Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
austin
I was furious with myself.
And with Veronica.
If she hadn’t pushed me, I never would have said those words out loud. And furthermore, if she didn’t look so beautiful all the time, maybe I could get a moment’s peace! Why did she have to wear those crop tops? And that red lipstick? Or have such gorgeous legs?
And would it kill her not to smell so good? Every time we crossed paths—although believe me, I’d tried to avoid it all week—I caught the scent of her perfume or shampoo or whatever it was, and it nearly brought me to my knees. She smelled like a goddamn cupcake.
Not to mention that little show she’d put on in the window.
How dare she take off her top like that!
I couldn’t even breathe watching her untie those strings.
The memory of her bare back haunted me, along with the feel of her tongue on my thumb, the apex of her hip along my hand, the softness of her stomach beneath my lips.
I was going to lose that fucking bet.
I frowned as my dick began to get hard, shifting uncomfortably in the driver’s seat of the truck.
I’d just left the airport after seeing the kids off, and I was in a shit mood.
I knew they were safe—I’d watched the gate attendant walk them right onto the plane, the flight was nonstop, and they’d be escorted off as “unaccompanied minors” and delivered right to Sansa in San Diego, who’d be waiting at the gate.
And they were so excited. They’d barely slept last night after getting off FaceTime with their mom, and they’d chirped endlessly on the ride to the airport about all the fun things she’d promised them they could do—surfing and pottery and swimming in the ocean.
When they hugged and kissed me goodbye, they hadn’t shed a tear.
You should be glad about that, I told myself. You’re raising brave, curious, outgoing kids who aren’t afraid of an adventure. And it’s good for them to know their mom.
But a week without them was tough.
It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Sansa to take care of them—for all her ambivalence about being a mom, she adored them and was actually really good with them, like a cool aunt.
But already I missed their little voices in the back seat, laughing or asking questions or even arguing. Veronica had offered to make the drive with me, but I’d told her I didn’t need company. Being alone with her didn’t seem like a good idea.
I was dreading that trip to Chicago. Just the two of us in close quarters, a six-hour drive, the prospect of running into her ex and having to keep my temper in check.
I’d even asked Xander to come with us, but he said he couldn’t spare that much time away from the bar—he was hoping to open before MLB playoffs began.
Frankly, I thought he was bullshitting me, because he kept dropping hints all the fucking time about me and Veronica hooking up. He was at the house when I got home, walking out of the garage with my circular saw again.
“Dude. You could at least ask,” I said, meeting him halfway down the driveway. I wondered if Veronica was home, and refused to let myself look up at her apartment.
“I was going to.” Xander shrugged. “You weren’t here. Kids get off okay?”
“Yeah.”
“When do they come back?”
“Week from tomorrow.”
“You alright?”
I shrugged.
“You should come out tonight. There’s a great band at The Broken Spoke.”
“I don’t feel like it.”
“Come on, it’s Saturday night! Don’t be such an old man. We’ll drink a few beers, hear some good music, talk shit about people we don’t like, get in a bar fight.”
I grunted. “Don’t tempt me.”
“I’ll pick you up at eight, Grandpa,” he said, continuing down the driveway with my saw. “Be ready.”
I should have known he’d invite her too.
She was already sitting in the front seat of his SUV when I walked out to it, and even though I felt like turning around and going back inside the house, I couldn’t see a way to do it without looking like an asshole.
As soon as I got in the car and slammed the door, they both looked back at me—Xander with a gotcha grin, Veronica’s expression apologetic.
“I’m sorry,” she said, pressing her tempting scarlet lips together. “I didn’t know you were coming, or I’d have gotten in the back seat.”
“It’s fine.” I gave Xander a dirty look.
“Are you sure you have enough room?” she asked. “I can trade with you. Or move my seat up.”
“I’m sure.”
“Have you heard from the kids?” she asked. “Did they make it out there okay?”
“Yes. They called me about an hour ago. They’re fine.”
“Oh, good.” She looked relieved. “I’ve been thinking about them all day.”
She really needed to stop doing and saying sweet things. I wasn’t sure I could handle wanting her any more than I already did. I turned my attention out the window and set about the task of ignoring her for the rest of the night.
But it was impossible.
Sitting across from her at a table at the back of The Broken Spoke, my leg was twitching beneath the red-checkered tablecloth, and it wasn’t in time to the music.
