♫ Sweet you rock
And sweet you roll
Lost for you I'm so lost for you
You come crash into me ♪
(Dave Matthews Band—Crash into me)

Coralie wasn't sure how long she remained hypnotized by those emerald gems one would call eyes. In Chester's case, she believed they were crystal balls, or mirages meant to draw you in and devour your soul. Had hours passed? Days? Maybe minutes? Who knew?

"You okay, Cora?" His raspy voice detached her from her reverie and grounded her. "You look... lost."

Oh, she was lost, all right. Lost in confusion, in questions like why was he there? Why in that town, in that building? Why in front of her, handsome and mysterious as the last time she'd encountered his cheery disposition?

And why didn't he seem surprised to see her? His gaze glossed over her as if he'd hung out with her yesterday, at a bar where they'd taken a few shots and made out in the bathroom. As if they hadn't been estranged for years, too busy in their adult lives to reach out and check on one another.

"How... are you here?" She struggled to part her lips, to communicate with her brain and make her tongue work, because it was heavy, cotton-like, and drunk. "In... New York?"

"Oh, yeah." He laughed and tossed his hair back. "I've lived here for several years, actually." He was so casual, speaking with such nonchalance, that Coralie had no idea how to react. Had he expected her to know he was in the city? They weren't friends on social media, and didn't have each other's numbers anymore. How could she have found out?

"Several years?" She clapped her mouth shut upon realizing her jaw had been drooping.

"And I've seen you in the building a lot in the past few weeks, too. But you..." He tilted his head and fixed on her as if scanning through her skin for signs of her feelings. "You never saw me, apparently. Damn, good thing I wasn't paying attention today, huh? You would have walked by me like every other day, with no clue it was me. Good ol' Chester, your former bestie."

Me, he says. Bestie. As if nothing ever happened, as if our friendship was... intact.

Her fists clenched, but she stuffed them behind her back so he wouldn't notice. Did he have any inkling how angry she'd been with him? And how sad to lose him from her life? How she still held a grudge against him for disappearing? She'd spent no quality time with him since the night of her near-rape. The night they'd been partying together, and he'd ditched her to go enjoy a threesome with two intoxicated bombshells he'd met seconds before. Did he remember how all their common friends—minus Delilah—had accused him of abandoning her? Of leaving her with the dude who ended up dragging her to a hotel room to attempt to have his way with her? For so long, she'd presumed that was why they'd stopped talking; because Chester felt guilty and had no means to seek forgiveness. That, or he was embarrassed because all their party buddies had taken Coralie's side.

To Coralie, there had been no sides. She'd never blamed him for what had occurred in that room, with that foul-mouthed, black-hearted devil. On how many occasions had she left Chester alone to go sleep with some random dude? Granted, no one had tried to rape him, and if they'd attempted it, he'd have punched them in the throat... but she refused to be so hypocritical.

Surely he'd been aware of their friends insulting him, calling him a bad person, an enabler, a disgusting jerk who valued his sexscapades over the life of his best friend. Yet here he was now, talking to her as if they'd never been through that torment. As if he'd brushed off all their crude comments with a snort and a snap.

"New York City, huh?" She focused on his arms to not plunge into his eyes, that she wasn't sure she'd be able to escape from. "I always took you for a West coast guy."

"I was," he said, pulling on the leather strap over his shoulder—a guitar bag, from the looks of it. "But my boyfriend dumped me, and I had connections here for my poetry. And one of my editors lives here, too, and she put me up for a few months while I gathered my bearings. So yeah... New York City."

Involuntarily, Coralie ground her teeth. She couldn't prevent a slither of jealousy from forming in her gut. It had been years since she'd felt that way towards Chester. Years since she'd had to endure listening to his escapades while pretending she wasn't envious. Or jealous. Or both. Because while they were only friends, there was always a deeper connection between them. She had seen him naked. She had slept with him. And they'd had so much fun together, breaking rules and beds, risking their freedom and sanity, endangering themselves with abuse of alcohol and, for him, drugs.

Bumping into him today, she recalled that Chester was hot, and she also recalled the sensual body hidden under those clothes. She'd never forget how he'd pulled her against his chiseled chest and nibbled at her earlobe and dug his fingers into her lower spine. How he'd fucked her senseless into the early dawn, and kissed her forehead as they parted ways and returned to being best buddies.

