Page 5 of Sterling Fight

“Quirky Girl Calendar, right?” He tips a brow and for half a second, the other half of the one from earlier, I think Ralson might have something positive to say. Something encouraging, like asking me about my company, or wanting to know more about my meeting. Maybe he is slightly redeemable.

“Your mom told me about your little hobby.”

Nope. There goes the credit I wanted to give him.

“Ralson, it’s been . . .”

Nope. I can’t do that either. I can’t even pretend this has been fun. Or real. Or whatever might soothe his ego.

Singling and mingling. It’s been my choice, although it’s also been daunting lately, and I don’t have the strength to fake my enthusiasm for a date that was more like a meetup. It’s almost worse than faking an orgasm. Almost.

“I’ve got to go,” I blurt, turning away from Ralson who is suddenly leaning against the side of my car. His hip presses into the back passenger door.

My heart hammers. A split decision is needed. Do I risk opening the door, hoping I can get in fast enough to close it behind me? Do I worry he’ll catch the door and push me further inside then follow me? Or do I hesitate, knowing he could easily step forward and block my entry once I have the door open?

These are all fears I don’t want to have. Ralson doesn’t feel threatening, even if he is a larger man. In general, I’m just tired of having to calculate how a man will respond in these situations.

The not-so-easy letdown situation.

“Genie, I just want to⁠—”

“She said she had to go.”

I spin at the sound of a masculine voice. One rich and deep, and a bit threatening on a different level. A protective pitch. A commanding trill.

And I stare into somber, sad eyes that ironically flame the brightest blue I’ve ever seen. A blue I recognize, because the shade matches a dress I once bought.

“Judd,” I whisper-choke.

His hair is slicked back yet that familiar flop of his bangs falls forward against his forehead. His face is pink in the light of the overhead lamp. His shoulders are broad in a tight tee. Broader than I remember when he was eighteen, and my prom date. When he’d finally been my friend, or so I thought. When he stood me up for that singular right-of-passage back in high school. And that night hadn’t even been my prom, but his.

He’d said yes but I heard the resounding no loud and clear at his absence.

Judd stares at me a long minute, as if trying to place me. I’m out of context, I assume. This isn’t high school Math Club. Or even Sterling Falls. Judd is four hours from his home and only miles from mine. Our paths have not crossed in over twenty years. Almost twenty-two.

I’m torn between pointing out who I am and letting him continue to ponder the recognition when Ralson speaks.

“Damn good fight, man.”

Judd grunts.

“I heard about you back in Charleston,” Ralson continues, fanboying. Judd has apparently made a name for himself, enough to at least have one follower.

Judd still doesn’t respond to Ralson’s enthusiasm. Those sorrowful eyes are trained on me, and I shiver in the mountain air.

“Anyway . . .” Ralson clears his throat at Judd’s unnerving silence. “Genie and I were just leaving.”

I spin toward Ralson. “Not together.” I don’t know how much clearer I need to be. I’m not leaving with him. I’m not interested in seeing him again, and the last person I want to see as well is Judd Sylver.

While I appreciate this interruption, considering the timing a momentary savior situation, I don’t have any desire to catch up with him.

The boy who stood me up. The one who stole my heart.

I can’t really fault him. He was always a bit quiet. Shy and aloof. He didn’t ask for my crush on him. He barely offered me his friendship.

And right now, I have nothing to offer him.

Still, Judd and I are locked in a moment. One where unfamiliar energy swirls around me, winding me up. He steps toward me. His gaze focused. His mouth open, as if he’s about to speak.