Right Kind of Wrong(15)

“Aren’t they all?”

I look at him, then through the window at the blonde. “You tell me.”

He looks through the window as well and I swear I see true pain in his eyes. “Maybe we’re both screwed.”

I take a final drag. “Maybe.”

Shaking himself from whatever memory it is that has him so haunted, Daren straightens his shoulders with a smirk. “Well good luck to you, then.”

“Same to you,” I say.

He moves across the porch, bypassing the front door, probably to avoid the blonde girl inside, and disappears around the corner.

I put out my finished cigarette and pop a piece of gum in my mouth. Jenna is going to bitch when she smells smoke on me. I already know it. But the gum might buy me a little time.

Then, cracking open the large inn door, I poke my head inside. Spying Jenna across the lobby, I watch her for a moment. She’s speaking in hushed tones with the pretty blonde Daren’s so hung up on, and leaning in with a mischievous smile.

All I can think about as I watch Jenna’s eyes light up is how much I want that smile pointed at me.

The way I felt about Jenna used to piss me off. I’ve never been one to need or even want a girl messing up my life. Just the opposite, in fact. The Lone Wolf role suited me well and I was perfectly content with my world of solitude. But Jenna came along and twisted everything up. She turned me inside out and made me feel complete in a way that made no sense. I fought the sentiment, of course. There’s no room for anyone in my fucked-up life—especially not a wild, stubborn, reckless girl like Jenna.

But fighting proved futile, and somewhat self-destructive, so I did what all good leaders do when they realize losing a battle could mean winning the war: I surrendered. Not to Jenna, exactly, but to the way she made me feel. It’s not a pretty or romantic thing. It’s a truth with scars and holes—and it commands me completely.

Does that make me weak? I used to think so. But then I see Jenna, still in the throes of a battle I’ve long since succumbed to, and I wonder which of us is stronger. Which of us sleeps well at night and which of us tosses in the moonlight.

Strength isn’t about what you can and cannot achieve. It’s about what you will and will not do in order to achieve. And on that, I know exactly where I stand.

Watching Jenna across the lobby, I take a deep breath and prepare for round two of what is sure to be a memorable—if not fatal—trip back home.

I call out, “I’m ready when you are, diva!”

Complete agitation covers her face as she whips around with narrowed eyes and yells, “Don’t. Call. Me. DIVA!”

I grin. “It never gets old.”

“God!” she exclaims, thrusting her arms up again.

The look on her face is priceless. I could do this all day. I might, actually.

Wagging my eyebrows in a totally inappropriate and suggestive manner, I slip back outside and let the door fall shut.

A moment later, the inn door flies open and Jenna stomps down the porch steps to meet me by the car. I quickly shove my phone in my pocket, wanting to put as much distance as possible between my present circumstances and the mess waiting for me in Little Vail, and climb into the car at the same time she does.

She’s huffing and puffing and cursing under her breath like a spoiled teenager, but when her eyes finally flick to mine there’s no hostility there, just impatience.

“You’re paying for all the gas,” she says, sliding a pair of dark sunglasses over her golden eyes. “And I mean every single drop.”

I lean back in the passenger seat, repressing the joyous satisfaction I feel at the haughtiness on her face. “Yes, ma’am.”

If buying Jenna’s gas keeps her safe by my side then I’ll purchase every last drop in the country. And then some.





7


Jenna


I’m well aware that I caved. Again. Which just proves that I really am putty when it comes to Jack. Not a good sign, especially considering the extensive amount of quality one-on-one time we’ll be spending together now that I’ve misplaced my backbone and bent to Jack’s every whim.

A shiver runs through me, and not the unwelcome kind. Damn Jack.

Jack makes things interesting. And I like having him around. These things are both true, despite my best efforts. But Jack can’t know that. Not just because it would ruin my grand life plan—which by the way, largely depends on me not getting involved with a guy, like ever—but because it would screw with his head. And I don’t screw with guys’ heads.

Do I flirt? Sure. Do I sleep with guys I’m attracted to? Absolutely. But I never lead guys on. It’s something I’m quite proud of, actually, and if I slip up around Jack that’s exactly what will happen. He’ll think one thing and I’ll be sure to do another. That’s the risk I’m taking, here on this journey across the states. And honestly, I’m not sure if it’s worth it. If I were to hurt Jack more than I already have… well, I might never recover.