Page 203 of Things We Left Behind

Stef snorted into his wineglass and exchanged what-­an-­idiot looks with Jeremiah.

Nash set his bottle down on the bar. “I’m just gonna throw this out there before one of us does or says something stupider. Donottalk about Sloane like she’s one of the model scientist one-­night stands you’ve been burning up the sheets with lately.”

“Things just got interesting,” Stef sang and nodded toward the door.

There she was. In a short black turtleneck dress that showed off the curves I’d so thoroughly explored. Her hair hung in a straight, sleek curtain down her back. Every muscle in my body tensed. My cock went rock-­hard. It was too soon. I shouldn’t have come here. I wasn’t ready to see her and not feel things.

“Looks like someone isn’t waiting around for you to call,” Nash observed.

It was then that I realized she wasn’t alone. She was on a date with Kurt Michaels, the kid-­loving teacher. He looked exactly like the kind of guy who would have kids. He’d buy a minivan and coach baseball, and every Christmas Eve, he’d stay up late, putting together toys.

Fuck.

“Man, that’s gotta sting,” Knox said smugly.

“Gotta admire our guy Luce here,” Nash said. “If Angelina had shown up on a date, I would have gone in swinging and not stopped until I carried her out over my shoulder. Not Rollins though.”

“Luce could give a shit that the girl he pushed away because he was too chickenshit to have feelings just showed up on a date,” Knox said, picking up the thread.

“Fuck you both,” I said into my bourbon.

“You could at least stop staring at them like you want to rip his arms off prior to carrying her off like a caveman,” Stef suggested.

“Fuck you too,” I shot back.

Jeremiah held up his hands and grinned. “Don’t look at me, man. You live your life the way you want.”

What I wanted was to turn away, to at least look in another direction. But I was riveted. The silver tips in her hair were gone. In their place was a single lavender streak.

“Now, I’m a straight man,” Knox mused at my elbow. “As such, I’m not the greatest judge of male attractiveness. But that guy is hot.”

“Agreed,” Stef, Jeremiah, and Silver the bartender said in unison.

“I hate all of you,” I announced.

Knox grinned. Silver smirked and slid me another bourbon.

The conversation shifted to weddings, family, and small-­town gossip, none of which I could contribute to. Not that I was listening anyway, since Sloane had leaned in and put her hand on the teacher’s arm as they shared a laugh about something.

My insides coiled into an icy knot as a torrent of delusional thoughts raced through my mind.

Her hand should be onmyarm. I should be the one sitting across the table from her. I should be the one taking her home, waking up next to her. Reading what she was reading. Yelling at the evil cat. It should bemein her life.

Sloane released the teacher’s arm and got up from the table. Without even glancing in my direction, she made a beeline for the restroom. I poured the bourbon down my throat, set the glass on the bar, and followed her.

“Oh, no. Not today, Satan,” Sloane announced, shaking her head when she exited the restroom three minutes later and found me lurking like a felon.

“I just want to talk,” I assured her.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

She’d frozen me out for nearly two weeks and now tossed casual disdain in my face like I was some petty annoyance.

“How’s your date going?” I asked acidly.

“Great. Thanks for asking,” she snarled.

“You’re welcome. I’m so fucking happy for you,” I shot back.