Shooting For The Moon by Renee
ft Justin Timberlake

Hands touch, eyes meet
Sudden silence, sudden heat
Hearts leap in a giddy whirl
He could be that boy
But I’m not that girl

A masculine hand bumped against hers and brown eyes jerked up, torn away from the glass of champagne that she was reaching for to clash with a familiar pair of sparkling blue orbs.

And, like always, her heart was suddenly in her throat, making it nearly impossible to breathe, her cheeks beginning to burn under his smile.

“Hey, Maggie. Jumpy much?”

She forced a smile in return, trying to be discreet about the way her hand was shaking as she lifted the glass. “I’m always jumpy, Justin.”

“I know.” He laughed quietly, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Having fun?”

“I guess.” Her eyes darted around nervously. “I don’t really know everybody . . .”

“Surely the lucky guy who brought you can introduce you around.” Turning his head, he looked out over the crowd. “Which one is he?”

“I . . . uh, I came alone.”

An eyebrow rose sharply in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s a shame.” His eyes zeroed in on the champagne in her hand. “If you came alone . . . are you sure you should be drinking?”

“I . . . yeah. It’s all right. I came in a cab, so I’ll have to call one to get home. It’s not like I’ll be driving anywhere.” She swallowed thickly, twisting the glass in her hand, deliberately omitting that suddenly it seemed as if getting a little drunk was the only way she was going to make it through the night. “Being here alone gives me a perfectly good reason to take advantage of the small perks, anyway. Right?”

“Mmmm.” The hum that escaped his throat was thoughtful. “Why?”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Why . . . what?”

“Why are you here alone?”

“Oh. Well . . .” Quickly, she searched for an answer. “I’m just a lowly management assistant . . .”

“You’re our scheduling specialist, Mags. That’s not lowly.”

“That’s just a fancy way of saying timekeeper.” The corners of her mouth kicked up in a small smile as the familiar nickname rang in her ears. “Anyway, I’m not exactly blessed with the connections you have, or I would’ve brought a Backstreet Boy or something.”

“You wouldn’t have dared.” He laughed openly this time, tilting his head to the side as he looked her over, taking in the way her body seemed to gravitate toward the wall, as if she wanted to just crawl right through so she couldn’t be seen. “You’ve been with us two years and we still haven’t completely broken you out of your shell, have we?”

She arched an eyebrow at him, taking a long sip of her drink and wondering if he seriously thought she’d forget that he knew better. “Apparently not.”

“I’ll . . .we’ll have to work harder on that.” His hands emerged from his pockets, reaching out to pick up two glasses of red wine, and a wink was sent her way before he began to turn. “Save me a dance, okay?”

“Sure.” The answer was quiet as she watched him walk away, dodging the couples dancing on the floor so that he wouldn’t spill the drinks he was carrying. Her eyes followed him across the room, halting only when her gaze clashed with the angry glare of his date, brown eyes that were identical to her own burning a hole right through her. “Or not.”

With a silent curse, she turned to stare blankly in the other direction, leaning against the wall and assuming her usual wallflower position, staring out the large sliding glass doors on the far side of the room, opened strategically to allow party goers to come and go as they pleased, making sure that any and everyone could see exactly who was coming in and going out. Her gaze moved around the cobblestone on the other side of the glass, memorizing the patterns in the flowerbeds surrounding the patio, the plants making short shadows across the stone as the sun began to set.

If tradition held true, she could just stand in this exact spot until everyone began to leave, then she could move out the door after them, nobody being the wiser that she had even been there. As always, there would be no offers to dance, no conversations initiated . . . they would simply leave her here to become acquainted with the alcohol.

By now, she was an expert on the arrangement of snack trays, knew exactly which wine went with which flavor of cheese and how the crackers should be laid out to draw attention to the table. She could lay out an array of refreshments in her sleep, everything from the color of the tablecloth to the layout of the napkins and silverware highlighted in detail behind her eyelids. It was information that could come in handy if she ever defied tradition and actually hosted the party, opening her home to this group of coworkers that she’d hoped she could develop friendly bonds with.

However, she was a stickler for tradition, had no clue how to go about changing it . . . and probably wouldn’t have the guts to change it even if she did know how. Who was she to argue with the world, to overturn the correct order of things?

But tonight, there was already an exception to that routine. He’d spoken to her, acknowledged her presence. And despite her better judgment, that simple thing made her want to smile, filled her with a sudden desire to laugh, to sing and dance. To do any and everything that would break herself out of her usual reserved prison and draw his attention right back to her.

Don’t dream too far
Don’t lose sight of who you are
Don’t remember that rush of joy
He could be that boy
I’m not that girl

Her fingers tightened on the flute of champagne, forcing the almost happy feeling down, burying it deep so that she wouldn’t be tempted to bring it back out. As she brought the glass to her lips once again, she realized how her hand still trembled, the liquid dancing in its glass prison to a beat that was double the music floating around the room. Sighing deeply, she tipped the glass back, draining the liquid in a few quick swallows, licking her lips to taste the lingering sweetness.

She leaned over to place her empty glass on the table and pick up another, this time the same red wine he’d chosen, and as she immediately took a sip of the new, darker liquid, her eyes moved of their own accord, going back to the other side of the room and landing on the pair of them, laughing with two of his friends over something or other, sipping their wine in a much more refined manner than she’d gulped her champagne just seconds before.

How was it possible that after a whole month he could still get under her skin with a simple touch and a wink? How could one word from him make her heart feel as if it would fly straight out of her chest and leave her to melt into a puddle on the floor?

And why did it feel as if her heart were breaking all over again as she stood here, really seeing them together for the first time?

It wasn’t as if what they’d had amounted to much in the long run, anyway. Four month’s worth of dates and a working relationship weren’t anything to stack up next to what she knew he was used to, what she figured he’d always been able to have. He was the type who wanted the long-lasting kind of relationship, where the two became a pair, learned about each other every day . . . fell in love.

While the very idea was foreign to her at best, she’d wanted that kind of relationship as well, had always wanted it. She’d been floored when he’d come around, obviously interested, doing little things to make her laugh, inviting her to lunch and helping her get some semblance of a sense of belonging. Her heart had begun to hope, forcing her to acknowledge that the possibility was there and swinging the door of opportunity wide open, albeit with an unrelenting, low-lying unease. After some serious soul searching, she’d finally been willing to throw all caution to the wind, to drop all those insecurities that had plagued her since childhood, to let go of all the let-downs she’d experienced and, as one of her favorite songs said, shoot for the moon.

So, when he’d smiled at her across their lunch table, laying out a casual suggestion for a date, she’d accepted willingly, immediately being rewarded with that bright grin that sent so many teens and young women just like herself into a tizzy. The next night, she’d taken the first steps into a bliss like she’d never known, suddenly found herself anxious to begin each day, impatient for the next time she’d see him to roll around.

