Feels Like the First Time

“I guess I’ll see you all later,” was all she said though. “It was a long flight and I’m a little tired. I might just skip the costume party and catch up with everyone tomorrow.”

“Oh, no,” chorused the ex-cheerleaders in perfect harmony. They all giggled, then one of the redheads said, “You have to come to the welcome bash. After all, Brad will be there.”

Zoe’s drooping shoulders straightened at that and she tapped her hip as though she was weighing her choices. Then she shrugged and said, “Sure. I’ll see you all there.” She shifted her purse and prepared to leave, then hesitated and said, “If you see Brad, tell him I’d like to talk to him, okay?”

She headed across the lobby away from the pillar Dex was hiding behind. Frowning, he watched the sway of her hips as she departed, not bothering to follow her.

Brad Young. Again.

Dex shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans with a silent growl. He’d be damned if he’d waste his last week of vacation watching the woman he’d come across the country to see fall all over some other guy. Especially not his old nemesis. Damned if he was going to spend the week taking a backseat in Zoe’s attention to that jerk the way he had all through school.

Not that he figured he had a claim on Zoe. Hell, it’d been ten years and he knew she’d never seen him as anything but a buddy. Sure, he’d had a few fantasies of changing her viewpoint, but they didn’t even know each other anymore. And the last thing he needed at this juncture of his life was to hook himself into a relationship. So no, no matter what his analytical brain tried to label it, this was not jealousy.

Brad Young was a dick. A class-A jerk who’d always been out for himself. Oh, sure, he’d always made it look like he was Mr. Friendly. Despite their scholastic competitions, he’d gone out of his way to make friends with Dex, had invited him to hang out. Only the hanging out was always at the Drake’s rec room and Dex was always the one footing the bill. When Dex had wised up and called him on it, Brad had denied that was why he’d kept him around. But when Dex’s wallet had closed, the invites had ended.

What really pissed Dex off, though, was that Brad had used Zoe. Things like getting her to write his papers, pretending to be her friend while mocking her behind her back. He’d even tagged her with the lousy moniker of longest-living virgin or something like that. All because he’d lost a bet with his football pals about getting down her pants at the drive-in.

Dex didn’t figure an asshole like that changed much over time. So it was up to him to protect his old friend. For all her tough shell, Zoe was sensitive. He’d have to make sure she wasn’t used or hurt this week.

Yeah. That was it. It was for her own good that he’d be doing his damndest to monopolize her time and keep her away from Brad. Definitely nothing to do with jealousy.

As he settled that lie in his head, the twins sauntered past, hips swaying as they whispered together. One of them caught sight of him and stopped, lifted a brow and gave him a long, slow once-over.

“Well, hello. Are you here for the reunion?” she asked in a throaty purr.

“Nah,” Dex said, a little unnerved to realize what the phrase eat him up with her eyes actually felt like. It made him want to put protective hands over his privates. “Wrong year.”

“Too bad. Maybe we can talk about new times instead of old, then,” she murmured before letting her sister tug her away.

Call him a wimp, but it was all he could do not to run.

“Dexter.”

And there was a voice that never inspired the urge to escape. With a reluctant grin, he turned to face the elderly woman.

“Nana, I thought you were fleecing Vegas of its riches,” he said as he bent in half to hug his tiny grandmother. The frailty under his hands was an illusion, he knew. Essie Drake was the strongest woman in the world.

“Vegas was rigged,” she said with a sniff. Still in her travel wear—a tracksuit of some fuzzy red fabric—her white hair in curls and her gold-rimmed bifocals, she should have looked like Mrs. Claus. Except she was too small, skinny and if Dex were honest, naughty, to be that sainted lady. Instead, Nana looked like a mischievous elf who’d put saltpeter in Santa’s cocoa and graffiti the sleigh.

She was his favorite person. His absolute champion. And the biggest pain in his butt. But any irritation was worth having her in his corner.

His parents had never understood his fascination with video games. They’d always figured it was a bad habit he’d outgrow. They’d been thrilled that he’d gone to college. Although his father said he’d only ponied up the funds for Dex’s college expenses so that his son could earn big money and support the family business after graduation. That those expenses had been trivial considering Dex had a full-ride scholarship didn’t negate the expectation in the slightest. No surprise that when, eight years ago, he’d decided to drop out of college and pursue his passion, his parents had thrown a fit.

