Chapter 8
VANESSA
“It was nothing. Just a night of fun. It didn’t mean anything. He doesn’t need to know about it.”
He’s right. My brother doesn’t need to know I know Gavin. It’s not like I planned on telling him anyway. But just a night of fun ? It didn’t mean anything ? Maybe not to him, but it damn sure meant something to me, and that’s the worst part of this all.
“Nessa!” my training manager snaps—not for the first time—as I overpour yet another shot.
“Sorry. I’m sorry, Josh.” I grab a towel and clean up my mess.
I’ve been in a daze since Gavin walked into this bar, since he sat on the stool and told me he remembers everything about our night together.
I remember it too. It’s burned into my brain, into my skin.
No matter how many times I’ve tried to bury it, it always resurfaces, and it’s been on my mind even more since I showed up in Seattle last week, and there he was, standing in my brother’s house.
My brother, who has been surprisingly…well, not a complete dick for a change.
It’s not like we’re buddies suddenly, but we haven’t been as hostile as we have in the past. I know I have Auden to thank for the change in Reed’s demeanor.
Well, her and that baby that’s nearly done growing inside of her.
He’s too busy worrying over them to give me much of a thought or pick fights with me.
While things are going okay, it doesn’t make me any less eager to get out of there.
The baby is coming any day now, and the last thing I want to do is burden them with my presence.
This is precisely why I need to stop thinking of Gavin and our night together and the way he had me pinned against the wall not fifteen minutes ago and start thinking of what the hell I’m going to do next.
That begins with actually focusing on my new job and not screwing it up completely. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t my most brilliant move to lie about my bartending skills, but it got me in the door, right?
“I thought you had experience tending bar,” Josh grumbles, simmering beside me as I try again to pour a proper shot. Whoever he’s giving these test drinks out to, they’re certainly getting their money’s worth, all this extra booze in them.
“I do.”
It’s not completely a lie. Once, in college, to raise money for a charity our sorority was working with, I did tend bar.
Sure, it was mostly popping open cans, twisting off bottle tops, and pouring rum and Cokes, but still.
I do have experience…just maybe not as much as I thought could get me through this.
“I’m just rusty, is all,” I say, shooting him a smile. Thankfully, it gets him to relax a bit, and I breathe a little easier as I work on the second drink on my to-do list: an old fashioned.
Josh grunts when I put a bit too much bitters in it, but in the end, he accepts it, takes a sip, and nods.
“Not bad. Still needs work, but it’s drinkable. Better than that Manhattan you tried to make earlier.”
I wince at the reminder, then get to work making another drink.
It goes like that for what feels like hours, even though the clock shaped like a goalie mask that’s hanging on the wall says it’s barely been ten minutes.
I know because my eyes keep flicking that way, and it has nothing at all to do with the fact that the clock hangs over the table Gavin and his teammates are at.
Nope. Nothing at all.
I let my gaze drift down and to him, and it takes me back to all those months ago when I sat next to him at a bar not unlike this one.
I was drawn to him then, and that was before I even knew what it was like to have his undivided attention, like a warm summer day, the sun shining, not a cloud in the sky.
But that was a different time under different circumstances. Before I knew who he was and just how absolutely off-limits he is.
Besides, I’m not supposed to be focusing on that now. My job, replenishing my savings account, and finding a place to live—those are my priorities, not some one-night fling that meant nothing.
“Hey, Josh?”
“Hmm?” he asks, partly distracted by counting our tips in the jar next to the register.
“Do you know of any places to rent?”
“We should talk.”
I jump, letting out a too-loud squeal as I reach for the pepper spray hanging off my purse.
It was sitting on my pillow a few days ago, and I have a sneaking suspicion it was Reed’s doing.
The sad part is if that is the case, it might be the most brotherly thing he’s done for me, and it’s just a can of pepper spray.
Pepper spray I don’t need as I take in the sight before me.
Gavin leans against an all-black Mercedes SUV, his big arms crossed over his chest as he looks at me with serious eyes.
I hate that he looks so good in something as simple as a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt that hugs him just a little too well.
His dark hair that was once so soft between my fingers is hidden under a Seattle Serpents hat, and I want to reach over and pull it off.
