Chapter 13
thirteen
JACK
Bonnie hadn’t made it to Apollo’s with the rest of us. She’d said goodbye after the game, telling me to spend some time with my team.
The cynical, suspicious part of me thought she just didn’t want anyone to see us together or to draw any conclusions about our sudden proximity.
Truthfully, I hadn’t been all that surprised when Bonnie had asked that our friends-with-benefits arrangement stay between us. I knew how damn nosy the town was. They had their own Facebook group for gossip, for Christ’s sake.
But I also knew that Bonnie was a consummate people pleaser. She had a reputation to uphold. Small-town school teacher mourning the love of her life and all that.
Maybe there’d been some weird disappointment regarding the secrecy, on my part. It was small and spiteful of me to take offense. I didn’t have a problem with casual. All of my relationships with women had been short-lived, with absolutely zero expectations.
This felt different, though. Like Bonnie was ashamed.
Embarrassed to have her friends and family find out she was sleeping with someone so soon after her divorce—someone like me.
For some reason, knowing that Bonnie was sneaking around, parking blocks away from my apartment and hiding herself, made me feel dishonest and complicit in her deception.
It wasn’t something I ever anticipated bothering me.
Sure, we were just friends with benefits. Maybe what stung most was knowing that the friends part of our relationship was just as much of a secret as the benefits.
I wondered if she’d be as adamant for secrecy if that buttoned-up, khaki-pants-wearing principal had finally made a move. Maybe that guy was just biding his time, waiting for her rebound phase to wear off. Who knew? I was making a lot of unfounded assumptions.
Danny had shown up at Magnolia again last night.
He’d bought drinks for various women, just like the last time.
And an hour before closing, he’d found someone to take home.
Something about watching him so brazenly live his life while his ex-wife felt the need to hide herself away made me irrationally irritated.
Probably because I was the secret she felt she had to keep.
Bonnie had been a good girl her whole life. I could see how sneaking around and playing the part of the rebel might feel good for her now. Taking the former bad boy and small-town fuckup for a spin probably held some spite-fueled appeal.
My mind drifted to the good girl in question. She usually got annoyed when I called her that, but she definitely hadn’t minded the night before last in the powder room at Magnolia. Yeah, she’d been into the sneaking-around part too. Maybe there was a latent wild streak in her after all.
She’d been eager and responsive to my touch, a willing participant in the little game we were playing.
So damn sexy on my lap. Skin slick, cheeks flushed, moans muffled, and eyes wide and pleading as she’d come with my hand under her skirt.
There was something about the way she looked at me.
The want—no, the need—in her expression.
The trust she placed in me. The honesty in those pretty brown eyes.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it.
I’d delivered the fun she’d been looking for and the distraction.
Then I’d sent her back to her table with her family and friends none the wiser.
Back to the people who had no idea who she really was because she never let them see when she was weak or hurting.
Bonnie was well-versed in hiding the vulnerable parts of herself.
She was hiding me, too. Like a liability. Just as troublesome and inconvenient as her emotions.
I shouldn’t care. It shouldn’t bother me.
For the first time in my life, I was someone’s dirty little secret, and the knowledge wasn’t as easy to shrug off as I thought it’d be.
“Hey, you okay?” Bonnie asked from the edge of the hallway, presumably where she’d emerged after cleaning up in the bathroom. Concern pinched her features.
“Yeah,” I replied. “I’m good.”
Jolted back to the present, I finished drying my hands on a kitchen towel. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been standing there, lost in thought. Judging by the water droplets surrounding my feet, long enough.
It was Sunday afternoon, and I’d invited Bonnie over. She’d barely made it through the front door a half an hour ago before I’d pushed her up against it, taking her mouth in a hot, possessive kiss.
I’d been startled by how much I wanted her, unable to wait to get her into bed. Fucking her right there in my entryway. Her legs wrapped around my waist as I set a punishing pace that only had her yanking impatiently on the hair at the nape of my neck.
It was a rush to have her like that. The way she tasted and how good she felt.
The sounds she made. How she didn’t hide what she liked or what she wanted.
Her responsiveness and the way she looked at me, always with a sense of wonder and sweetness.
