C5 5

I shake my head, then realize it’s kind of fun to roll it from side to side, and do it again. “I don’t want to go to your house,” I tell John. “I want to stay here and forget that today was the worst day of my life.”

“I’ll make it better.”

The tall man behind John narrows his eyes at my overly aggressive suitor before turning his gaze on me. This time, I really look at him. He’s like a Greek god—tall, with shoulders so broad they probably have their own zip code. His lips quirk, and his eyes—oh God, his eyes are amazing. They’re this deep brown and turn down a little at the corners, as if he smiles so rarely that his eyes have forgotten how. He could play a tortured movie hero with those eyes.

“We both feel this thing between us,” John says, and I tear my gaze away from the tortured hero. “Let’s get out of here. I promise we won’t do anything you don’t want to do.”

“All I want to do is drink more tequila.” But not with him. No, that doesn’t actually sound like a good time at all.

“Then let’s get out of here.”

“No.” Suddenly, I’m out of patience with John and his inability to take no for an answer. I push on his shoulder to urge him away from me. “Give me some space, okay?”

John doesn’t budge. His hand wraps around my upper arm, and his thumb rubs tiny circles on my shoulder. “I think you like me in your space.”

I do my best to conjure psychic abilities and telepathically beg the guy behind John to help. When he continues to stare with those sad eyes rather than intervene, I mentally chastise myself. I’m a grown woman. I don’t need some tall, dark stranger to scare away unwanted suitors. I can save myself. “I don’t, actually,” I tell John. It’s crowded in here, but if I slide off the barstool and squeeze behind the group of guys by the pool table, it’ll put distance between me and this guy, and maybe he won’t try to follow. God, what a buzzkill.

Before I can decide the best way to escape, the Greek god steps around John to stand by my side. In the next breath, he sweeps John’s hand away from my arm. “Johnny boy,” he says. “I see you met my girlfriend. I think you’re making her uncomfortable.”

John’s eyes narrow, and his lips twist. “You don’t have a girlfriend.”

The tall guy slings an arm over my shoulder and smiles, but it’s not sincere, and definitely not kind. “Sure I do. And even if I didn’t, I’m pretty sure she asked you to give her some space.”

John backs up a full three feet and holds up both hands. “Listen, sorry if your girl was making eyes at me. I guess it was a misunderstanding.”

The tall guy arches a brow, and I don’t have to be a mind reader to know what he thinks of John. His expression says, You’re a fucking douche, and if you don’t back off, I’m going to see how it feels to bury my fist in your face. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part. I’ve never had one guy punch another for me, and right now, that sounds fun. Sorry, John.

“Fuck this. She’s not worth it,” John says. He swipes his beer off the counter and stumbles to the other side of the bar to a group of guys standing around a pool table.

When John’s gone, my Greek god turns to me. “You okay?”

I really like him. I wish I’d let him buy me a drink and not John. Then again, John wanted to buy me a drink, and this guy seems more irritated at having to help than interested in making small talk with a random drunk girl. “I’m fine.” I’m not fine. I’m so far from fine that I don’t even know what fine looks like anymore.

“John doesn’t take a hint very well.”

“I’ve gotten more foreplay from my gynecologist.”

He chokes on his beer. “Is that so?”

“I suppose this is my fault. I smiled at him and let him buy me a drink.”

“John or your gynecologist?”

I shake my head. “John. My OBGYN doesn’t drink, and anyway, she’s not my type.”

The guy bites his lip, and I think there might be a smile trapped under those perfect white teeth. “I’m still not convinced it’s your fault. Anything else you did to give John the wrong idea?”

“Asked him questions.”

He folds his arms. “What kind of questions?”

“I asked his name. Is that, like, a mating ritual here? What’s your name? means we’ll be screwing like bunnies in fifteen minutes?”

He chuckles then shakes his head. “Are you just drunk, or are you always this adorable?”

I frown. Did he just flirt with me? I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even like me, so why would he flirt? “Can’t it be both?”

He turns his head and cuts his gaze to John before bringing it back to me. His eyes scan my face as if he’s still trying to determine if I’m okay. “Listen, I’ve got a meeting.”

“Isn’t it Saturday night?” I tap my phone to wake it, and the screen reads 11:05. If I were still in Jeffe—if Veronica weren’t pregnant, if Marcus hadn’t betrayed me—I’d be in the bridal suite at the Plaza right now. Instead, I took my sister’s plane ticket to Grand Rapids. While I was on the plane, I used her phone to open her email account, where I found a reservation for a rental car and a night in a hotel in a town called Jackson Harbor. Fast forward a few hours, a few shots of tequila, and a whole lot of trying not to think, and here I am.

And somehow, my story is still more believable than this man having a business meeting at eleven o’clock on a Saturday night.

“You don’t have to make up some meeting just because you don’t want to talk to me,” I say.

He holds my gaze for a long beat, and I feel something. It’s not that desperate need to forget Marcus that I felt when John offered to buy me a drink. It’s something else—a long, slow tug that’s unraveling the knots in my belly and turning them into something better.

When he breaks the connection and drops his gaze to my glass of water, the feeling disappears, as if it was never there to begin with. “If he bugs you again, don’t hesitate to come over, okay?”

Don’t go. “Okay.” I extend a hand. “Nic. My name’s Nic. What’s yours?”

He shakes his head. “Sorry. I’ve got plans in fifteen minutes.”

I frown as he walks away. Just when I might have felt foolish, he looks at me over his shoulder and winks, and I get it. The mating ritual. “You’re funny!” I call after him.

“And you’re drunk.” He grins, and holy hell, the Greek god with the sad eyes and the broad shoulders has a dimple. I’m such a sucker for a dimple.

My smile falls away. Marcus has a dimple too. I thought I’d see that dimple tonight. I imagined stripping out of my wedding gown and watching him smile in appreciation of my body. I’ve been dieting and exercising for months so I could look my best on our special night. All the while, he was fucking my sister.