Rough Hearted Mountain Man (Not Looking For Love #13)

Chapter 1

Marissa

I scanned the entrance one more time as nervous energy flitted through me.

Nope. It wasn’t him.

It was just another couple holding hands as they entered On The Rocks, the bougie tourist bar situated close to the Silver Pines Lodge on Red Oak Mountain.

My palms were sweating, and my stomach flip-flopped uneasily, not helped by the two Timberline Twists I’d already had while waiting for my very non-existent date to show up.

I checked my phone again.

7:42 p.m.

Nothing. No messages. No missed calls.

Just my own text sitting there unanswered, “Hi Brad, I’m here! Are you on your way?”

I’d sent it twenty minutes after he was supposed to arrive. And that had been an hour and forty minutes ago.

At this point, I’d pretty much accepted the fact that I’d been ghosted.

Again.

What kind of luck was that?

In contrast to my bruised heart, the tourist bar buzzed with Valentine’s Day excitement. Red paper hearts dangled from the ceiling, swaying every time the door opened.

I was surrounded by laughter and flirty conversations while I sat solo at my table, hogging up a spot in the busy bar.

Had I ever felt so alone before in my life? Tonight was fighting for a top spot on the worst-nights-of-my-life list.

I should have stayed home with the ladies.

Normally I did a Galentine’s Day with my friends. But this year, I’d opted for something different. A date with an actual man… just like last year.

What were the odds that two Valentine’s Dates would ghost me two years in a row? It was almost absurd enough to make me laugh.

Maybe this was a sign that I should finally learn my lesson.

Not all of us were lucky in love.

And other than the fact that I had no one to share my bed with, I had a pretty good life. The normal ups and downs everyone has. I should be happy with that.

Looking around the bar, I tried to wave down my waiter to get my check, but Harley was busy with an out-of-state couple who evidently didn’t understand that a bison burger contained actual bison meat. It wasn’t just a trendy marketing name.

On The Rocks was not my scene. My butt belonged at the Bear Den. That was the dive bar for locals only, where the pool tables were familiar and the faces were kind.

This bar was the one that all the tourists frequented. It provided a plastic veneer of mountain charm visible in its tastefully chosen décor.

But the Bear Den was where the real heart of the mountain was.

Not this place. It was as fake as Brad.

And he, of the men-who-couldn’t-be-bothered-to-cancel clan, was the one who’d invited me here. I’d never be in this place if it weren’t for him.

I took a sip of my drink and focused on keeping it together. I hadn’t dressed up like this in a long time. My hair itched where I’d styled it in a tight French Twist and my bra felt too tight. The underwire was doing its best to dig into my boobs.

And the pink heart sweater… well, it had felt like a risk when I bought it, and I should have listened to my instincts.

It was soft and fitted and delightfully low-cut. I’d stood in front of my mirror giving myself a pep talk before the date, thinking the sweater looked sweet but fun. Maybe even a little flirty.

Now it just felt juvenile, like I was trying too hard.

Was there anything worse than an overweight woman sitting alone in a bar wearing a pink heart sweater on Valentine’s Day?

Glancing at the door again, I watched another happy couple walk in, snow still clinging to their coats, smiling like they shared a secret.

My chest tightened. Of course they were happy. They had someone to love on Valentine’s Day. Unlike me.

I forced a small smile at the bartender, Emmett, when he glanced my way. He didn’t ask where my date was, but I felt the question in his eyes anyway.

Don’t overreact, I told myself. Things happen.

But I knew. I’d known for a while. Brad wasn’t coming. Hope had long since curdled into embarrassment, then settled into that familiar ache I’d felt for far too long.

This is what it felt like to be an unpaired match in a world of mates.

The worst part wasn’t being alone, but realizing I’d let myself believe I wouldn’t be.

I wonder how the girls are doing?

At least Hope had a date with her crush, Nolan. But Kelly, Jenna and I were probably out of luck again this year.

Disappointment snaked through me like it had so many times before.

Brad had seemed perfect… what I knew of him.

We’d met on a dating app, Summit Singles, and spent a few weeks chatting online.

He lived nearby, a few towns over from my hometown of Red Oak Mountain.