For those few months, she’d thought things were going perfectly, had become comfortable with the way they were progressing. She’d developed that warm, fuzzy feeling that she’d heard so much about but had never experienced for herself. And it had been wonderful, exquisite and every other adjective that could possibly apply. The terrified unease stemming from the idea that she was falling in love with him had quickly dissipated, melted away almost overnight, allowing her to happily embrace it, to welcome it - and him - with open arms.

But when her sister had laid eyes on him, had flipped her hair over her shoulder with that famous supermodel smile . . . well, that had been the end of that fantasy.

The special little place that she’d created, using his care and concern as a foundation, had really just been an illusion and her solid walls of protection had turned to glass, shattering and falling down around her with the realization that, yet again, she’d let her guard down and had let herself fall. And this time, she only had herself to blame.

For as long as she could remember, she’d known exactly where her station was: to mingle among the ordinary and live a mundane, ordinary life. That was the best that she could hope for, because, in all honesty, she knew that she wasn’t anything special. It’d been beaten into her head enough for her to know that it couldn’t be anything other than true. But she’d been an idiot and had tried to step out of that mold, tried to find something extraordinary to latch onto, hoping to find something just as extraordinary buried down somewhere inside herself.

Somewhere deep in her mind, she’d known from the start that a guy like him could never be truly happy with a girl like herself. He was charming, charismatic, talented and . . . and famous. The international superstar. On the flipside, she was quiet, reserved, shy and just your everyday nobody. The shy violet who was in charge of scheduling his days, arranging every detail of the group’s daily regimen.

Definitely not the kind of girl that he needed. That she was sure he usually looked for.

She’d been ignorant in trying to leave her assigned place . . . and despite the lingering memories of the joy that she’d experienced for that brief span of time, she knew that it had been a lesson well learned. Now she would think twice before trying anything so far out there again, would know what her limitations were and would learn to respect the boundaries laid out for her.

As always, she’d come crashing down from her fairy tale and back into the real world, landing in a reality where she would always be the odd girl out and happy endings really didn’t exist. At least, not for her kind. And she was well aware that she wasn’t alone in this particular reality, that there were probably thousands, maybe even millions, of other people out there who shared the same dismal future.

Every day, she trudged through the life that the fates had chosen for her, the daily grind that seemed to stretch on forever, a sometimes oddball mixture of sleep, work and home. She’d accepted that this was the way it should be - would always be - and had forced herself into a contented toleration of her circumstances.

Every so often we long to steal
To the land of What Might Have Been
But that doesn’t soften the ache we feel
When reality sets back in

But even that couldn’t stop her mind from running away and hiding in the fantasies that - even now - still existed.

At night, her dreams were flooded with images of him, speculations of how it could have been had it worked out between them. Memories of a comedy movie that he’d taken her to see, a dinner at one of the most romantic restaurants she’d ever been to and a laugh they’d shared over one thing or another floated before her, tormenting her as she slept.

The recollection of a dance on the beach, the sand shifting beneath her bare feet and his arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly to him as he hummed along with the song floating out from whatever country club they’d visited was a frequent screenplay, looping repeatedly, vividly in her mind, bringing tears to her eyes even when she wasn’t conscious.

“Funny how sometimes life just changes overnight . . . magically everything you do turns out so right . . .” Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against the wall, knowing that nobody would pay attention to her anyway, and let the soft words escape her lips, so quiet that they weren’t more than a whisper.

Even now, if she stared hard enough at the wall or ceiling or whatever was in front of her, focusing all of her internal strengths on the effort, she could conjure up a nearly cinematic reproduction of the dance, right down to the clarity of the stars shining overhead and the surround sound of the waves lapping quietly on the shore. She could smell the mix of sea water and his cologne . . . and briefly she would wonder if he’d changed the woodsy scent since then, her mind scrambling frantically to try and associate a different smell to him, but failing miserably. A faint tingly feeling would crawl over her back, mimicking the movements of his hands, the pressure of his fingers as he’d tried to pull her even closer than she already was.

Then there was the memory of his smile. That bright smile that could express the joy or humor or uncertainty or . . . or what could’ve been mistaken for love without him having to say a word. She’d never seen a smile that was so readily mirrored in someone’s eyes, that could light up a dark room or brighten a day faster. If there was ever a smile that was worth a million dollars . . . it would be his.

Sometimes, she would find herself day dreaming, drifting off into an alternate universe that existed only to her. There, she could pretend that things were just as she’d wanted. She could lose herself in the imaginations of what she’d once hoped would be in her future. Small, simple things that most others would take for granted, but that she knew she would have cherished if only she’d gotten the chance.

A smile in the morning, over a cup of coffee or tea.

The feeling of a masculine hand holding hers, fingers laced tightly, and that sense of security that surely would come with it.

Being able to see him across the room, her heart giving that little skip that she’d only gotten to experience briefly.

Sitting together on a couch or chair, tucked under a blanket, happy just to be sharing the same space.

Having strong arms wrapped around her in one of those hugs that only he could give, leaving her feeling protected, cherished and comfortable all at once.

That certainty, knowing without a doubt that not only did she love, but was loved in return.

A kiss, whether it be a quick peck on the lips or a knee-weakening connection of souls, just because they were standing there together and could.

And, oh, did she ever remember his kisses.

Absently, her fingers came up to touch her lips, willing herself to capture those memories and never let them go. How he’d always managed to taste of peppermint, she’d never know, but she was certain that she’d never forget that unique flavor. Nor would she forget the look in his eyes just before, that odd glint that screamed how he knew exactly what he was about to do, his smile giving away just how much he anticipated it, how much he knew he’d enjoy it. She could even feel his fingers against her cheek, moving over her back, in her hair . . . sometimes focused in one area, other times moving in a combination of the three.

There were the times that they’d been talking over one thing or another, maybe arguing playfully over some trivial little thing, and he’d just leaned down to her, knowing that he could stop each and every one of her thought processes with a simple, brief touch of his lips. And then there were the times that they’d been saying goodnight, either in her living room or on her front porch, and he’d put his arms around her, smiling against her lips before letting his mouth settle over hers firmly, pulling back at just the right time, giving her a wink and that devilish grin before walking away, leaving her wanting more.

But her favorites were the times that he’d left her breathless, one such occasion being after the dance she could recall so clearly.

