Dirty Thoughts(12)

“Yes.”

“Then you’re good to go.” He did turn around now and retreated behind the counter. He didn’t need to stand there within arm’s reach of her when he had no intention of touching her. He didn’t need to smell her hair or whatever perfume she had on.

He didn’t need it. He had his life. His good, solitary life without being responsible for other people. Jenna was just reminiscing. She could do that all she wanted, but she could leave him out of it.

She jingled the keys. “Okay, well, thank you so much for working on it. I know you guys are the best.”

There was the flattery again. “No problem. You have fun, uh, doing whatever you’re doing tonight.”

She smiled. “Delilah and I are going out. She said there’s a new place over in Hattery that serves great martinis.”

He wouldn’t know. Hattery was a little salty for his taste. “Drive safe, then.”

“Thanks again.”

“Any time.”

She turned around and walked out the door, her heels clicking on the floor.

When her car pulled away, he dropped his forehead onto the counter. This was going to take some time. He’d have to get used to possibly running into Jenna in town. When he did go out, he tended to head south to Brookridge. So if he hooked up with a woman, there wasn’t much risk of running into Jenna. He’d tried the relationship thing a couple of times after Jenna left. And he didn’t know if it was that he missed her or missed what they had. The women after her had complained about his lack of communication and emotions. He didn’t know how to do that anymore. With Jenna, it had all been so easy.

His brothers received his emotions now, when he had them to give, and that was it. Everything else, he kept to himself. And he’d been fine with that, until Jenna’s eyes had met his again and brought up all those memories.

He sighed. Fuck.





Chapter Four

JENNA FORGOT THAT she hated martinis.

Okay, so maybe she didn’t hate them, but she’d rather have a nice glass of merlot or something.

Martinis were pretty to look at, all suave in their delicate glasses with the olive-laden toothpicks. She felt sophisticated holding them too.

But then she remembered that it felt fake, like she was playing pretend, just like she’d done for so many years in New York. That wasn’t who she was. She was Jenna MacMillan from small Tory, Maryland, and dammit, she wanted a glass of wine. Boxed would do. Honestly, she’d drink it out of a sippy cup. She wasn’t picky.

She took a sip of her pomegranate martini and grimaced.

“I’m starting to get a complex, because you look like you’re in pain, sitting here with me.” Delilah raised her thin-mint martini to her lips. Jenna thought the concept sounded delicious, but the smell was not enticing, kind of like toothpaste.

“I’m sorry.” She placed a hand over her friend’s. “It’s not you; it’s this drink.”

“You don’t like it?”

Jenna shook her head and pushed her drink into Delilah’s grasping hand. Jenna was driving, so she’d limited herself to one drink. And since she’d only had about three sips, she was confident in her sober status. Delilah was driving too, but despite her small stature, the girl had a high tolerance.

After Jenna had picked up Dylan’s car, she’d driven to her place. She dropped off her brother’s car and got into the used car she’d bought a week earlier. She hadn’t needed a vehicle in New York, and even though Dylan said she could drive his, she wanted something for herself. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a late-model Honda Civic.

Then she drove to Hattery to meet Delilah, chastising herself the whole way for getting all weird with Cal. Why, why on earth, of all things, had she brought up River’s Edge? She’d dwelled on those memories of the back of Cal’s truck for years. She’d daydreamed about being seventeen again, no care in the world, no responsibilities. All that had mattered when she’d been in his truck was him. His whispered words in her ear that were only for her, his questing fingers, his strong lips. She’d built it up so big in her head that it had almost become a fantasy. They were larger than life now, those memories. They were private. So she had no idea what had possessed her to spew them at Cal’s feet.

Delilah was sipping happily, glancing around the bar, named Olive Tree. It was cute, one of those places that was only lit by a couple of strategically placed wall sconces and candles on the high-top tables. The walls were decorated, appropriately, in an olive tree motif. Other than martinis, the bar served tapas. They’d ordered chopitos, which was fried baby squid. Jenna ignored what it was, because it was, in fact, delicious. Which worked, because she could really go with eating some of her feelings right now. She’d already decided the artisanal cheese plate was next, because it came with some dark chocolate.