The bar was housed in a repurposed barn on an old dairy farm a little ways outside of town, more popular with locals than tourists.
It was packed tonight, and everyone else was enjoying the music, dancing to current favorites and old classics, drinking beers, shooting pool, talking and laughing and flirting while the place pulsed with the sweltering beat of a small-town Saturday night.
Since Xander had driven, I had allowed myself a couple more beers than usual, hoping the alcohol would numb what I was feeling.
It wasn’t working.
Moody and tense, I sat there scowling while everyone else had a good time.
Familiar faces stopped by our table, slapped Xander on the back and asked about the progress on his bar, introduced themselves to Veronica, and nodded at me.
Several people tried to engage me in conversation, but I remained broody and uncommunicative.
A couple times, friends asked if I was okay, and I snapped, “I’m fine.
” Then I’d go back to drinking my beer and pretending not to see the woman across from me, my body on fire for her.
She’d turned her chair to face the band, not that I blamed her.
I wouldn’t want to look at my glowering mug either.
In contrast, her skin seemed to glow under the strings of party lights that formed a canopy above our heads.
She wore a little red skirt with flowers on it that twirled out every time she danced, showing off the tiny black yoga shorts underneath.
And she danced a lot—every time someone asked her.
And she was the best dancer out there, spinning and stepping effortlessly, making even the clumsy, arthritic old guys look like Fred Astaire.
With every song, she grew more flushed and beautiful, while I got more mad and sullen, slumping lower in my chair.
A song came on and she jumped to her feet. “Oh, I love this one! Anyone want to dance with me?” She looked hopefully around our table.
“I’m a little tired,” said Xander, lying through his teeth. “Austin, why don’t you go dance?”
“No.” I grabbed my beer and took a drink.
“Please, Austin?” Veronica looked at me hopefully, and my chest tightened.
“Go on.” Xander elbowed me. “She can even make you look good.”
“I don’t feel like it,” I snapped.
Her face fell, and she was about to sit down when a guy I didn’t recognize came over to the table and smiled at her. He was good-looking, maybe in his twenties, tall with blond hair and a wiry frame. I wanted to kick his ass immediately.
“Hi. Would you like to dance?” he asked her politely.
Veronica began to shake her head, thank god, but then suddenly she glanced at me and then beamed up at him with ruby-lipped delight. “Thanks, I’d love to!”
He offered his arm, and she slipped her hand through it, and they headed for the dance floor.
My spine snapped straight in my chair, and I gripped my beer so hard my knuckles turned white.
“Something wrong, brother?” Xander drawled.
Watching the blond guy take Veronica in his arms felt like someone had just injected my veins with molten glass. I couldn’t even answer the question, seething with fury as she laughed at something he said, her head tipping back.
“Dude, you look insane,” Xander said. “Why didn’t you just fucking say yes when she asked you?”
The guy’s hand on Veronica’s back was moving treacherously low. I might have growled.
“You’re being ridiculous. When this song ends, go ask her to dance.”
“I don’t like dancing.”
“Well, she does, so unless you want to sit here and watch her dance with other guys while you grunt like a jealous caveman all night, you better go cut in.”
“I’m not jealous,” I said hotly.
“Oh no?” Xander laughed. “So if he asks her to hang out after this, you’d be fine with that? Maybe take her back to his place? Bring her home late?”
“Fine by me,” I lied, the urge to flip the table building in my chest and radiating through my arms. “It’s her night off. She’s free to do as she pleases.”
“Jesus Christ. I can’t watch this. I’m going to get another beer, you want one?”
“No.” All my focus was on that dance floor. I didn’t want anything except her. I wanted her so badly that when the song ended and everyone paused to applaud, I got up from the table and headed their way.
“Excuse me.” I tapped her on the shoulder. “Can I have the next one?”
“Sorry.” Her expression was cool. “I’ve already promised the next one to Daniel here.”
I gave Daniel a look of barely contained rage. “Would you mind?”
He swallowed. Looked at the width of my shoulders and the way my hands were curled into fists. “No, it’s fine. Maybe I’ll see you later, Roni.”
I fumed as he walked away. He was already calling her Roni?
When he’d gone, she faced me, her expression livid. “Really? Now you want to dance?”
“Yeah.”
The band started up again, a slow blues this time, but I couldn’t bring myself to put my arms around her and sway like the couples around us—I was too worked up.