The soft music had stopped, a mid-tempo song immediately following, but he’d kept them at the same slow, swaying pace, never loosening his hold on her as he pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. Then, he’d been kissing her, nudging her lips apart with his own, one arm staying looped around her waist as the other moved upward, his fingers sliding into her hair. Her arms had tightened around his neck, her own fingers tangling in his hair - practically clutching at the short strands that he’d finally allowed to grow until they were just long enough to brush the skin of his neck - and she’d brought herself to her tiptoes in the sand, knowing he would pick up on her readiness to lose herself in him.

She hadn’t noticed when her feet had left the ground, too caught up in the moment to even care that they were in an extremely public place. Her entire focus had been on how her stomach had turned upside down, how her heart had been flying in her chest . . . how her entire body had felt as if it were singing in a thousand different voices. Her lungs had tightened painfully from the lack of air, but she hadn’t cared one bit, positive that she would’ve gladly died right there in his arms, taking that small piece of heaven with her as she went.

Of course, all wonderful things must come to an end and he’d finally had to pull away, gasping for breath himself as his lips brushed softly over her cheeks, jaw and chin. With a smile, he’d lowered her back down to the sand, his hand ‘accidentally’ moving downward to rest against the curve of her rear, his fingers giving her a gentle squeeze. Her wide eyes had jerked up just in time to catch his innocent expression before he’d begun laughing softly, cupping her face so that his thumbs could brush over the redness spreading quickly over her cheeks.

“Hmmm. I never knew shy violets could turn red.”

The moment had been precious and she knew she’d never forget a second of it. The feel of his body pressed against hers, the tightness of his arms around her, the pressure of his lips, that unique mixture of hard muscles and soft skin that was totally him, the weightless feeling that had taken over her body, the tenderness in his touch, the heaving of his chest as he tried to breathe, the soft sound of joy that laced his laughter . . . every little thing about it was engrained in her memory, available for review whenever she wanted it.

Yes, her dreamland was much more desirable than the real world she lived in . . . but there was always that painful crash when she was brought out of the clouds, her feet touching ground once again in a reality where everything that she’d loved so dearly was now someone else’s. That dull ache throbbed, taking over her entire soul and leaving her wanting to curl up and die, anything to escape the emptiness, the loneliness that loomed all around her, covering her like a thick blanket of darkness.

And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

Blithe smile, lithe limb
She who’s winsome, she wins him
Gold hair with a gentle curl
That’s the girl he chose
And heaven knows
I’m not that girl

Her eyes opened, moving across the room once again, training on the place where they still stood, talking to different people this time.

Taking another drink of the wine in her hand, she let her gaze travel over the pair, unable to deny that they were a beautiful couple. They looked as if they were made to be with each other . . . but then, Jordan’s body was sculpted to be universal, making for an eye-catching match with any of the dozens of men she’d dated in the years since she’d landed on the cover of whatever magazine it was that had discovered her.

The issue had been a sell-out across the nation, sent everyone buzzing about the gorgeous new member of the modeling community . . . and Jordan Rinehardt had quickly become Jordana Heart, a household name to anyone who knew anything about current pop culture.

She’d always been a prima donna, not just requiring, but demanding only the absolute best in material things and men, never lifting a finger to work for it. Everything had always been handed directly to her, the fake smile that she’d perfected winning over even the toughest of adversaries and getting her exactly what she wanted.

It was common knowledge to anyone who’d ever come in contact with her: what Jordana wants, Jordana gets. No questions asked.

Even if it - or he - belonged to someone else, wasn’t available to be had . . . Jordan had always known just how to work it so that she was happy, even if it was just for a few days. The momentary pleasure was worth everyone’s effort, just so long as it fit exactly how she wanted it to fit. And if it didn’t . . . then she’d manipulate it until everything eventually went her way.

Nobody ever mentioned that the exquisite Miss Heart was one of a pair of twins, that there was a sister out there somewhere who shared the same birthday, the same parents and the same wide, melting brown eyes . . . and Maggie preferred it that way, knowing that the similarities ended there. They’d been born fraternally, each inheriting the traits of a different side of the family, clearly related without being obvious twins.

Jordan had been molded from their father’s side, the long, golden-blonde hair and naturally thin frame only accenting her nearly perfect facial features. The strong chin, powerful brow and large eyes had made her a photographer’s dream, her well-developed figure grabbing the attention of clothing manufacturers everywhere, paving a golden road to success.

And grabbing the attention of quite possibly every male eye over the globe.

But that wasn’t necessarily a surprise. Maggie had learned early on that, no matter what, her sister would always come out on top where it counted. Success, fortune, fame, possessions . . . love. It didn’t matter what she had to do, who she had to hurt, if it struck her fancy, then she would have it or she would do it. If you were in her way, she’d just run right over you.

Out of the two daughters, Jordan had clearly been the favored sister, receiving her parent’s full attention from the time they were toddlers and just learning to walk. Photos of a little golden-haired girl were all over the house, in frames and albums, decorating the walls and tabletops . . . but the photos of the little girl with wavy hair that was more strawberry than blonde were few and far between, placed in small, simple wooden frames and hidden amongst the larger, much more ornate tributes to the eldest baby. Jordan’s first steps, first birthday, first tooth and first words were all documented carefully in the Baby Book with a large J scripted across the front. The store must’ve been sold out of the books with an M on them, because small, misunderstanding hands were never able to find one among the bookcases in the library.

Even now, when Maggie was living in the house her grandmother had left her - Jordan had turned her nose up at the property, or it would’ve been hers - the décor was based around that same golden-haired girl, the occupant of the residence a victim of their mother’s decorating hand. At first, she’d actually redecorated the entire space, removing the portraits from the walls and replacing them with favorite paintings and other prints, getting rid of the furniture that was lacy and frilly and just not her style, the sleek, clean lines that she loved taking their place, making the home a space that was clearly labeled to be hers.

Her efforts were for naught, for when she’d returned from that first tour with the group, the house had been completely overhauled, even more portraits on the walls, the frilly furniture back in place. With a sigh, she’d just shaken her head and made her way upstairs, resigning herself to living in a home that held no resemblance of being her own.

By that time, she’d grown accustomed to it, was more than aware that the things she treasured were never really hers, but were open territory for a sibling who would take any and everything that she could, determined to keep herself at the forefront of the family. Before they’d entered preschool, Maggie had learned not to love any certain toy too much, vaguely realizing that her sister would scream and whatever it was would be taken away to appease their little angel.

As children that young, it had been toys and books, but as they grew older, the stakes became higher. In elementary and middle school, Maggie had found keeping friends to be nearly impossible, every person she reached out to turning instantly away, gravitating to the more inviting, exciting atmosphere that Jordan exuded. Not surprisingly, by high school, she’d been reduced to a silent, withdrawn ghost of a person, slipping from class to class and around the house as quietly as she could. She never spoke unless she was spoken to and kept her head down, ducking as if she didn’t even want to be seen, let alone approached.

