in the next? Damn. The thought staggers me. Because I’ve been so busy trying to figure out just what her angle is, I haven’t noticed the parallels in the start of our relationships.

“And…” It’s all Beaux says, but her voice has softened, and I’m grateful that she allows me the moment to digest this newfound revelation. It’s one that should have been slapping me in the face, and yet I never realized it through my grief and obstinacy.

“It didn’t last, obviously. We had fun during that getting-to-know-you stage, but it fell apart. Immaturity and stress from the job and from essentially living with each other from the first date on took its toll after about a year. We felt smothered, and that led to nasty fights. And yet we still had to work together.” I lower myself to sit on the edge of the bed as the memories I thought I’d forgotten over time come back in bittersweet fashion. “Those first few months after we broke things off were brutal between us. It’s never good to work with an ex… but somehow over time the situation that tore us apart as lovers made us stronger as friends and partners. I don’t know… It’s hard to explain. She was my best friend for ten years. We were inseparable…” My voice trails off as emotion clogs my throat.

“Losing someone that close to you is so hard,” she murmurs, compassion in her voice.

“See, that’s the thing,” I say, almost feeling like I need to explain that the connection I shared with Stella went so much deeper than a normal friendship. “Out here… when you’re forced into this situation, right away everything is much more intense. Relationships, bonds, friendships, all of those things are magnified and reinforced by the isolation of the job, so yeah, we were friends for ten years, but it’s almost as if she were my twin in a sense. We had each other’s backs, could finish each other’s sentences… We were a unit… so losing her is just…”

The silence consumes the room, but I allow myself to feel the grief for the first time in what feels like forever. And yes, I did the shrink thing for the brass, talked to them about everything, but right now with Beaux is the first time that I’ve talked about it voluntarily with anyone other than my family since it happened.

And for some reason it feels like a thousand-pound weight has been lifted from my chest.

“I’m not trying to replace her, Tanner.” I don’t respond, because I know she’s telling the truth, but it sure as hell doesn’t make me stop feeling guilty over the fact that if I accept her as my new photographer and anything else she becomes in my life, it’s an eerily similar fashion to how Stella and I fell into lust.

Putting my hands behind my head, I lie back on the bed and find a strange comfort in having Beaux beside me beneath the blanket. What possessed me to lay all that information out there to Beaux of all people when I haven’t done that to anyone before?

“I know you’re not.” I whisper the words into the room, telling myself to believe them and knowing it’s human nature to not want to forget someone and to feel guilty when you begin to feel like you are.

“And I promise that I’m not trying to pull one over on you.”

I just murmur in acknowledgment, fighting my skeptical nature but pleased that she said it anyway.

“So without the threat of another shot, I answered one of your questions…,” I say to try and break up the solemnity of our conversation. Her sigh in response is audible, cutting through the silence of the room. “Tell me something about you.”

“I’d rather not.” The disassociated quality of her voice pulls on my curiosity when moments before she was so full of compassion and intrigue.

“Let’s think of this as us trying to get to know each other so we can start fresh again.” I angle my head up so that I can see her face looking in my direction. And even though the room’s only light is the one from the open bathroom door, I can see her dark hair against the white sheets and the softness in her smile. It looks like she appreciates my efforts to get off on a new foot.

“Well, if we’re starting over, my name is BJ Croslyn. What’s yours?” The warmth is back in her voice as she reaches down to shake my hand, and hell if my arm doesn’t buzz like exposed live wires touching when our skin connects.

“Tanner Thomas. And I’m the one.” Her laugh fills the room as she shakes her head at hearing me use her comment from that first night. When our handshake ends, she doesn’t pull her hand from mine, so they rest on the mattress in the space between us. “Everyone has a story. I just told you some of mine… so tell me, BJ, what’s yours?”

And because our hands are joined, I can feel the subtlest tension rise in her muscles from my question.