She knew how to separate feelings and physical attraction, but with him, it had always been difficult. They were so close, on the same level with their beliefs and interests, which strengthened their bond and made it harder and harder to not fall for him. But Chester was a player; the fact that he'd had a boyfriend recently was shocking to her. He rarely got into relationships, and if he did, they weren't monogamous.

"Last I heard, you were rocking out in San Fran, no?" He switched his sunglasses from one hand to the other. "Then out of nowhere I see you here, marching past me as if you'd never known me. My, how the times change."

Coralie narrowed her gaze. "Stop it. I would have said something if I'd recognized you. Your hair..." she almost reached out to touch the blond curls, "it used to be shorter, no? And with those glasses over your eyes... forgive me for not noticing."

"You're forgiven. You're always forgiven, Cora. Someone as special as you would never be on my shit list. I've missed you, more than I expected to. No lie, you wander into my thoughts pretty often." There was a melody to every word he said, a delightful tune in his tone. It had always been that way; Chester was a poet, a musician, an artist. Anything he attempted, he succeeded at. And as a ghost-writer reporter, his insane talent came in handy and allowed him to always have something to write about.

"Are you still reporting?" She didn't want to be rude and check the time, but she had no doubt Nikita was upstairs waiting for her. Yet she wasn't ready to say goodbye—or see you later—to Chester. Who knew when she'd meet with him again, in such a massive town.

He smiled. "Sure am. Working for a few online sources while publishing poems and strumming my guitar at dive bars. And I occasionally record stuff, too." He pointed at the ceiling, as if indicating upstairs—as if claiming he recorded at her label.

"Wait... here?" She choked on her saliva. "You've been in the studio here? Poisoned Paradise Records? For real?"

He chuckled, and bit his lip in that seductive way he always used to, letting his tongue linger there for a few extra seconds. Coralie melted, and she hated it. "You're cute," he said, adjusting his bag straps. "But no. They're not the only label in the building, though they have asked me for some samples before. I'm on the floor below you, in a private office rented out by the online paper I write for. But I do venture up to the other labels, too. I've visited several floors in this place."

"Okay." She dragged her fingers through her hair and blew out her cheeks. "Then how have I not seen you until now? Do we have different schedules, or something? Or are you always incognito? Or avoiding me?"

He chuckled again, louder this time. His hand whipped out to grasp her arm, and he squeezed. "You're in your own little world, Coralie Watson. And you're adorable, seriously." She caught a whiff of his coffee breath and tried not to wrinkle her nostrils at the faint hint of cigarette in it. "If you knew how many places we've been in together and you've been too distracted to pay attention... you'd lose your mind." As he stood closer, she did lose her mind, smelling his cologne—an earthy, elegant scent she wanted to wrap herself in and never let go. "That darling coffee shop, next door? I go there, too. I don't want to sound stalker-ish, but I've watched you there often."

She held her breath and grappled to meet his gaze. "I knew someone was looking at me. I always had that vibe, but never identified you." She laughed. "You're good. Real good."

"Speaking of coffee," he released her, backed away, and drew his phone from his jeans pocket, "do you want to grab some later? Catch up? I kind of need to be somewhere right now, but I'd love to chat with you, Cora. It's been too long. I'm sure we have plenty to tell each other."

How was she supposed to resist that grin? Those abnormally long eyelashes batting in interest? That subtle, seductive timbre that had once haunted her dreams? "Well..."

How was she supposed to say no?

She pulled out her phone, ignoring the missed call from Nikita, and glanced at her calendar. She had to work at the bar that night, but if she managed to get out of the office early... coffee with Chester was do-able.

A tiny, irritating voice rang in the back of her head.

What about Michael? What about Ryan?

She shoved the voice down. Michael had texted her earlier that he'd be in meetings all day and wouldn't be able to call her until tomorrow. And Ryan... well, they weren't technically together, were they? She didn't owe him anything. She didn't have to explain her comings and goings to him.

And this was Chester; not some dude she'd plucked off the street or found slumped over a bar counter. Not someone she'd drop her drawers for and sleep with, despite already being involved with two other men. This was a friend from her past, someone she'd once cared deeply about, and who wanted to catch up. It was innocent, friendly, and painless. Where was the harm in that?

Michael would understand, and wouldn't reprimand her for hanging out with a former friend. And Ryan... he could get jealous, but nothing near Jayden's level. And if he threw a fit...

Then he can go fuck himself. I'm allowed to have male friends.

She typed into her calendar, 'coffee with Chester?' and offered him a weak smile. "Honestly... yes, I'd like that. Let's hang out later. That would be awesome. What's your number?"

♥♥♥