But then Adam Michaels had taken notice, shown interest in finding the voice in this strangely attractive, yet silent girl. She’d been pleased, if uneasy, at the attention, slowly becoming more and more comfortable around him. He’d jokingly taken credit for teaching her how to smile and laugh, shown her that it wasn’t so odd to have her hand held, to be hugged . . . and she’d found that she enjoyed being at the center of someone’s attention, thrived on being able to step out of the shadow that seemed to loom over everything she did.

For about a month, she’d been able to keep it quiet, but, naturally, he’d wanted to meet her family. His request caused an instant dread and she’d had to force herself to invite him inside, pasting a smile on her face as she opened the door. They’d walked into the living room and she’d had to stand back, watching in dismay as his eyes locked on Jordan, standing there with that sweet smile curving her lips, her eyes sending an invitation that no boy would ever be able to resist.

Within a week, Adam and Jordan were the ‘it’ couple that everyone at school talked about, leaving Maggie back in the exact same place she’d been before she’d met him.

“You know, I never thought about the kind of guy shy girls can catch. Keep it up, Maggie.”

Thus began the pattern. She’d quickly grown accustomed to not becoming so attached to any of her boyfriends, knowing with certainty that whatever happiness came from the relationship would be taken away, somehow winding up in Jordan’s grasp.

Eventually, word got around that two or three weeks with Maggie Rinehardt ultimately ended up as a month of bliss with her fox of a sister. Guys came out of the woodwork, seeking her out, doing their best to get what they hoped would be an opportunity in greener pastures.

Of course, not all of them were so totally fake, a few of them actually putting forth the effort to get to know her just because they wanted to, giving her the hope that maybe, just maybe, there was something special about her after all. There had to be something there, something other than her last name that would draw a guy in, make him want to be with her because of the girl that she was. But she was always left alone, wondering if any of them had been picturing her during their time together, or if they’d only been able to see Jordan stalking on the outskirts, waiting for the perfect time to swoop in and take it all away.

But now, years after Jordana had become one of the world’s most recognized supermodels, invading every home on the planet . . . it had finally seemed safe to venture out and reach for a dream that was all Maggie. Anything that would set her apart and finally give her the freedom that she’d always craved. So she’d accepted the job with WEG, starting out in the secretarial staff. Her attention to detail was noted, her pain-staking organizational skills setting her apart from the others, and when Deb Wilson stepped down as the scheduling coordinator for one of Johnny’s top groups, she was given the position.

For the first time, life became interesting. She was able to travel all over with the tour, keeping up with her work during the day and enjoying peaceful nights with a crew that didn’t know her from the clerk at the next Jiffy market, didn’t know who her sister was. A clean slate was before her and she could make herself into anybody that she wanted to be.

She’d found that the crews changed frequently, new faces popping up what seemed to be every few days, and in the first year and a half or so, she’d gone on a fistful of dates. But none of them had stuck, none becoming that serious bond she so desperately wanted.

Then he’d walked by, all smiles as he talked on his cell phone, knocking into her and sending her binder of calendar sheets to the floor, scattering the pages all over the hallway. Instead of continuing his conversation and walking away, as she’d expected, he’d ended the call hurriedly and knelt down next to her, apologizing profusely as he tried to help her put the pages back in order . . .

Blinking rapidly, she tore her eyes away from them, turning her gaze down and into her wine, forcing herself to pass by all the good memories and save herself the mortification of crying in public, even if nobody cared enough to notice.

It hadn’t been his fault, she knew that without a doubt.

He’d known exactly who her sister was, had figured it out when they’d stopped by her parent’s house for her mother’s birthday, intending only to drop off the gift, then leave. Instead, they’d wound up walking through the old familiar halls . . . and she’d been positive that his reaction would be disbelief.

But he’d taken the news in stride, albeit with wide eyes and an arched eyebrow, sending her a small, reassuring smile as her parents raved on and on about what a success their ‘older’ daughter was. They’d insisted on giving him the tour of the house and, out of sheer curiosity, she’d walked along, stopping only to open the door to what had once been her bedroom. Where Jordan’s room had remained untouched, this one had been overhauled completely, turned into a second office, posters of her sister’s magazine covers decorating the walls.

Chewing on her lip, she’d fought not to cry, jumping a little when his arm went around her waist. His eyes had narrowed dangerously as she’d whispered what the room had once been and without a second’s hesitation he’d pulled her to his chest and held her tightly, rocking back and forth in an effort to comfort her. He’d gotten to see first-hand the environment she’d had to grow up in and she’d been glad for it, hoped that maybe he’d understand her even better because of the experience.

When they’d finally gotten back out to his car, he’d simply reached for her hand and laced his fingers through hers, then leaned over to kiss her softly.

“I never understood how a woman as beautiful and amazing as you are could possibly be so shy and withdrawn . . . but now I think I get it.”

So no, it definitely hadn’t been his fault. He’d been good and prepared for the possible meeting.

But then, she didn’t really think that it’d been her own fault, either.

Or maybe it was her fault. Her and her stupid insecurities.

When she’d gotten home that afternoon four weeks ago to find Jordan lounging on the frilly couch in the prissy living room, raving some nonsense about needing to get away and this being the only place for her to go, she’d been caught unprepared, knocked completely off guard. With a mumbled explanation that she needed to get ready to go out, she’d turned and headed upstairs, well aware of the excited look on her sister’s face.

No matter how old she became, she’d always know exactly what that look meant. With each step up the staircase, the past had come rushing back at her, all those times she’d had to look the other way while her twin made off with the prize, never allowing her to have her own taste of satisfied victory. Anger set in quickly, the first time she’d really allowed herself to have any emotions over what she’d had to go through to get to where she was.

She’d dressed in one of her best outfits, had let down her hair so that it hung to her shoulder blades and was working on her makeup when she heard his oddly rhythmic knock at the front door before the sound of it opening carried up the stairs, followed quickly by his familiar voice calling her name. Her mouth had opened, intending to tell him that she’d be right down, but the words had died away when the unmistakable murmurings of a feminine voice at the foot of the stairs had floated up to her.

Breathing deeply, she’d walked out of the room and onto the landing, her eyes focusing sharply on the way Jordan was touching his arm, leaning into him so that he would have ample opportunity to look down the tight-fitting dress painted on her body, working her magic as she’d always done.

“I hope you don’t mind, but Maggie said it would be okay if I came along. It’d be awful to be cooped up in here on such a gorgeous night.”

It was the exact same lie from high school, proving that while they’d grown up, the game was still unchanged. Maggie had recognized the signal instantly, taking the hint that this was a man that Jordan wanted and that she should step back immediately if she didn’t want to get hurt. Determined to ignore the order, she’d moved quietly, stepping toward the stairs, only to freeze when she caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror.