But Nana? She’d cheered and urged him to strike out on his own. Her faith and encouragement supporting him, he’d combined graphic-design skills he’d learned in school, his computer obsession and the vivid imagination he’d always hidden for fear of being teased. The results, a highly successful career as a video-game designer. As a nod to his father’s worries—and his own self-consciousness at sharing his creative side—Dex had designed under a pseudonym, since his first game had featured—and mocked—the small Idaho town that his father’s ancestors had founded. Because of his discretion, and his Nana’s unwavering championship, his parents had eventually tolerated his career choice enough to let him come home for the holidays. The buckets of money he’d made hadn’t hurt either. Funny how money had a way of paving the way with people. All his life, the impression of money had opened doors. Friends, invitations, opportunities to hang with the in crowd.

Only Zoe hadn’t cared about what he had. She’d simply accepted him for himself, not for what she could get out of him. Which brought the number of people who did to a grand total of two. Zoe and Nana.

“Is your sweetie here yet?” his grandmother asked, looking around the lobby. “Did I miss her?”

“Is that why you’re back early? Another matchmaking game? Look, Nana, I don’t have a sweetie. I’m just here to help out Mom and Dad before I get too busy.”

Nana shook her head, a look of censure in her bright-blue eyes. “Dexter, I have the sight. I see you and your sweetheart hooking up soon.”

Dex’s jaw dropped. “Hooking up? Where do you come up with these things?”

He skipped right over the “sight” comment. Nana thought she was psychic. She claimed to have precognitive dreams and carried around a tarot deck. Much to his parents’ chagrin, she liked to set up a table in the hotel lobby and offer readings to gullible guests. Recently Nana had taken her dreams on the road, attempting to supplement her retirement income by hitting the jackpot. So far, she’d had three trips to Vegas and five to Reno, and the most she’d won was a huge stuffed monkey dressed like Liberace.

“Admit it, you’re here to find your one true love,” his grandmother nagged, tucking her hand around his arm so he could lead her out the back door toward her cottage in the private grounds.

Zoe’s image popped into his mind. But it wasn’t love his imagination was interested in, given that she was naked and spread out over his bed.

“No true love, Nana. I don’t have time.” Or more to the point, love didn’t have time for him. Dex had tried to fall in love, he’d really wanted to believe in the sweet myth of unconditional emotions. But love, like his childhood, had always come with a price: money, favors, connections.

Nana sniffed and stuck out her narrow chin. “Love doesn’t happen on a schedule, you know. You’d do well to find her this week, before you risk everything in this crazy scheme of yours.”

“I thought you liked gambling,” was all he said. He’d heard all the reasons his family didn’t want him to go through with his plans. Four generations of Drakes had run this hotel and it was now on his shoulders to keep it in the family. His parents would tolerate him not directly working in the building, but family tradition demanded that he help keep the business afloat in these hard economic times. Blah blah blah.

But when this vacation ended next Monday, he’d make the biggest change of his adult life. He was leaving his well-paying job at Leeton Games and putting all his resources toward starting his own company. Years of dreaming, months of planning, and it was time to make his move. A familiar mantle of nerves settled on his shoulders and Dex tried to shrug it off. After all, the money didn’t worry him much. Nor did the risk, even though it was a huge one given that the guy who’d drawn up his business plan and who was supposed to sign on as his manager had backed out, citing worries over having to start a company without being able to use Dex’s main claim to fame. His pseudonym.

But Dex had an agreement with Leeton Games. When he’d started there, the pseudonym had been his idea, but the notoriety it had built over the years had garnered the company a lot of accolades. In return for relinquishing all claims to the name and keeping silent for three years, they’d pay him enough money to give him a healthy cushion for a year to get his business going.

Dex had enough faith in his skills, his talents, to know that the computer-graphics company would take off.

But it was a damned shame his alter ego, Gandalf, had to be thrown on to the sacrificial pyre in the name of insurance.

D“ID YOU FIND Gandalf yet?” Meghan asked over the speaker-phone. Her words were impatient, her tone the equivalent of an irritated shove in the small of Zoe’s back.

