People didn’t touch me.

But Will did.

I forgot what warmth had felt like.

Until he held my hand.

“Dinner.” He squeezed my hand and let it fall against my side before he nodded to the busy main street of Seaside where families ran back and forth between ice cream and taffy shops like sugar addicts. “It’s the least I can do.”

“For?”

He grinned. “For actually not sucking today.”

I smacked him in the shoulder. It was a kneejerk reaction. He laughed harder and rubbed the spot.

“I see you still know how to hit pretty hard.”

“And you’re still a sarcastic ass,” I said sweetly.

“Always will be.” He winked.

My diaphragm refused to work.

I nearly stopped breathing.

Why did he have to remind me how easy it had been between us? Because in a life full of harsh realities — he’d always made me realize one thing about love.

In the beginning, it should be easy.

Involuntary.

Like sucking the sweet salty air through my teeth and exhaling in the same breath.

Love was as simple as the air surrounding us.

And between us, it had been more than natural; it had been effortless. Love shouldn’t start out hard, the struggles happen once you’re together long enough to realize that the other person isn’t perfect, and the anger comes when you blame them for not living up to expectations.

I knew it well.

Because it had been easy.

Until it was so hard that I bailed.

I didn’t recognize the dark restaurant we walked into. Will gripped my hand and led me into one of the back corners, where a table was set up for us.

Water. Not wine.

Just another reminder that I was to be on my best behavior.

And like I needed another kick to the gut, Will handed the wine list back to the server and asked to have the wine glasses removed.

“You can have wine even though I can’t,” I mumbled, looking down at my menu. “I don’t care.”

“I care,” was all he said.

More silence blanketed us.

Tears tried to force their way onto my cheeks.

The last time we’d had dinner was the night before we broke up.

The night before he told me he was going to marry me.

The night I betrayed us.

I’d ordered chicken.

He’d had steak and told me that he wanted three kids, and even though we were young, I laughed and said I wanted that for us too.

He had no idea that I was high the entire meal.

Or that all I could focus on was getting my next hit.

Or that I was willing to do anything to get it.

Anything.

We were the epitome of the awkward dinner date, it was probably just as painful watching us as it was to be there.

“You didn’t have to do this.” I closed my menu and set it on the table. “We could have just eaten at the house.”

“We could have.” He didn’t look up. “But the house doesn’t have paparazzi that need to see how good you can be for the cameras. The house doesn’t give us free press.”

My stomach sank.

I suddenly felt like I was going to puke. “So we’re not really celebrating?”

“We’re still celebrating.” Will set the menu down and reached for my hands, I jerked them both away, hating that they were trembling as much as my lower lip. Do not cry. Hold them in. Don’t let anyone see weakness.

I suddenly took in the scene. The dark restaurant. A few photographers seated by the window watching us.

An older couple sat at the table nearest, one of them had a cell phone out.

And a few tweens walked in and pointed.

Suddenly sick, I took a sip of water.

“Do you know what you want?” Will asked gently as the waiter approached.

“I want to leave,” I said in a low voice. “Please.”

Will frowned. “Ang, this is part of the job.”

“The job,” I repeated. “See that’s the thing, Will. I don’t want to be your freaking job. I don’t want you to smile at me about going to dinner, I don’t want you to talk about celebrating when all you’re really talking about is free publicity. I just spent eight hours doing my damnedest to be a good actress, and you’re asking me to do it again through dinner.” I stood. “Don’t.” I leaned over until we were nearly face-to-face. “Because I don’t think you’re going to like the results.”

Will stood, placing his hands on the table until we were nearly nose-to-nose. “Are you threatening me?”

“I will not hesitate to throw a plate at your face if you make me do this again. I’m exhausted. I want a shower. A hot meal where I can get cheese on my face and not see it in tomorrow’s news. And if I’m being completely honest I would probably shove a steak knife into that cold bitter heart of yours for a sip of white wine.”

Will tilted my chin toward him with nothing but his thumb and forefinger, his eyes darted between my mouth and my eyes.

My tongue slid out and wet my bottom lip.

And before I knew what was happening he was kissing me.

Parting my lips with his tongue, piercing my heart with every press of his lips against mine, and swallowing every moan that erupted from my shameless body.

He tore away from me too soon.

I touched my mouth with my hand.

Just in time for his startled gaze to return to stone. “Now we can go home.”

I was too shocked to slap him.

Too hurt to move.

“Let’s go.” He grabbed my arm and led me through the restaurant and I was numb all over again.

I might have used drugs just as badly as they used me.

I was a lot of things.

But I’d never used people the way Will had just used me.

And suddenly I felt like that dirty drug addict all over again.

But worse.

Because this time it wasn’t drugs staring at me in the face, judging me, making me feel dirty.

It was the man I used to love.

I STORMED OUT of the restaurant, blindly walked down the boardwalk, and ignored Will’s yells.

Cameras flashing.

Whispering.

Pointing.

I tripped on my flip flop again.

And ran like hell.

I ran until my legs burned.

Until the threat of people taking pictures of me faded as my legs created distance between me and them.

The minute my feet hit the sand, I grabbed my sandals and ran harder.

The salty ocean air hit me in the face, mixing with the mist from the waves. Two years ago, my only goal had been to reinvent myself and ruin friends in the process. I was willing to do anything to be on top again.

Two years ago, I wouldn’t have just kissed Will I would have seduced him for the cameras.

I would have taken body shots and laughed while he licked tequila and salt off my stomach.

Now the idea of doing any of that for anyone other than myself, made me sick.

My toes squished into the white sand.

I was finally able to breathe. Finally able to think.

I fell to my knees.

The tears came.

Because it was impossible to hold them back anymore. What the hell was I doing? Maybe I didn’t belong in the industry anymore. I wasn’t tough enough for it. Because the minute I wrapped that hard shell around myself, all of the other bad things came with it.

The lies. The drugs. The late nights. The jealousy. The competitiveness. The ruthlessness.

I didn’t know how to separate the two because they’d been so closely intertwined for such a long time.

My tears dropped onto the sand, only to be washed away by the tide as it slowly crept past my body, soaking into my clothes, pressing the drenched fabric against my shivering skin.

“If you’re thinking about drowning yourself, might I suggest a pool? A hell of a lot warmer,” came Demetri’s familiar voice.

My head jerked up.

His blond hair looked sticky against his sweaty forehead. He was wearing tennis shoes and shorts, and had sweat running down the middle of his ridiculously tanned and built chest.

“You run now?” I blurted.

He grinned. “Yeah well, apparently when you get older you can’t eat shit every day and not see it turn into more shit on your body, plus it helps with the anxiety.”