She’d looked over her own reflection, taking in the wavy strawberry blonde hair, rounded cheeks and jaw, large eyes and straight, dignified nose. Her skin had always refused to become deeply tan, but she was far from pale, having a slightly darkened skin tone, evident of time spent out in the sun. Her body wasn’t the pencil-thin size two that was so popular among most guys, her curves making for a healthy size six or eight, a size she’d always been comfortable with. Smaller in stature, she was lucky to be just tall enough for him to rest his chin on the top of her head . . . something he’d joked about constantly, saying it was a sign that they were perfect for each other.

Now, measuring herself against perfectly proportioned Jordan, her height, build, skin tone and features were just limitations, making her appear dwarfish and child-like next to the supermodel downstairs. That familiar choking sensation began, that old uncertainty had leapt up and demolished what little bit of self-confidence she’d worked so hard over so many years to build up, and she could practically feel it crumbling around her, settling to dust at her feet.

Tearing her eyes away from the mirror, she’d taken another look down, taking in the way her sister was sweet-talking him, trying to grab his interest . . . and it had dawned on her how perfectly matched they were for each other. The superstar and the supermodel. A couple made in heaven.

No matter how badly she’d wanted to go down there and fight against everything Jordan was throwing out, she’d known that, between the two of them, there was no contest. It didn’t matter that she loved him, because if there was anything that she was sure of, it was of her sister’s superiority in all things regarding physical appearance. No one could deny that Jordan was the more appealing of the two . . . she always had been and always would be.

And when Maggie had caught the way his eyes moved over her sister, the odd, unreadable expression on his face, her mind had immediately shifted, turning his look into a more adult version of the wanting that those boys in high school had always been struck with. It was as if a switch had been thrown in her, all the fight draining out of her body, leaving her physically, mentally and emotionally drained as she accepted the inevitable fate that was waiting.

The pair below had turned slightly, brown eyes coming up to meet hers, conveying that oh-so-familiar warning message, daring her to come on down and duke it out.

Despite that small voice that was screaming for her to do just that, she’d simply taken a deep breath and leaned over the railing, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from escaping, the burning of her eyes nearly doing her in.

“I . . . I’m not feeling very well. Maybe . . . why don’t you two just go out instead?”

His eyes had widened, moving back and forth between the two women, an entirely different emotion crossing his features this time as he tried to read their facial expressions. When he’d turned his gaze up to her, his eyes had narrowed almost instantly in what could have been confusion as he studied her carefully blank features. The silence had stretched out painfully as he’d stared at her, measuring her carefully before finally giving a quick shake of his head.

“Sure. Why not?”

Jordan had beamed, that triumphant smile making her whole face light up as she’d practically dragged him out the door before he could say anything else . . . she’d prayed for him to say something else. It hadn’t mattered what he would’ve said, one word, two . . . Maggie had simply wanted to hear his voice one last time. But she’d been denied even that small thing, sinking down to her knees on the carpet as the slam of the front door echoed through the newly emptied house.

Despite the fact that she’d practically forced them together, there’d still been that tiny bit of lingering hope, that ounce of belief that he’d change his mind, leave Jordan standing in the driveway and come back inside, the concern he’d always shown her pushing him to check on her, make sure everything was really okay.

The minutes had passed by, each second feeling like an eternity . . . but the door hadn’t opened.

It was over.

She’d pushed him, given him the choice and set him free to make it for himself. He’d known about the past, had known exactly how much it’d hurt her back then, how it would kill her now, and he’d done it anyway. He’d chosen her sister.

Not that she blamed him for it. In all honesty, she would’ve chosen Jordan as well.

The tears had escaped quickly, raining down her face until there was nowhere for them to go but to fall to the floor. With heaving, aching sobs, she’d been rendered immobile, forced to stay right where she was as she mourned the painful loss, her head hanging low as she accepted that, yet again, she’d lost what she cherished, the priceless treasure that she’d grown to love.

As always, she was left alone, crying in a home where she didn’t belong, scrambling to try and put what little bit of a heart she had left back together again, the shattered pieces never quite fitting the way they were supposed to.

What had been the greatest thing to ever happen to her had ended before it’d really had a chance to begin, snatched away by the same hands that had taken everything else from her.

Unable to stand being in that house, knowing that Jordan would come back through the door with that familiar smile, screaming what success she’d had without having to open her mouth, she’d packed up a suitcase and walked out the door, surprised to find that her car was missing, his truck parked to the side of the driveway. Checking her purse, her fingers had instantly found the familiar metal of her keys. Which meant . . . her feet had moved fast, walking back inside, checking the hook by the door where her spare keys had always hung just to find an empty space.

With a groan, she’d fished out her cell phone, quickly punching in the number for a local cab company, and half an hour later, she’d been checking in to a hotel, laying down enough cash to pay for the room for a week.

As she had worked at unpacking her stuff, she’d had to stop to pick up her ringing cell, rolling her eyes when her mother’s number was displayed across the screen. She’d answered and allowed the woman to get through the first line of “Jordan needs the softer bed, let her have the master bedroom” before clicking the phone off and powering it down. Using the hotel phone, she had immediately called the people at Verizon, praying that Johnny wouldn’t have an emergency as she had her cell phone number changed.

By the following Monday, she’d been shocked that the Entertainment sections of the local newspapers weren’t abuzz with the news of the newest celebrity couple. When he’d gone out with her, the paparazzi had quickly realized that she wasn’t anybody newsworthy and had left them alone for the most part. Now that he’d gone out with Jordana . . . well, there really should’ve been pictures upon pictures, splashed across every page while entertainment journalists made some up corny Justin-and-Jordana catch phrases and headlines.

But then, they’d both been in the spotlight for so long, they probably knew ways to keep from being found out.

She’d made her way in to work as usual, as if nothing were wrong, knowing that the guys had flown out to New York for their final two weeks of recording and would then head directly to L.A. for the wrap-up work on the album. With them gone, the office had been quiet . . . quiet enough for her to spend a few hours at the end of the week calling around to local real estate agents, looking to list the house for sale and to find an affordable home for herself. A place she could really call home.

There hadn’t been a bit of concern as to whether or not Jordan was still there, she’d simply listed the property at a reasonable price, handed the keys over to the agent and had sold it within the week.

The agent had requested that Maggie make one last walk through of the house, taking out everything that she may want to keep. Her clothing and necessities had already been removed, but she’d found an interest in the answering machine, cautiously walking over to it, hoping beyond hope that there was a message waiting, that he’d called . . . but there was nothing. No new messages, no old messages. Just a steady red light.

