Page 15 of Meant to Be

“I’m an OHT.”

“A what?”

“Oral Health Therapist,” I explain, suppressing a smile at his adorable clueless expression. Frustrating on anyone else, but adorable on Nick.

“Sorry, I don’t know what that is.”

“I’m a dentist for children up to the age of eighteen, basically.”

“Oh.” He nods, his dark eyebrows dipping for a moment. “Cool. Do you enjoy that?”

“Yeah, I do. It pays well, and I’m always meeting new people.”

“Good for you, Josie.” He pronounces ‘Josie’ slow and a little strange, as if testing the word out on his tongue for the first time.

“I tried to become a professional makeup artist, but there is a lot of competition for that, so I tried this and stuck with it.”

“Right,” he says. He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly looking a little awkward. Both of those career choices aren’t really career choices in Fern Grove.

“I’ll get us some drinks. Black fish?” I stand so abruptly, the chair behind me screeches against the floor.

“I’ll get them,” he insists.

“Next round.” I wave him off and saunter to the bar, feeling the eyes of almost every person in the pub on me.

I tap my fingers along the bar as I wait. A tall boy has appeared, with long hair pulled back into a messy low bun. His dark-washed jeans cling tightly to his legs, and a series of dark, swirling tattoos litter his arms. He doesn’t look country enough to be in a place like this. Too trendy, too …shit. My heart flops into my stomach with a sickeningsplat.

It’s him.

He laughs as he serves an old man with puffs of white hair covering his face and a round belly barely contained under his thin shirt. My eyes travel back to Harley.

Harley freaking Caldwell. The boy of my dreams. Or rather, nightmares.

Perfect olive skin. Stunning blue eyes. Razor-sharp jawline. God damn it. Why is he still so beautiful?

He finishes his conversation with the man and absently drags a too-used cloth across the bench before his eyes settle on me. Or my chest, to be more specific. I tilt my head to the side as his eyes travel everywhere I want them to.

“Sex on the beach,” I say.

He startles as if caught doing something he shouldn’t. “What?”

“Sex on the beach?” I drawl, leaning over and pushing myself onto the benchtop, watching his eyes drift lower once more. “Are you capable of making me one?”

He finally pulls his gaze to my eyes and blanches. Because he realises who I am. And he looks like he’s been shot in the foot.

I nod, confirming the question behind his eyes.

“You …”

“Remember me?” I ask.

He hasn’t blinked in about thirty seconds.

“I sure remember you, you piece of shit,” I murmur, leaning further in, my fingernails pressing into the palms of my hand as I fist them. “You ruined my life, and I will never forget that. You’re a selfish asshole, and I prayed I’d never have to see your face again.”

With that, I straighten, the aloof expression finding my face again as I survey the basic alcohol selection.

“Two beers. Black fish will do.” My gaze drifts around the room, and several people dart their eyes away.