He had a job.

He didn’t seem crazy.

And he had all his teeth.

That counted as perfection in my book these days.

My standards had dropped recently. I called it casting a wide net. I was thirty-two now, and other than a few short-term boyfriends when I was younger, I’d been perpetually single for far too long.

All my friends had started to find their men. They’d started pairing off and getting married years ago.

At first, it had been surprising. Who gets married at eighteen? That had been Patty who’d hitched herself to her childhood sweetheart. Then, in our early twenties, everyone started matching up.

I was hit by one wedding invitation after another for a while there until I was left with just a few single friends.

Jenna, Kelly, Hope, and I were the four remaining survivors of the Hopeful Hearts Club.

But these days it looked like we should consider disbanding the group and starting a new one called the Single for Life Club.

Taking another sip of my Timberline Twist, I debated whether I should text Brad again.

This wasn’t my first time being ghosted.

And it wasn’t even my first time being ghosted on Valentine’s Day.

But it might be the last time I was ghosted.

I’d been unlucky in love. My dates went nowhere other than a one-night stand. It seemed like as men got older, the only single ones left were the ones who wanted to be single.

Brad and I had matched well. But I wasn’t in love with him. I was mildly in like with him. We’d talked online a lot and had a few phone calls, too.

There’d been a few tentative butterflies swirling in my chest and I’d had a lot of hope. But I’d been in this dating game long enough to know that those first few butterflies didn’t always mean the guy was my one true love.

The part that hurt the worst was wondering if he’d spotted me through the window of the bar, taken one look, and headed back to his car.

I’d sent him some flattering pictures along with a few unfiltered photos that showed the reality of me. The last thing I wanted to do was catfish someone, or send them a picture that made them think I was ten years younger and fifty pounds lighter.

I believed in letting men self-select out early in the process.

There was enough extra cushion on my tushy that I’d never be a stick-thin supermodel. And Brad knew that.

What I didn’t understand was why he’d go to the trouble of setting up the date if he planned to stand me up? Or why so many men did that?

Sinking my eyes down to the surface of the table, I let myself dwell in the pain of another rejection. The pinch in my heart wasn’t about my date tonight. I didn’t even care about Brad yet. I hadn’t known him long enough to develop any real feelings.

What hurt was feeling rejected again.

The only man I’d ever been in love with was Sawyer Reed, and he’d never looked at me as anything but his best friend’s little sister.

All these dates I tried to go on were an attempt to grow up and move on from my childhood crush.

But maybe it was time to admit defeat. I’d never find a man who filled the hole in my chest that Sawyer had left.

A tear slipped down my cheek and I wiped it away hastily, my face burning with embarrassment.

I was not going to cry in a bar full of tourists on Valentine’s Day while I sat here in a stupid sweater with hearts all over it.

As soon as I left here, I was going to go home and burn the damn thing.

Another tear slipped out, followed by a quiet sob, then my nose started running.

I needed to get out of here, but I didn’t want to attract any more attention to myself.

The waiter already knew I’d been stood up. Harley had waited patiently to take my food order when I’d told him I was expecting another person to arrive. And now, almost two hours later, he’d stopped bothering to come by the table asking if I was ready to order yet.

But did the whole restaurant need to know?

Subtly, I tried to dry my tears and wipe my face down.

As soon as I could get control of my tears I was going to throw money on the table and slink out of here.

This is it. I’m really done this time.

No more dating. No more hoping. No more attempts to find my match.

I was officially done with men.

What was left of my heart imploded in a tiny, tired puff of smoke.

And it was exactly at that moment that I scraped my eyes up off the table and saw the man who had haunted my dreams for years.

I sat there stunned, taking in six feet of mountain muscle that culminated in the sexiest caramel eyes I’d ever seen.

It was Sawyer.

My brother’s best friend.

The one who had spent so much time at my house growing up that he was practically an honorary member of the family.

Please don’t let him look over here and see me. Please. Please. Please.

Oh, fuck.

This night couldn’t possibly get any worse.

He saw me, and a dangerous smile landed on his lips. Then he started walking right over.

I hastily wiped my eyes, trying to pretend I wasn’t having a public meltdown.