Which meant he hadn’t called. And that made her care even less. All the frilly, lacy garbage left in the house could go. But as she was walking out the door, she turned back, her eyes landing on an older portrait of Jordan, the idea that each painting, print and photo of the supermodel could sell for a very nice price popping up in the back of her mind.

If nothing else, she could use her parent’s favoritism against them to cash in and make some serious money. So the items had been carried out and promptly listed on E-bay, immediately generating thousands of dollars in bids per piece. And she’d gladly shipped each one out, smiling with satisfaction as the last one had traveled out the front door of her new home, not caring one bit how her parents would react when they found someone else living in the family home, all the portraits and photos of their darling daughter gone without a trace.

Her mind had been made up . . . she loved her job, so she’d kept it, but all other ties to her past had been severely cut, leaving only her memory as a reminder of where she’d come from and what she’d been through.

Slowly but surely, what could have been a backbone had begun to develop, strength that she’d never known possible rising up to help her through the whole mess.

And she finally felt as if she was free, able to make it on her own.

Even if it was without the man who’d taught her how to love.

Don’t wish, don’t start
Wishing only wounds the heart
I wasn’t born for the rose and pearl . . .

But where was that backbone now? Where was the strength, the freedom, the self-sufficiency?

Now, when she needed to be solid and strong for herself, when she had to actually face him, had to face them . . . any kind of defenses that she’d built up vanished instantly and all she could do was stand here, forever the wallflower, still unable to do anything that would show them that she was fine.

That’s because you aren’t fine. And you know it.

Her head shook back and forth as she swirled what remained of her drink in the glass, trying not to laugh as she cajoled herself, trying her best to keep the thoughts that had been floating at the back of her mind from coming forward.

Desperate for anything else to focus on, her eyes came up, landing on them again, and she noticed how his arms stayed at his sides, his stance leaning away from Jordan as if he was trying to keep a distance between them. In fact, as she watched them, she realized that any physical contact between the two was solely initiated by her sister. Not once did he move to touch her, to hold her . . . Maggie’s eyes widened as it hit her that they hadn’t even danced since she’d arrived.

Blinking in astonishment, she thought back over their time together. He was a touchy guy, always needing to have some sort of physical connection. He’d never shied away from her, always wanted to have her next to him, his arm around her waist or her shoulders, holding her hand, even keeping his hand on the small of her back. It was as if he’d been afraid she’d disappear.

But here . . . this was the exact opposite of the Justin Timberlake she knew.

She watched as Jordan leaned forward, adding something to the conversation that made the man standing in front of her laugh, but Justin . . . he simply raised his glass, taking a sip of wine and turning his head slightly away, masking how he rolled his eyes.

Huh?

Her brow furrowed in confusion and she turned away, a literal question mark entering her mind as she tried to make sense of the whole thing. Perhaps he was sick of Jordan already . . . she did tend to grate on the nerves after a while. But if that was the case, then why were they here together? He could’ve had anybody he wanted with him tonight, yet he was still with her.

Or was he?

She’d seen Jordan entering the room as she was rounding the corner into the hall that led to the ballroom. The blonde hadn’t been wearing her trademark leather jacket, so she’d just assumed that her sister had been here a while and was returning from the restroom or something of that nature.

Could it be . . . was it possible . . .?

That familiar hope began to rise and she stomped it down immediately, not wanting to deal with it. She knew the chances that she was wrong were astronomical, and the odds were definitely not in her favor. It was all in her mind, just a mild wishing for there to be something off kilter between them so that she could tell herself that there was still a chance, that if she wanted it enough, her fantasies could become reality again.

But she’d done her fair share of wanting, had done enough wishing to fill the sky with stars and she was ready to be finished with it. The battle had been fought and she’d lost. She even had the emotional scarring and a tad bit of insanity to prove it.

With a quick shake of her head, she finished off the last of her wine and set the glass down, licking her lips before quietly making her way around the room and out the sliding glass doors. Her high heels tapped smartly against the patio, the sound echoing in the eerie quiet of the outdoors as she walked toward the flowerbeds.

When she saw the violets planted there, deep purple underneath the sinking sun, she couldn’t keep the smile from forming, her mind immediately flashing back to the first flowers he’d given her . . . a small basket of violets just like these. One look at them and she’d lost her focus for the entire day, just wanting to sit there and stare at them. He’d stopped outside her doorway, catching her red-handed, that grin lighting his face as he laughed softly. From then on, he’d made it a habit to send her a new arrangement every week, joking that he’d found her weakness.

He’d steered away from the typical, never sending the roses that one would have expected, but thinking each one through, choosing gorgeous orchids, tulips, lilies, azaleas . . . even a basket of daisies. And each one had come with a hand-written card explaining the choice, how it reminded him of her, showing how much of himself he was putting into the effort just to make her day.

Inhaling deeply, she took in the heavenly scent of the flowers, choking up a little at how she’d wished that they’d had a chance to make it to the roses stage. The others had been beautiful and she’d loved them all, taking photos of each arrangement so that she’d be sure to remember them after they’d wilted, but there was just an elevated level of emotion attached to a bouquet of roses . . .

She’d never been lucky enough to receive roses and it was entirely likely that she never would.

Although, for a while, it’d seemed that maybe she’d get there . . .

She sat on the bench by the flowerbed, careful that her black dress didn’t snag, swallowing around the lump as she thought back an hour, to when he’d expressed concern over her drinking, shown that he knew full well about her intolerance for alcohol. A simple glass of wine could make her a little tipsy, and she knew that it hadn’t been smart for her to double up with the champagne earlier, but she couldn’t take it back now.

The last time she’d let herself drink, he’d been there to watch over her, to make sure that she was safe, and she could still remember how it’d felt to wake up in his arms, to know that he’d been right beside her, holding her all night. There hadn’t been any expectations, no pressure, nothing to regret . . . just his arms wrapped around her, her head cradled comfortably against his shoulder, his lips barely grazing her forehead as they slept.

The slight buzzing had already started, humming in the back of her head, a warning that within the next hour or so, she should probably start thinking about heading for home. This time, though, she only had an empty house to go to. And that showed that she was really thinking things through . . . just another stroke of brilliance on her part.

Her heart thumped painfully in her chest and she dropped her head, the first tear sliding down her cheek as she let the wishes finally come.

A wish for him to hold her again. A wish for him to care again. Another for the flowers and what they’d resembled. And yet another, this one probably the biggest of all . . .

“I wish he’d love me.” The words were whispered, not meant to be heard, but then the skin on her neck began to crawl and she sensed more than heard him approaching, the familiar scent of his cologne drifting around her.

“How do you know he doesn’t?”

