Rumor Has It. Cindi Myers

Creek Senior High.

      She set aside the diary and folded her hands in her lap. If she attended the reunion and saw Dylan again, would that break the spell he held over her? Would she be able to see him as an ordinary man and not some unfulfilled fantasy?

      Somehow she sensed it would take more than a mere meeting to get her moving forward again. She needed some way to prove to herself that the “might have been” she’d imagined could never have been at all.

      Maybe you two can pick up where you left off, for old times’ sake. A shiver raced through her as she recalled Alyson’s words, followed by a rush of heat. Well, why not? Why not exorcise those old demons by making the rumors come true? Since everyone believed they’d had such a good time back then, why not enjoy themselves now?

      The more she thought about the idea, the better she felt. Sure, it would be risky, but maybe she needed a little more risk in her life. She’d been playing it safe for the past ten years. Maybe it was time to take the kinds of chances she’d relished in her younger days. Turning lies into truth would be sweet revenge.

      And it might be exactly what she needed to shake Dylan out of her system for good. After all, everyone knew fantasy didn’t live up to all the hype. A few days or weeks with Dylan were bound to prove they would never have made it as a couple. Puppy love like that never lasted. Once she’d confirmed her suspicions, she’d be free to go out and find the real love she deserved. She’d head to Oxford with a world of new possibilities filling her thoughts, instead of the same worn fantasies.

      But would Dylan go for it? Would he be interested in a sexy fling “for old times’ sake”?

      2

      BY SATURDAY EVENING, the reunion committee had transformed the Cedar Creek High School gymnasium into a tropical garden with trickling fountains, Tiki torches and banks of flowers. Swags of tiny white lights wound among tall palms and glittered overhead like stars and candles flickered in the center of dozens of small white tables.

      The class of ’93 and their spouses, dates and significant others moved in ever-changing groups between the buffet tables at one end of the room and the dance floor at the other, the hum of their conversation rising and falling like an idling jet engine.

      Taylor paused at the entrance to the gym, heart in her throat. How would she ever find Dylan in this crowd? She craned her neck, trying to see around a group of chattering couples. Dylan could be anywhere. What if she didn’t recognize him?

      No, she was sure she’d recognize him. She would never forget that smile. The memory warmed her.

      But what if he didn’t smile when he saw her? What if he didn’t want to see her and turned away? She swallowed, fighting sudden nausea.

      “Taylor! What are you doing standing there like a deer in the headlights?” Grady Murphy threw his arm around her shoulders and dragged her into the room. He smelled of bourbon and some overly sweet cologne.

      “Um, hello, Grady,” she said, extricating herself from his grasp.

      “Now that you’re here, this party can really get going.” He grinned, already glassy-eyed, though the reunion had officially started only an hour ago.

      She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. She’d deliberately dressed provocatively, in a black knit dress that clung to every curve and revealed a generous amount of cleavage. Tonight she intended to begin living up to her reputation as Cedar Creek High School’s most infamous girl-about-town. But that didn’t mean putting up with ogling drunks.

      “Sugar, you look good enough to eat,” Grady drawled.

      “Too bad, sugar. You don’t look very appetizing to me at all.” Chin up, she strode past him, toward the bar. She needed a little liquid courage for what she was about to do.

      A hush didn’t exactly fall over the crowd as she passed, but she was conscious of heads turning her way and a few whistles and sly comments. Men grinned and elbowed each other, while women narrowed their eyes and shook their heads. Taylor ignored them all and asked the bartender for a glass of white wine.

      She resisted the urge to drain the glass in one gulp and turned to once more survey the crowd while she sipped demurely. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she could make out familiar faces. She spotted Alyson in a belly-baring sarong skirt and crop top, her ponytail and breasts bouncing as she danced to Alan Jackson’s Chattahoochee with a tall, balding man Taylor recognized as Mark Wilson, the nasty yearbook editor.

      Grady had transferred his attention to the buffet table, where he appeared to be having a cocktail-weenie eating contest with a beefy former football player whose name Taylor couldn’t recall. Milly Stefanovitch, another former cheerleader, waddled into view, looking as if she might give birth to twins at any moment.

      Taylor shifted her gaze to the tables at the back of the room and her breath caught as her eyes came to rest on a pair of broad shoulders in a gray suit coat. The man turned his profile toward her and Taylor’s wine sloshed against the sides of the glass as her hand shook.

      Ten years had changed Dylan Gates, transforming him from good-looking youth to heart-stoppingly handsome man. His frame had filled out, his face weathered, with a few fine lines fanning out from his eyes and a firmer jaw. The man with him said something and he laughed, his lips parting to reveal even white teeth and the smile that had won Taylor’s heart the very first time she’d seen him.

      He stood hip-cocked, his tall frame relaxed, radiating strength and unmistakable sex appeal.

      Taylor drained her wineglass and set it aside on an empty table, her eyes never leaving him. Her heart pounded and heat curled through her. She’d imagined all kinds of emotions upon seeing Dylan again, except the one that rocked her now: she wanted Dylan Gates. Wanted him bad.

      DYLAN STOOD WITH a group of former football players, listening as Troy recounted the team’s attempt to spy on the cheerleaders in the girls’ locker room after a game. “Their coach, Georgia Hoffman, found the holes we’d drilled in the shower walls,” Troy said. “She waited until someone stuck an eye to the hole, then let loose with a blast of Right Guard.”

      “I seem to remember your eye watered for a week.” Dylan grinned as the group burst into laughter. It felt so good to be back in a place where people knew him and shared his history. In California he’d always felt like a stranger, an outsider. People there commented on everything from his accent to the cowboy boots he liked to wear, but here no one thought those things were odd. Why had it taken him so long to return to this place where he belonged?

      Troy launched into another story and Dylan idly searched the crowd, tallying the familiar faces. Almost everyone in their class had made it home for the reunion. Everyone except the one person he’d been most hoping to see.

      A movement to his left caught his attention. He turned and for a moment stopped breathing. Taylor Reed was making her way toward him, a vision straight out his most erotic fantasies. She still had the movie-star polish that had captivated him from the first, but her girlish beauty had ripened to womanly curves that caught the eye of every man she passed. She’d let her hair grow, so that it swept her shoulders in a dark brown cascade. But the eyes were the same, big and dark and seeming to look right down into his soul.

      She stopped in front of him, her gaze locked to his. “Hello, Dylan.”

      He sucked in a deep breath, inhaling the spice-and-flowers scent of her perfume. “Hello, Taylor.” The shakiness in his voice startled him. He cleared his throat and tried again. “It’s good to see you.”

      The tension in her shoulders eased and she smiled. A wide grin. “It’s good to see you, too.”

      He was conscious of the silence around them and knew everyone was watching. That much hadn’t changed since high school. He shifted around to bring her into the group he’d been standing with and lightly touched her shoulder.

      “You remember Troy Sommers, don’t you? And Ed Offray. Gib Hartsell. Al Proctor.”

      “Hey,