All it does is remind me of this awkward situation we seem to have gotten ourselves into.
After the guys had their fun earlier, they closed out the tab and left a far too generous tip for what little I did, then took off without another word.
It was fine. It’s not like I was expecting some big emotional, let’s-rehash-the-past moment with Gavin after our hallway incident, especially not with his teammates around, but I didn’t expect to see him standing outside my workplace tonight.
“Gavin. What, uh, what are you doing here?”
He pushes off his car, taking a few steps toward me, and it’s annoying how much I enjoy the fact that I have to tilt my head back to look into his eyes. Neal isn’t a small guy by any means, but he certainly isn’t as big as the man before me.
“We should talk.”
I cross my arms over my chest, lifting my chin higher. “You said that already. It doesn’t explain why you’re standing in front of my place of employment, waiting on me like some stalker.”
It’s hard to tell with the overgrown scruff on his face, but I swear his lips twitch.
“Not stalking you. I just didn’t have any other way of getting in touch with you. Thought it might raise a few red flags if I were to ask Hutch for your number.”
Not that I’d answer anyway.
“Not that I think you would have answered anyway,” he says, putting a voice to my thoughts.
I try not to smile at that, keeping my face neutral.
“What do you want to talk about?”
He gives me an exasperated look, and it’s almost comical. “I think you know what we need to talk about, Nessa .”
His patience is wearing thin. Of course I know what he wants to talk about. I just don’t want to talk about it.
“We slept together once a long time ago. It was fun. Not really sure what else there is to discuss when all of it meant nothing anyway.”
He flinches at my words, but I’m not sure why. He’s the one who said them. I’m just repeating it. He sighs, lifting the hat and running his hand through his hair before replacing it.
“Look, can we just grab a bite to eat and handle this like adults?”
“I’d like to go home and rinse off the smell of beer. And I’m not hungry.”
My stomach decides this is the precise moment it wants to convey just how hungry it really is since all I had for lunch was a limp salad, and that was hours ago while I was on my phone looking for apartments. My food was just as disappointing as what I found.
“That so?” Gavin asks, lips pulling into a smirk.
I narrow my eyes at him in warning. “That’s so.”
He drops the smile, then sighs again. “I just… We need to…” He frowns when the words don’t come, finally settling on, “Please, Nessa?”
I hate that I’m still standing here talking to him when I should have walked away immediately. I hate that we’re in this situation to begin with. And I hate more than anything that his plea is working.
“Fine,” I concede. “You have one hour. I really do want to go home and shower. I smell like bar and bad cologne.”
“One hour,” he promises, turning back toward his car and opening the passenger door for me. He waves me on. “After you.”
Neal never opened my door for me. Not once in all our years together, and it’s silly how I’m just noticing that. I push the thought away as I shuffle past Gavin, sliding against the cool leather seats, inhaling that new car smell I’ve always loved.
He rounds the front of the vehicle, paying careful attention to traffic before pulling his door open and sliding in behind the wheel.
He doesn’t ask me where to go, just puts the car in drive and makes the decision for himself.
Part of me wants to be a brat and make a comment, but I’m too tired to care at this point.
I just want to have this conversation, put it all behind us, and move on.
I have to move on. After all, that’s what I’m in Seattle to do, right?
To build a new life and put my past to rest?
I can’t do that if I’m still hung up on a one-night stand from months ago.
We drive in silence for roughly ten minutes—which is forever in the city—before pulling into a parking lot that’s nearly full, which is surprising for this time of night.
Before exiting, Gavin gives me a stern look that clearly says Stay .
I don’t know why I listen to him, but I do.
He opens my door, extending a hand my way, and dammit if I don’t slip mine against it.
Soft. Warm. His touch is exactly as I remember it.
I yank my hand away as soon as I’m out of the car, and I don’t miss how Gavin’s lips turn down at that.
“Hope you like burgers,” he says as we walk across the small parking lot.
“Depends on if they’re good burgers or not.”
“Good is a relative term.”
“So you’re taking me to a bad burger place?”
“I wouldn’t call it bad exactly. But it’s cheap, and a Seattle staple.”
“Don’t you make millions of dollars a year?”
He grunts. “Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a bargain burger.”
“Fair enough.”