Coming from directly in front of her, the masculine voice was gruff, scratchy sounding, as if he had a sore throat. Her hands came up to cover her face, trying to hold back the onslaught of tears his words had triggered.

“Maggie? How do you know he doesn’t?”

He repeated the question and she could feel him moving even closer to her, kneeling down in front of where she sat. With a deep breath, she uncovered her face, trying to wipe the moisture away as she raised her head, refusing to make eye contact, her voice trembling as she tried her best to answer. “Because things like that don’t happen to people like me.”

Concerned blue eyes moved over her features, softening immediately at the sight of her tears, his own hands coming up so that his thumbs could brush the wet tracks away from her skin. “What kind of person are you?”

She swallowed thickly. “Somebody who should’ve known better than to dream so big.” With a sigh, she pushed his hands away. “What are you doing out here, J?”

“You promised me a dance.” A small smile curved his lips as he rested his arms across his bent knee, not seeming to care that the material of his pants leg was getting scratched and dirty from being on the patio, the dark fabric of the suit accenting his tan perfectly. “I thought now would be a good time to collect.”

Her eyes moved up, catching a glimpse of Jordan on the other side of the windows. “She’s looking for you. Don’t you think you should go back inside?”

“Let her look all she wants.” He turned to look in the same direction as she, only focusing briefly before moving his attention back to the woman in front of him. “She’s not important, anyway.”

Completely missing the meaning behind his last statement, she barreled ahead with a quick nod. “Yes, she is. Everyone knows that whatever Jordana wants, Jordana gets.”

His gaze moved over her, starting at the very top of her head and traveling down to her feet before coming back up again. “Even if it’s yours?”

“Especially if it’s mine.” She shook her head slowly, finally allowing her eyes to meet his, another tear escaping to roll down her cheek. “You should know that better than anybody.”

“Mags . . .”

“Don’t, Justin. Just . . . stop.” Her shoulders heaved as she took a deep breath, her eyes closing. “This party is for you. You guys finally finished the record and you should be in there. Go on back inside. Celebrate.” A corner of her mouth quirked up. “You’ve got the most beautiful woman in the world looking for you. You shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

He ignored the order, standing to his feet and moving over to sit next to her, his hand coming up to rest on her shoulder. “Maggie . . . I’m not . . .”

“Jordana Heart waits for no one, J.”

“We’re not together.” The words tumbled from his mouth, desperate to be said before she could interrupt again. “She’s been trying every trick in the book, but I promise you that we are not together.”

Her head turned, her eyes flying open to freeze on his serious expression. “W-what? But . . . but you’re here together.”

“No, we’re not.” His head moved back and forth slowly. “I showed up. Then she showed up. She’s been hanging around me, but we aren’t here together.”

“No. That’s not possible.” Dazed, she blinked at him. “You left me . . . chose her . . .”

“I don’t know what I was doing, Mags. I thought you knew that I’d never take her over you, especially after that whole thing at your parent’s house.” He sighed, his hand unconsciously moving over to massage her neck. “I went to pick you up and found her there and you came out saying something about not feeling well when I knew for a fact that you’d been perfectly fine all day . . .” His thought trailed off and he chewed on the inside of his lower lip as he tried to get his head straight.

“I thought you deserved to have a choice.” Her voice cracked and she looked down quickly. “I didn’t want you to feel like you were stuck with me when I knew that you could definitely have her if you wanted her.”

“I wasn’t stuck with you, Maggie. I wanted to be with you. I’d already made that decision. But when I heard you lying right to my face, trying to get out of the date . . . God, I didn’t know what to think. When I saw the look on your face, I figured that you’d changed your mind about us, so I followed your lead. The next thing I knew, she was pushing me out the door and saying something about dinner. I should’ve seen what was going on, but you never really went into detail about everything . . . so I didn’t know what was happening until it was too late.” He cleared his throat quietly. “I tried calling you that night, I’ve been trying ever since, but she kept picking up at the house and then that number was disconnected, your cell number is out of service . . .”

“I had the number changed.” She sighed deeply. “Mom called and . . .”

“And that’s enough said right there. That woman would be enough to make anybody change their number.” The corner of his mouth curved upward when he heard her whisper of a laugh. “We left the next day to finish the recording and were completely covered up. I’d thought about calling your office, but we were pulling sixteen and eighteen hour days, so by the time I had a chance to pick up the phone, it wouldn’t have done any good.”

“My voicemail. You could’ve left a message . . .”

“I didn’t want to talk to your voicemail. I wanted to talk to you.” He let his fingers comb gently through her hair. “When we got back the other day, I went to your house . . .”

“I moved. Couldn’t stand living there another day.”

“Yeah, I figured that out when the little old lady opened the door and tried to bite my head off for asking about you. She didn’t give a damn who I was, I didn’t have a right to know where you were and if I didn’t get off her property, she was going to call the police.” A soft laugh escaped and he shook his head. “I really made a mess of this, didn’t I?”

“It wasn’t your . . .”

“Yes, it was.” He turned, meeting her eyes dead on. “This is all my fault. You needed me to make a stand for you and I couldn’t see past what you were saying to realize what you meant. I knew how she used you all those years ago and I just sat back and let her do it all over again without doing anything to stop it.”

“The way you were looking at her . . . all these insecurities that I keep carrying around make me suspicious of everything. I read things into stuff that shouldn’t mean anything to me.” She bit her lip, her eyes moving slowly over his face. “I’m an adult, Justin. I should’ve been strong enough to stand up for myself against her, even if it was just this once. But I wasn’t. So it’s not entirely your fault. Quite a bit of the blame is mine and I know that.”

Shifting, he moved closer to her, his arm resting along the top of the bench. “I’m so sorry, Mags. If I could go back and do it again . . .”

“Don’t be sorry. We both screwed up.” Her gaze flicked back to the window, catching Jordan’s figure on the other side once again. “For the life of me, I just can’t see why you don’t want her.”

“I can’t stand it when she touches me or talks to me. And whenever I catch her glaring at you, I just want to take her head off.”

“But, she’s Jordana Heart . . .”

“Yeah, she’s Jordana Heart. And no matter how hard she tries . . . she’ll never be you.” He gave her a small smile, moving his arm down so that it draped over her shoulders, pulling her against his side.

“Okay.” She arched an eyebrow at him, instinctively settling herself into the warmth of his body. “And what makes me so special? I mean . . . look at her. Compared to her, I’m . . .”