Like she was just as awed as I was that it felt this good every single time we were together.
Now, I watched her smile as she crossed to me in the kitchen.
She cupped my jaw and rose on her toes to press a kiss to my lips. “That was quite the welcome.”
There was that sweetness again. It wrapped itself around me and squeezed.
“Too much?” I asked.
Her smile widened, eyes sparkling. “No, I liked it.”
I placed my hands on her hips, thinking that maybe I’d been making assumptions based on my own insecurities. It could be that I was reading too much into the secrecy thing. There was something to be said for privacy. Maybe that was all she really wanted.
There was one way to find out.
“Are you hungry?” I asked. “Want to go grab some dinner? We could walk to the Indian bistro down the street.”
I scrutinized her expression, bracing against my will as I awaited her response.
Bonnie hesitated, and I felt my jaw clench.
I could practically see the gears turning as she considered her reply.
I imagined her running through the ramifications.
The gossip and rumors. What her perfect family might say.
The people who would judge her for dating so soon, when her asshole ex has been picking up women for months.
I watched the fear tighten her shoulders. And I fucking hated how much I cared.
“Um, could we get takeout instead?” she finally answered, voice quiet.
Well, now I knew.
I swallowed, making sure my voice was nice and even. “Sure.”
Then I asked what she wanted and set about placing the order online for delivery.
Disappointment shimmered beneath a rising tide of anger. Irritation I didn’t have any business feeling made itself known. Bonnie had made her terms clear, and I’d agreed.
I didn’t play games, and I didn’t get involved enough to have ulterior motives.
So I didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with me or why her rejection was bothering me so much.
It was like she’d failed a pop quiz I’d sprung on her at the beginning of class.
I was being unfair. But I couldn’t do anything about my complicated emotions at the moment.
Bonnie drifted around my living room while I typed on my phone. Her sweater was still by the front door where she’d dropped it. She was barefoot in one of her long, jewel-toned skirts and a white camisole.
Unbothered, she lingered over one of my grandmother’s watercolors while I stewed ten feet away, like an idiot. I’d seen Bonnie eyeing the landscapes around the apartment before. I figured it was the art teacher in her.
“Are these yours?” She caught my gaze over her shoulder.
“No.” My tone was terse, and I worked to soften it, to relax all my bristling edges.
After clearing my throat, I explained, “They’re Lia’s.
The signature is probably cut off by the frame.
” Bonnie was studying one of my grandmother’s earliest paintings and one of the first frames I’d made as a result.
The craftsmanship was a little shoddy. I should probably replace it.
Bonnie stood on her tiptoes, examining the border. “Oh, yeah. I see it now.” Then her voice shifted, the word emerging slowly, like she was coming out of a dream. “Magnolia.”
I breathed out a sigh, knowing what she’d seen—what she’d realized.
I stared at the phone in my hand as quiet footsteps padded over to me. Soft fingers traced the delicate lines of my tattoo. From the blossoms shaded on my forearm and biceps to the flat, wide leaves weaving themselves in the space between. Bonnie’s touch followed along.
“Lia is short for Magnolia,” she said. Not a question.
I looked up, meeting her soft gaze as her hand concluded its exploration, fingers twining casually through my own. “It is.”
“It’s yours—the bar. You own it and you named it for her.” Another statement, but this time it was laced with confusion.
Shifting uncomfortably, I pulled my hand free and took a step back. “Yeah, it’s mine.”
Bonnie watched me, that familiar little vee forming between her brows. “But no one knows?”
“It’s not really a secret. No one has ever bothered to ask,” I clarified. “They’d rather make assumptions.”
And Bonnie had been pretty distracted with an impending anxiety attack at the one and only business owners’ association meeting I’d attended.
“Why don’t you just tell people?” Bonnie asked, still confused.
I huffed a humorless laugh. It wasn’t that simple.
Everyone supposed I was an overworked bartender, or if they paid attention, the manager on shift.
I just didn’t correct them. Seeing Bonnie’s obvious surprise a moment ago was probably the reason I didn’t broadcast it.
It confirmed the fact that people made assumptions about me.
What did she want me to do? Take out a billboard out on Highway 64?