Of course, I knew who Demi Rosen was.

And not because I’d done my research on her organization, the same I would for any business or charity who requested my time.

No, I knew exactly where I, and my hands, had been on that girl.

Well, I guess she was technically a woman now. And an absolute knockout at that. She’d matured since college, even though she’d been gorgeous then too. Her legs had gotten longer, if that was possible, her face a little leaner with sharp cheekbones and that mauve pout. Those eyes, impossibly big and framed by long black lashes, pierced you.

Demi had one of those bodies that seemed too good to be true. A tiny waist that gave way to a round, firm ass on bottom and tits that were each more than a handful on top. And even with those curves, she was almost rail-thin and model tall.

I’d known, going into this meeting, that she owned Wish Upon a Star. I’d had the exact same reaction to her as she’d had to me, but I’d had ample time to gape in the privacy of my own home. When I’d seen her picture on the website, my tongue had nearly fallen out of my mouth. The girl I’d fucked on and off for a few years in college, right in front of my eyes. My main booty call, some of the hottest sex I’d ever had, living right here in my new city.

I’d had the time to school my emotions before I saw her, which she clearly hadn’t. Demi had no clue that I would be there. And when I had remained professional, for the sake of the family in that room, I’d seen the embarrassment creep over her face.

And for the millionth time where it concerned her, a small part of me died from guilt. I’d never done right by this girl, and when she’d all but stormed out of the conference room after the Gunter’s left, I knew I had to go apologize.

But damn my half-aching cock if I didn’t also selfishly want to see how she’d been.

I knock on her office door, and those dark brown eyes, the color of black coffee, take me in.

“Mr. Shaw, what can I do for you?” Demi’s voice is clipped politeness.

I walk in, shutting her door behind me. I have a feeling her employees have no idea that we know each other, and I’m sure she doesn’t want them to.

“I think we can drop the act, Demi.”

It’s strange, staring at the face of a person you once knew intimately. We were practically strangers now, and we hadn’t known much about each other even back then.

Her face falters for just one moment, and then that fake smile is back. “It’s nice seeing you again, Paxton. Thank you for doing this for the Gunter family.”

I move farther into her office, a nice space decorated in white and gray, with framed portraits of London and two large vases filled with white roses. I wonder, in the back of my mind, if they’re from a boyfriend or husband.

“Of course, he’s a great kid. So, how have you been?” I want to sit down, but she looks apprehensive.

Flashes of when I used to make her moan, have her body writhing under me, assault my senses as I breathe in that familiar vanilla perfume. It’s funny, no matter how many years have passed, that whenever I get a whiff of that scent, I think of Demi.

When I’d gotten the call eight years ago from my agent about the draft, I’d packed up my belongings at college and left two days later. I’d never looked back, hadn’t bothered to say goodbye to her. I felt like a jackass for that move now.

I’d never returned the only two text messages she’d sent me, but then again all they’d said were, “Want to come over tonight?” and, “I heard you left campus.” To the twenty-one-year-old douchebag that I was, those two sentences weren’t really demanding or even remotely girlfriend-like, so I ignored them. Demi was part of my old life, and I was in training mode, and then traveling the country for games.

What I should have done was give the girl I’d been hooking up with for two years the decency of a goodbye. I should have at least told her I was leaving, instead of completely ghosting her.

But after those texts, she never tried to contact me again. Seeing her now, I feel the tension surrounding us. Maybe she hadn’t cut things off as cleanly as I had, because it felt like there was a giant chip on her shoulder.

“I’ve been fine, thanks. How about yourself?” From her tone, I could tell she didn’t really want to know.

I studied her, even though she was filing through papers on her desk in an attempt not to make eye contact. “I’ve been okay, moved back here about two months ago. A lot has changed in the city since those college days.”

That makes Demi look at me, her mocha pools narrowing but the smile never leaving her lips. She’s a well-trained professional, has the southern hospitality down pat. Someone who didn’t know her would think she was being genuinely nice.

“Yes, it has. Well, we are looking forward to the game on Sunday. Again, thank you for doing this.”

She’s dismissing me, and I take the hint, not wanting to push her. Clearly, she doesn’t want to talk to me, and I don’t really blame her.

“Like I said, I’m happy to do it. I’ll see you at the game. I’m number twenty, just like the old college days, if you didn’t know.”

Her grin screams pure bitch, but she just inclines her head.

I leave the Wish Upon a Star office feeling like I was just clocked in the head by an iceberg.

But, damn, was it good to see that fiery woman again.