Unfinished Business Read Online Free PDF Page B

Undaunted, he picked up her hand to play with her fingers. It was an old, familiar gesture. “You got to meet our godchild.”
    “Yes.” Vanessa tugged her hand free. “Lara’s gorgeous.”
    “Yeah.” He went back to her hair. “She looks like me.”
    The laugh came too quickly to stop. “You’re still conceited. And will you keep your hands off me?”
    “I never was able to.” He sighed, but shifted away an inch. “We used to sit here a lot, remember?”
    “I remember.”
    “I think the first time I kissed you, we were sitting here, just like this.”
    “No.” She folded her arms across her chest.
    “You’re right.” As he knew very well. “The first time was up at the park. You came to watch me shoot baskets.”
    She brushed casually at the knee of her slacks. “I just happened to be walking through.”
    “You came because I used to shoot without a shirt and you wanted to see my sweaty chest.”
    She laughed again, because it was absolutely true. She turned to look at him in the shadowy light. He was smiling, relaxed. He’d always been able to relax, she remembered. And he’d always been able to make her laugh.
    “It—meaning your sweaty chest—wasn’t such a big deal.”
    “I’ve filled out some,” he said easily. “And I still shoot hoops.” This time she didn’t seem to notice when he stroked her hair. “I remember that day. It was at the end of the summer, before my senior year. In three months you’d gone from being that pesty little Sexton kid to Sexy Sexton with a yard of the most incredible chestnut hair, and these great-looking legs you used to show off in teeny little shorts. You were such a brat. And you made my mouth water.”
    “You were always looking at Julie Newton.”

    “No, I was pretending to look at Julie Newton while I looked at you. Then you just happened to stroll by the court that day. You’d been to Lester’s Store, because you had a bottle of soda. Grape soda.”
    She lifted a brow. “That’s quite a memory you’ve got.”
    “Hey, these are the turning points in our lives. You said, ‘Hi, Brady. You look awful hot. Want a sip?’” He grinned again. “I almost took a bite out of my basketball. Then you flirted with me.”
    “I did not.”
    “You batted your eyes.”
    She struggled with a giggle. “I’ve never batted my eyes.”
    “You batted them then.” He sighed at the memory. “It was great.”
    “As I remember it, you were showing off, doing layups and hook shots or whatever. Macho stuff. Then you grabbed me.”
    “I remember grabbing. You liked it.”
    “You smelled like a gym locker.”
    “I guess I did. It was still my most memorable first kiss.”
    And hers, Vanessa thought. She hadn’t realized she was leaning back against his shoulder and smiling. “We were so young. Everything was so intense, and so uncomplicated.”
    “Some things don’t have to be complicated.” But sitting there with her head feeling just right on his shoulder, he wasn’t so sure. “Friends?”
    “I guess.”
    “I haven’t had a chance to ask you how long you’re staying.”
    “I haven’t had a chance to decide.”
    “Your schedule must be packed.”
    “I’ve taken a few months.” She moved restlessly. “I may go to Paris for a few weeks.”
    He picked up her hand again, turning it over. Her hands had always fascinated him. Those long, tapering fingers, the baby-smooth palms, the short, practical nails. She wore no rings. He had given her one once—spent the money he’d earned mowing grass all summer on a gold ring with an incredibly small emerald. She’d kissed him senseless when he’d given it to her, and she’d sworn never to take it off.
    Childhood promises were carelessly broken by adults. It was foolish to wish he could see it on her finger again.
    “You know, I managed to see you play at Carnegie Hall a couple of years ago. It was overwhelming. You were overwhelming.” He surprised them both by bringing her fingers to his lips.