Zoe paused in the act of unpacking to shake her head at the phone. “I’ve been here an hour, Meg. It’s not like the guy is going to be wearing a sign or anything. The biggest companies in video gaming have tried to find his identity for years now and failed. But you think all I have to do is saunter into the hotel and poof, there he’ll be? I’m good, but not quite that good.”

“If anyone can do it, you can,” Meghan insisted. “But you have to talk to people. You know that, right? Did you ask around or did you register then beeline to your room to hide?”

“I talked, I asked. I’m trying, okay?” Zoe’s irritated tone was in strong contrast to the underlying panic in her sister-in-law’s voice. Zoe sucked in a breath and tried for calm. “Don’t stress so much, okay? If the guy is here, I’ll find out.” Zoe recalled the twin’s assertion about Teresa Roberts, but dismissed the idea. Gandalf had to be a guy.

“What’s your first step? What’re you doing tonight?”

Zoe winced. She’d been hoping Meghan wouldn’t ask that. She hated I-told-you-so moments. Hoping to avoid this one, she talked fast. “I figured I’d hang out in my room tonight. You know, do a little online research, touch base with a few people in the industry and see if they have any leads. And I still need to figure out how to convince this guy to work for Zach once we find him. I’ve got a few ideas, but I need to polish them before I run them by Zach since it’s his company and money.”

“No,” Meghan broke in. “Wait to talk to Zach until you’ve found Gandalf.”

Zoe snickered. “Hiding this little venture, are we?”

Meghan’s huff blew through the phone, making Zoe laugh out loud. “Why aren’t you attending the reunion’s costume party tonight?” Meghan asked. That shut up Zoe’s laughter.

“You were right,” she admitted with a sigh. “Costumes are mandatory to attend the event. Dressing up in a costume that represents your career is part of the whole reunion game plan. They’ve created all these events during the week to force people to get to know each other again.” Zoe kept her As if I care to to herself, figuring Meghan would launch into her lecture again.

“You need to go.”

“No, I don’t,” Zoe argued, figuring Meghan would pitch the idea of her going in her pajamas if she left even the tiniest opening for argument.

“You do. You have to. This is the perfect way to eliminate the reunion members from your search. Just check out their costumes, right? So you have to go. And to make sure you do, I took care of everything,” Meghan said in a bossy yet begging sort of tone that pushed all Zoe’s guilt buttons. “I ordered you a costume. It should be delivered any time.”

With a sigh, Zoe expressed her reluctant gratitude as she unpacked her laptop and powered it up. Two clicks and she’d pulled up her e-mail.

“Awesome,” she exclaimed, all visions of stupid costumes fleeing from her mind.

“What? Your costume is there?” Meghan exclaimed.

Zoe grinned, pleasure surging through her as she plopped cross-legged on the bed and pulled her computer close.

“No. Even better. Dex is here.”

“What’s a Dex?”

“My lifeline to sanity,” Zoe said, leaning back onto the cushy pile of pillows as memories washed over her. “We used to hang out. He was as much of a geek as I was, totally obsessed with Dungeons and Dragons, role-playing, that kind of thing. His parents own this hotel.”

She scanned his note again and told Meghan, “I guess he’s here this week to help out. That’s how he got my e-mail addy, from the registration.”

“So what’re you going to do? Get some sexy times in? Don’t you have enough on your plate already without dishing up distractions, too?”

An image of the hottie in the lobby flashed through Zoe’s mind. That guy was all about sexy times. But Dex? She snickered. He’d been three inches shorter than her, shy to the point of stuttering and given his obsession with playing dress-up with other men, quite possibly gay. Do Dex? Hardly.

“Nah, Dex and I are just friends,” she told Meghan, avoiding the sexual distraction rebuke. After all, she was quite capable of juggling two things at once. Especially if one of them had shoulders like the guy in the lobby.

“Dex rocks,” she told Meghan. “I was bummed when we lost touch after I left school. It’ll be great to catch up with him, see what he’s been up to.”

She scanned the e-mail again, noting that he said he was visiting. That meant he’d left town, too. They’d have a lot of show-and-tell to share.

“Just don’t lose sight of why you’re there,” Meghan chided. Then she started reiterating suggestions on how to find Gandalf. Zoe listened with half an ear as she did a Web search, trying to find out what Dex had been up to the past ten years.

