Bucking the Rules(67)

Waste. All of it.

She hated waste.





Trace sat in the truck, engine still on, arguing with himself.

Go in, face the wrath, face the accusations and the anger. He deserved them all. And if she was done with him, he’d have to walk back out into the night and accept it.

Or turn around and not know for one more day. Have one more night to pretend Jo was his, and he had something to build on.

Trace had never considered himself a coward before. Never bolted at the thought of breaking a horse, of possibly taking hard kicks or being stepped on, knocked around a stall. He’d never shied from a fight. But the thought of knowing, without a doubt, Jo was done with him had him seriously debating turning tail to deal with it another night.

Fuckwit. He growled at himself and jerked the key out of the ignition. Then he took five deep breaths. Just what he would need … to fuck up his car so he couldn’t actually leave after she kicked him out.

Climbing out of the truck, he paused, hand wrapped around the top of the door as that kid from a few nights ago walked out of Jo’s bar and down the street. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his head hung down low, and his feet stomped like a little boy’s going to time out with a pissy attitude.

Trace smirked. Kicked you out again, huh? Serves you right.

Then his good humor died. Odds were, he’d be walking in the same footsteps in a few minutes. Cautiously, he opened the door and waited for a moment for some bad omen to slap him in the chest. But when he walked in, the bar was oddly quiet. A few tables had patrons, a server worked here or there, cleaning or talking to customers, but otherwise, slow night.

Jo was behind the bar. She caught sight of him and smiled a little before the expression slid from her face. She grabbed a rag, started to wipe down the bar, then scowled and tossed it away.

“Mind if I sit?”

She motioned to a chair. “Free country.”

He eyed her as she started filling a water glass. “Is that to toss in my face?”

“If it is?” she asked, not looking up.

“Can you at least skip the ice?”

She snorted, then sighed. “No, it’s not to toss at you. Here.” She slid it at him, then poured herself another glass. “I figured water would suit better than a beer for this conversation.”

Likely right. He glanced up at the clock over the bar, next to the flat screen. “What time are you closing up?”

“Whatever time I want.” When he shook his head, she shrugged. “No sense in paying servers tonight. It’s a Tuesday, no sporting events going on tonight, and clearly nobody’s killing time out and about. I’ll have them lock up at nine.”

Have who?

She motioned to someone behind him, and Amanda slid up next to him. “Yeah, boss?”

“What’s this boss crap?”

Amanda smiled prettily. “Just being dutiful in front of the customers.”

Jo rolled her eyes. “You’re on bar duty for the rest of the night. Reposition the stations so the other three can cover the floor.”

The woman huffed and walked around the bar. “Yeah, so we can all manage the big rush?”

Jo sighed, grabbed her cell phone from under the bar and stuffed it in her back pocket. A back pocket hugging a very fine ass he was hoping he’d get to see again sometime soon.

Wishful thinking, cowboy.

“Just have Stu lock up at the end of the shift, and call me if there’s trouble.”

“Like there’s ever trouble.” Amanda shooed them away. “Off you go. Both of you.”

He watched her for a minute, then shrugged. If Jo had told her about them, or she’d figured it out, it was fine with him. He never really cared for playing the invisible man anyway.





Chapter Sixteen


Trace followed her up the stairs and into her apartment, keeping a close-but-respectful distance away. Hands off, unlike any other time they’d climbed those stairs. No gentle guidance at the small of her back, no playful pats on her ass or carrying her up on his back. Nothing that said we’re still lovers.

Not good.

Jo dumped her keys in the dish by the door and set her cell phone on the table, then pointed to a chair. “Sit.”

He did so, not wanting to anger the bear by getting out of line. She sat across from him, hands close enough to her body to discourage reaching out for her.

“I feel lied to.” And the well-deserved punches started coming.

He winced. “I’m sorry.”

“Not done.” She held up a hand, then let it fall to the table lightly. “I feel like you held back this whole time. You had something in your life that affected our relationship, and you never let me in on it. I won’t say I’m hurt, because that’s going too far.”