“You’re everything she’ll never be. You know how to take a bad day and turn it around with a smile and a hug. I don’t think there’s another woman out there who fits in my arms as perfectly as you do. Whenever you laugh, you make the whole room light up. You’re absolutely gorgeous, but you don’t even seem to notice. You don’t care if I want to act like an idiot, you just join right in so I won’t be alone. Whenever I kiss you, I want it to go on forever. You’re proof that someone can want me for me and not for the image.” His hand raised, his fingers wiping away the tears streaming down her cheeks. “You’re the only woman who’s ever made me feel like I’ve finally knocked one out of the park. And I don’t want to let that go.”

“I . . .” She trailed off, taking a deep breath. “I don’t . . .”

Leaning down, he caught her lips with his own, cutting off her thought. His back was rigid, not allowing himself to get too close, waiting for the second she began to respond to relax, letting out a muffled sigh as his arm tightened around her, his fingers moving gently over her cheek. Gradually, he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers as he listened to her shaky breathing. “That feeling right there, that rush when you kiss me . . . the peace I feel whenever I’m around you . . . that’s why I can’t let you go, Mags. I’ll never find it again.”

They both turned toward the windows when a familiar song began floating from the party.

“Hey, they’re playing our song.”

Wide brown eyes turned back to him. “W-we have a song?”

“You don’t remember?” A dark eyebrow arched. “Yacht Club, dancing on the beach . . . that kiss I still dream about.” His gaze moved over her once again. “You were wearing this dress, the same shoes . . .” He trailed off, inhaling deeply. “The same perfume.”

“I remember.” She swallowed thickly. “How could I forget? I just didn’t know that this was our song.”

“Well, it’s prefect for us.” With a smile, he stood, holding a hand down to her. “How about that dance?”

At a loss for words, she nodded, letting him pull her to her feet as the music carried on the slight breeze. “Justin, I . . .”

“Shhh. Just listen.” His arms wound around her waist, careful not to pull her too close, letting her have her space, but when she stepped into him, her head resting on his shoulder and her arms around his neck, he tightened his hold on her. Swaying to the slow beat, he turned his head, his lips grazing her temple as he sang softly with the chorus. “When you’re shooting for the moon and finally make it . . .”

She straightened up, looking him right in the eye. “I don’t want to let it go, either.”

“So how about we don’t?”

“Hmmm.” A smile formed when he leaned down, brushing his lips over her cheek. “But she’s not going to stop trying, you know. She’s going to be on you like white on rice until she gets what she wants.”

“So we make sure there aren’t any misunderstandings.” He reached into his pocket, retrieving his cell phone and flipping it open to quickly dial a number. “The last thing a supermodel wants is to look like an idiot, even if she is the poster child for dumb blondes.” Her laugh distracted him and he almost didn’t hear the voice on the other end of the line.

“Johnny’s about to lose his mind, so you’d better have a really good reason for disappearing. Where are you?”

“Hey, Jace. Could I get you to do me a favor?” Taking the phone away from his ear, he pressed the speaker phone button, allowing her to hear both men speaking.

“That depends on what you want me to do. Jordana’s been hunting for you and she’s starting to . . . well, that woman’s just scary, if you ask me.”

“I hear you.” He grinned when she laughed quietly against him. “Has she talked to you yet?”

“No, but I think she’s headed this way.”

“Good.” His arm went around her again, pulling her even closer as he talked over her shoulder, not allowing the conversation to disrupt the dance. “I need you to make sure that she’s looking toward the patio. Better yet, bring her out here.”

“You’re on the patio?” The confusion was obvious, but so was the fact that he was moving. “What are you doing out there? And what exactly are you planning on doing?”

“I’m going to make my point clear.”

“Right. Just tell me one thing . . .” Jordana’s voice became louder in the background, as did the cringe in his voice. “If I do this, are you going to break out of the funk you’ve been in for the past month? I mean, the giddiness before was annoying, but the funk . . . that’s gotta stop, man.”

Silence settled for a moment and she looked up to find him staring down at her, his eyebrows raised in a silent question.

“J?”

The tiny voice sounded next to her ear and with a smile, she turned her head, speaking loud enough that her words would carry over the line. “JC, if you do this, I guarantee he’ll be as good as new.” His grin was instant and she let a quick laugh escape. “He might be a little giddy, though.”

“I’ll take giddy over depressed any day, Maggie.” The cringe had disappeared, laughter lightening his tone. “Okay, give me two minutes and I’ll have her out there.”

“Thanks, man.” The phone was flipped closed and tucked back in his pocket, his chest rising with a deep breath. “You ready for this?”

“If I knew what we were doing, maybe.” Her brow furrowed in confusion. “What are we doing, exactly?”

“Recreating some magic.” He smiled, letting his fingers comb through her hair. “It’s not quite the same, but just pretend there’s sand, stars and waves.”

Slowly, the corners of her mouth lifted, her stare focusing on his lips for just a second before moving up, allowing their eyes to meet. “Forget all that. This is an all new memory.”

His eyes came away from hers, getting that familiar gleam as he focused on her mouth. “Uh huh. New memory. Right.”

She laughed softly at his distracted tone, her hands moving up, her fingers raking into hair that was shorter than before as she pulled him down, stopping only when she was smiling against him. “Just shut up and kiss me already.”

He grinned, his lips grazing hers with the motion, laughing eyes staring directly into her. “Yes, ma’am.” His right hand tightened on her hip, drawing her closer, while his left cradled her head, holding her in place as his mouth covered hers, not caring who was watching.

Time stood still, the world fell away and suddenly it was just the two of them, oblivious to everything taking place around them. The loud huff from the blonde in the doorway, the angry tapping of her heels as she stormed away, the light laughter from the group of guys standing just on the other side of the glass, the skittering of murmurs that carried across the crowd of party-goers . . . it all went unnoticed as they moved closer, held tighter and simply concentrated on being together again.

The contact broke for a second, just long enough for him to take a ragged breath and straighten up, his arm wrapping tightly around her waist as he lifted her off the ground and caught her lips once more, not showing any sign of letting her go any time soon.

Finally, she had to pull away, her smile brightening her features as she let her fingers move through his hair. “I think you made your point.”

“Maybe.” His gaze moved slowly over her face. “Do you still think he doesn’t?”

Her expression became dumbfounded. “What?”

“When I came out here, you were wishing for him to love you. I asked you how you knew he didn’t.” He leaned forward until his forehead was against hers. “Do you still think he doesn’t?”

The confusion melted away quickly as she noticed how he refused to break eye contact, even when he set her back on her feet and began swaying slowly back and forth. She blinked, fighting back tears as she struggled to answer. “Do . . . do you think I might be wrong?”

“I don’t just think it, Maggie.” Two tears escaped to roll down her cheeks and he gently wiped them away with his thumb, his smile mirroring his words. “I know it.”

Contains the lyrics to I’m Not That Girl from the musical Wicked.
Justin and Maggie’s song is Shooting For The Moon as performed by Amy Holland

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