A knock sounded. She set the laptop aside and told Meghan to hold on as she went to answer the door. The bellboy handed her a large box with a wicked grin. Zoe glanced at the label, Dressed to Thrill and rolled her eyes.

“Costume party,” she told the snickering deliveryman.

“Uh-huh,” he said as he pocketed his tip and sauntered away.

Zoe wrinkled her nose at his retreating back, wanting to point out that if she was in the market for thrills, they’d hardly show up in a brown cardboard box. Before she could, though, she heard Meghan’s shout over the phone.

“Is it there? Is that the costume?”

Looking at the label again, Zoe shut the door and lugged the box over to the bed. “You’ve got to be kidding. You went through a place called Dressed to Thrill? Do I really want to open this, Meghan?”

“As tempting as it was to get you something wicked and fun like a spy costume, I went with Betty Boop,” Meghan said with a laugh. “I figured that was your favorite cartoon. Betty’s sexy and fun, and she’s always involved in lots of different things. And she might shoot down those virgin rumors you are so obsessed with.”

Zoe rolled her eyes again and ignored the insult as she pulled her metal nail file out of her purse and started cutting through the packing tape. She pulled a large white garment bag out of the packing container and tossed what looked like a note and invoice back in the box, which she then shoved on the floor so she could lay out the bag.

“So how do I turn Betty Boop into a riddle that says career consultant-slash-business manager-slash-troubleshooter-with-commitment issues?” she asked as she unzipped the bag.

Meghan snorted. “I didn’t know about the career requirement when I ordered it. But in your case, you can just wear sneakers and carry your BlackBerry and a cap gun.”

Zoe’s grin faded to a frown when her fingers encountered leather. Betty didn’t wear leather, did she? She pulled the hanger from the bag, holding the outfit out at arm’s length.

“Holy shit.” She dropped the hanger and jumped back a foot, staring in openmouthed horror at the slinky mound of black leather on her bed. Her eyes shifted to the rest of the outfit which had fallen from the bag when she pulled out the costume. A studded collar, black mask and riding crop.

Shock, fascination and an insane urge to giggle fluttered in Zoe’s stomach as she stared.

“You should have gone with the spy costume. There’s no way in hell I’m going down there in this.” Zoe eyed the black leather again and couldn’t hold back her laugh. “Although I have to admit, nobody would ever call me as a virgin again after I walked in dressed like a dominatrix.”

3

“ICAN’T BELIEVE I’M doing this,” Zoe groaned as she tugged the leather and lace skirt down over her fishnet stockings, trying to cover her butt. She stopped for the third time on her march down the hotel hallway, reluctant to take that final step into the elevator and commit herself to this joke of an evening. “I should have come down in my pajamas and called myself a dream analyst.”

But, no. She’d shimmied and shoved herself into the leather getup. Why? Because her brother was counting on her. And, as Meghan pointed out, if she didn’t, not only would she miss an important chance to track down Gandalf, she’d be seen as a cop-out. As a loser.

The elevator doors swooshed open. This was her last chance to back out. Zoe sucked in a breath, puffed out her cheeks and then shrugged. One last reminder that she didn’t care what people thought of her, she exhaled sharply and walked in, turned around and hit the lobby button.

Alone in the elevator, she inspected her reflection. She’d refused to wear the thigh-high pleather boots. Instead, she’d substituted her own ankle boots. Sexy shoes were mandatory, even when offset by fishnets and studs.

The majority of the outfit consisted of the boots and a wide, ruffled leather-and-lace miniskirt, with its nod to modesty. The rest was a black leather bikini top, slender strips anchoring it to a studded choker on top, and crisscrossing to the tiny panties hidden by her skirt on the bottom. Studded cuffs and a leather crop completed the outfit.

At least, she assured herself as she tugged at the skirt again, her body was pretty well covered. If you counted fishnet and leather straps as coverage.

Way to make an impression after ten years. Realizing she was freaking out over the same people who’d judged her so rudely before, Zoe repeated to herself that she didn’t give two good damns what they all thought. She pulled back her shoulders and stuck out her chest. Then she glanced down. Maybe not quite that much, she winced as she noted the spikes on the black leather and adjusted her spine. No point in damaging someone accidentally before she found Gandalf. And, she reasoned, she’d dressed Goth her entire three years at Central High. How was this so different? Still black, still filled with attitude. Just a little less … fabric. And this time she had a handy-dandy riding crop to deal with anyone who got snotty.

