“Actually man, I don’t.” He comes closer and pats my back. “You wanna talk to Uncle Finny-Winny?” He takes another drink, and I’m done.
“Thanks, but I’d rather give myself a prostate exam.” Truth is I’d love to talk to someone about it all, but my boys are on their way out of state, and I’m not giving a Snow Pirate any ammunition against me—especially not someone who’s fucking my ex.
“Suit yourself. I’d better go find my girl, anyway. Have you seen her? She’s here with a blonde from out of town.”
My skin tingles under his scrutinizing stare, and it’s taking all of my strength not to get whiplash snapping my neck to look for Savannah around the bar.
“I knew it.” He points at me, turning to lean his back against the edge of the bar.
I finish my drink in two gulps and grab my coat. I need to put space between Savannah and me. It’s time to clear my head, think things through, and try to figure out what—if anything—I want to do.
“Thanks for the beer, man.”
“She’s at your three o’clock.”
I did not need to know that. And I’m struggling to act like I don’t care.
Finn taps the side of his nose like he’s been told the codes to the nuclear football. “It’ll be our little secret.”
* * *
When I said I needed space between Savannah and me, I didn’t mean this much space. I take it back. It’s been a week since Thanksgiving. We’re both back in Cedar Rapids, and while I’ve seen her a couple times from a distance, I haven’t been in her space. I don’t like it.
Her bruise has likely faded, leaving no trace of our earth-shattering kiss on her flawless skin.
I just finished up a shift at the bookstore, and I’m waiting for the new girl to show up to take over. The guys are all assembled at the couches ready for this month’sGet Litbook club. Frieda ordered pie from my favorite pie place—GTFO—and if this chick doesn’t hurry up and arrive for her shift, I’m going to miss out.
“This pie’s disappearing fast, Cap.” How Tate enunciates around the mouthful of pastry and fruit he has in his mouth is anyone’s guess. But somehow he yells that warning at me and doesn’t spit out a single piece of pie in the process. That’s pretty impressive.
“Sorry! Sorry! I’m so sorry, Frieda! I got held up and I couldn’t find my phone to call—God.” Savannah stops dead as she spies me behind the counter wearing our navy-blue polo shirts with The Book Bin logo over my heart.
I tell myself to make a joke about her calling God but I’m too busy trying to urge my tongue up from the floor and back into my mouth.
How the hell does she make a work polo look that good? She has sex hair. It’s wild and unruly from the wind outside, and I want to bury my fingers in it and kiss that subtle pink lipstick off her lips.
“Justin?”
Say something, you fucking dumbass. “Hey, Vannah.” I frown. “Sorry. Savannah.” I want to smack myself in the face. With a bat. Or a wall.
Her pink cheeks darken and her lips twitch into a small smile. “Vannah’s fine. I didn’t know you worked here.”
I give her a shrug. “I didn’t know you worked here either.” Could have guessed, though. SB is on the schedule, I just didn’t think SB was Savannah Bowen.MySavannah. It’s like the cosmos are bringing us together at every turn. And yet I’m bumfuzzled every goddamn time. Clearly I’m destined to marry this woman. “I guess we didn’t get to employment history.”
“I’m new. I just started a couple days ago.”
This conversation is fucking painful, and I’m acutely aware of the fact that half my team is sitting six feet away watching this train wreck with interest.
“Tate’s eating your pie, Cap.”
Fuck the damn pie. I hold up two fingers over my shoulder.
“Your hockey player book club?” She tips her head.
I nod, and one of the guys at the table says something about being famous. “Frieda said we could have it here since it’s quiet.”
I hate this. Our conversation is stilted, our bodies stiff, and I just heard Scott snort out a laugh behind me.
I had my tongue in this girl’s mouth last week. My fingers pressed into her ass cheeks, and my dick rubbed against her pussy. Granted it was clothed, but still. I wasright there.
