Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 157273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
“Too fucking mine,” I snapped, flinging a twenty onto the bar top. “And she was none of those things. You never really knew her.” Heat flushed up the back of my neck.
“There he is!” Gavin raised his arms in victory. “I’ve been wondering when you’d wake the fuck up.”
Shit, I’d given him exactly what he was after, a reaction.
Eric’s attention flickered between us like we were opponents in a tennis match.
“Now go have the balls to tell that nice brunette that she’s auditioning for a role that was filled over a decade ago.” He shoved the twenty back at me. “And you know your money’s no good here.”
“How did you know she was back in town?” I picked up the rum and Coke in my free hand, leaving the twenty where it was.
“Word travels fast.” Gavin shrugged and backed away. “And our niece is a gossip. You know she’s going to hound that woman for an autograph.”
Juniper. Of course. What else had she told him? “You’re watching her tomorrow morning so Caroline can open, right?”
“Are you on a twenty-four-hour shift?” Gavin countered as the voices behind him rose to get his attention.
“Yes.” I only pulled them four to six times a month.
“Then looks like I don’t have a choice.” He saluted me with two fingers and headed toward the other end of the bar, a towel hanging out of the back pocket of his cargo pants.
Eric and I started back toward the booth.
“What happened between you and the ballerina, anyway?” he asked as we made our way through the growing crowd.
This was why I never wanted him to know. Beachman was a fixer, and now I was a problem with what he thought was a solution. “We fell out when I was eighteen, just before I went to basic.”
“Let me guess, she didn’t return the feelings?”
My stomach twisted. “She . . . it was just complicated. End of story.”
“But it’s not the end if she just happens to be here while you are. You really are the luckiest bastard I’ve ever met.”
“Trust me. It’s over. Allie isn’t the type to give second chances.” Or let anyone all the way in. I spotted Jessica and Beth and lowered my voice. “There are some fates even I can’t outrun, my friend. Do me a favor and let it go.”
We quieted as we approached the booth, and I gave Beth my most apologetic smile as I slid in beside her, drinks in hand. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” She took the drink, then tucked her hair behind her ear. “So, you grew up here, right? We didn’t move here until I was a junior. I think you’d already graduated.”
I started to nod, since those dates lined up from what she’d told me earlier, but paused. Gavin was right. I could date this woman and even have a few laughs along the way, but it would eventually end because I’d never give her a full chance, especially not while Allie was a thirteen-minute drive from here.
“Right,” I said slowly, noting the tension winding in my chest as my thoughts spun. “I’m so sorry, Beth, but—”
“Hudson?”
The rest of my sentence died, slayed instantly by the sound of her voice. I turned and looked over a pair of jeans that made my palms itch to feel the curves under them, past the lightweight green sweater that fell off one delicate shoulder—exposing a pale-pink bra strap—and up into my favorite pair of whiskey-colored eyes. That tension in my chest cranked to a breaking point, and every thought besides carrying her out of here so I could beg her forgiveness privately fled the mush I called a brain.
“Holy shit, you’re the ballerina,” Eric announced.
Fucking kill me now.
Allie’s eyes widened, and she ripped her gaze from mine. “I . . . am.”
“Nice.” Beachman grinned and stuck out his hand. “I’m Eric Beachman, Hudson’s best friend.”
“Alessandra Rousseau. Nice to meet you.” Allie shook it but didn’t smile. Not even her public, polished, bullshit one.
“Or, I guess I should say, his new best friend.” He winced, and she retreated to hold the strap of her purse with both hands. “Not that I’m saying that he talks about you being his old best friend, or that you’re replaceable or . . . You know what? I’m going to stop talking.”
“That would be preferable.” I shot him a death look.
Asshole smiled back.
“Okay.” Allie glanced between the four of us, finally settling on me, and my ribs ached. God, had it always been like this around her? Hard to breathe from just a look? You’re not eighteen anymore—get a grip and formulate a plan. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I was hoping I could have a word with you? In private?”
Hell yes. Fuck yes. Absolutely yes. Screw a plan. Whatever she wanted, she could have.
“Sure.” Great vocabulary, jackass. I abandoned my beer and slid out of the booth as she backed up a few steps to make space. “Back room?”