Snickering at that idea, Zoe patted the BlackBerry clipped to her waist. Since almost every troubleshooting job she’d taken in the past year had been in the communications field, it was the sole clue to her actual career.

To say nothing of her means of escape. Dex had said he’d contact her at some point tonight to get together. She just hoped it was during the party.

Fifteen minutes later and Zoe could only laugh and shake her head. What was the shelf life on immaturity? Twenty-eight years old and these people still acted like teenagers. You’d think the guys would have at least learned a few new pickup lines.

Tapping her crop against her thigh, she made her way through the loud, humid room.

“Do you charge by the hour?” one guy said as she turned sideways to try to get past him to reach the committee’s table.

“You couldn’t afford me,” Zoe said with a wink and a wave of her crop. She recognized him as a football player. If he’d recognized her, he’d have been crossing his legs.

By the time she reached the table to sign in, she’d been hit on five times, insulted eight and even though nobody had recognized her, she’d been treated with the same disdain as she’d hated in school.

It really was just like old times.

She automatically tucked the hurt away, firmly enmeshed in her old screw-you attitude, and lifted her chin.

“Zoe Gaston, checking in,” she said to the puppy dog across the table. The woman was sporting a full body of fur, floppy ears and black-nosed whiskers.

“Gaston?” The puppy ran her paw down the chart, found Zoe’s name and, while her eyes were huge as she took in the black leather ensemble, she just smiled and handed Zoe her name tag. “Please step over to the photo booth.”

“Why?”

“Everyone whose costume qualifies for the reunion contest has to have their picture taken.”

“What’re the qualifications?”

“That your costume doesn’t give away what you really do for a living,” the puppy said, and then she winked. “I’m guessing you don’t support yourself with spankings?”

Zoe blinked in surprise at the smile and friendly joke, then she laughed and said, “Nah, spankings barely keep me in grocery money,” before returning the grin and moving to the picture line.

Zoe said cheese. The photographer, who she recognized as her old P.E. teacher, gave her the clear signal and as she slid off the stool, he commented, “You’re the best costume since Brad’s.”

“Brad Young?” she asked. “What’s he dressed as?”

“A wizard. Great cape.” With that, the guy turned to the next person, camera at the ready and Zoe forgotten.

Brad. Figured. All the signs had been pointing to Brad Young, and now he was dressed as a wizard. Didn’t that say it all? Zoe shook her head. Of all possibilities, it had to be the guy who’d rejected her. She forced herself to quit the mental whine-fest. She’d been way out of her league with Brad ten years ago. She wasn’t now. This time, she’d call the shots and he’d be grateful. She’d find him, maybe flirt a little. If he was Gandalf, she’d contact Zach, find out what he wanted her to do, then get the hell out of Dodge. And leave Brad Young panting in her dust. Perfect.

Her eyes peeled for a pointy hat, Zoe reviewed her plan for the night. Connect with Brad was number one for the Gandalf quest. She tapped her crop against her thigh as nervous anticipation shimmied in her belly. She couldn’t wait to see the look on her old crush’s face when he caught a load of what he’d given up to chase a pair of pom-poms.

Cautioning herself against getting too cocky or tunnel-focused that Brad was her man, she scanned the room. There were three other guys whose careers she hadn’t managed to verify before the reunion. Since all she had to go on were their graduation pictures, she figured she’d watch for name badges and costume giveaways. Any guy sporting a joystick was on her follow-up list.

“Well, well. You still haven’t found any color other than black, hmm?”

Chin high, Zoe turned around. Her jaw clenched as she forced her lips into a smile.

Candice Love. Central High’s homecoming queen, head cheerleader and girl voted most likely to have the world bowing at her feet.

Lovely.

Zoe straightened her shoulders, cocked her hip to one side and lifted her chin. Attitude to the rescue.

“I could barely believe my ears when Julie told me you were here. Zoe Gaston, the geeky virgin.” Candice gave a tinkle of icy laughter as she eyed Zoe up and down with artfully rounded blue eyes. “You did know this costume party was to guess your career, right? Not to try to deny your graduating title?”