Page 26 of Don’t Go Stealing My Heart

Jack flinched. “What?”

“Take a year off. Have fun with her instead.”

Jack pictured his father, misty eyed, saying how much he loved watching his son sing. “I can’t take a year off.”

“Then take her out and deal with the fallout when Alistair the Asshole gets up in your face about it, because you know he will.”

That was a forgone conclusion. And hiding a date or relationship in Whichway was as easy as hiding the moon. If you sneezed in this town, ten people dropped off chicken soup the next day. “Winning is important to me, and she doesn’t live here anyway. There’s no point pursuing her.”

Marco rolled his wrist absentmindedly. “Sounds like you don’t need my advice, then.”

“Guess I don’t.”

“Yeah, you’ll be way better off without a dragon-loving woman who isn’t offended by your recessive seduction gene and seems attracted to an Elvis impersonator—”

“Tribute artist.”

“I’m just saying, forgetting her seems like a swell idea. One you won’t regret at all.” Marco’s sarcasm was annoyingly insightful.

Even more annoying was that Jack couldn’t tell Marco the Gossip Monger about his father and explain what this year’s festival really meant to him. “All I know is—”

Clementine.

All he knew was that Clementine was here, sauntering toward the bar, again encroaching on his life, his space, his thoughts. It was like she knew his schedule, how he filled his minutes outside of work and rehearsal. She wore tight jeans and red-as-sin cowboy boots, a soft looking cream tank top with buttons up the front. He shouldn’t be happy to see her. He should curse her unshakable presence. Instead, all he could picture was her jeans off, those sinful boots hooked over his shoulders as he devoured her.

Marco waved his hand in front of Jack’s face. “You still there? Did my sly reverse psychology actually work?”

“Clementine’s here.”

Marco swiveled and zeroed in on her immediately. “Wow. Yep. You did not lie. She’s damn beautiful.”

She sure was, and picking her out wasn’t tough when they knew almost everyone in the bar. In Jack’s attempt to not stare at Clementine, he nodded at the Smith brothers, who both had three kids in college. A reminder of how vital saving the company was. Jack couldn’t even think about Marco and how much his best friend depended on his job.

His attention slid back to the woman who’d occupied his mind too often the past few days. He quickly looked away. A few tourists sat a table, and the man with the forearm knife tattoo was in a corner. He apparently enjoyed snubbing locals, feeding ducks at the park, and taking an eyeful of Clementine. He was barely visible, that corner booth always dim, but his attention on Clementine sent a wave of possessiveness through Jack.

Marco kicked Jack’s boot. “Go on, Casanova. Talk to her.”

“There’s no point.”

“She already knows you suck at chatting up hot women.”

“It has nothing to do with that.” Amazingly, it didn’t. The past few days, running and sharing coffee and pastries with her had verged on effortless. Clementine’s endless questions had helped. He could focus on those instead of his blasted self-consciousness. They’d even joked some. With friends, he didn’t stumble over his words or struggle making eye contact. With her it had been an upward battle that seemed to be leveling out. Because she was becoming a friend, which is exactly what she should remain.

He caught Tami’s eye and lifted his empty beer, signaling for another round. He would stay where he was, drain his beer, and forget how much he liked the girl in the red boots.

If only he could tear his gaze away from her.

9

Clementine could feel Jack’s eyes on her, sizzling up her spine. She’d noticed him first thing but had kept her cool. She hadn’t acknowledged him or stared at how his threadbare T-shirt accentuated his muscular build. Nope. It was his turn to seek her out.

She pulled out her phone.

Clementine: I’m at the bar. He’s here, and I’ve decided to switch gears.

Lucien: Why?

Clementine: He’s being cagey. Might not be so easy to con. I’ll give it a couple days. Break in if it doesn’t pan out.