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Shane glanced over at his passenger—one who’d passed out at the two hour mark. She was curled against the window, the now ratty looking fur thing draped across her chest, and her face was hidden by a tangled mess of hair.
He pulled up at the stop light on the other side of the bridge and while he waited for it to turn green, he glanced down at his cell. There were more than a dozen text messages from Billie and only one from his buddy Logan saying, ‘you alright?’
Shane blew out a hot breath and pressed his foot onto the gas pedal. Was he alright? Hell the fuck no. His plan for the last few months had been working—avoid Bobbi at all costs. Do not engage, and definitely don’t let her get inside your head. So how had he managed to find himself embroiled in the middle of Bobbi’s wedding day shit?
“Fuck,” he muttered, glancing at the still slumbering woman.
He thought of Gerald Dooley—and he couldn’t lie—a sense of something other than pity rolled over him. The guy had always been a tool. A boring, lame ass tool. What had Bobbi expected?
He crossed the bridge, hung a left and followed the river until he turned down Bobbi’s street. It had been ages since he’d been this way and though it seemed that everything in his life had changed, he realized there was still a hell of a lot that hadn’t.
There was still one woman who managed to screw it up even more than it already was.
Shane stopped the truck near the edge of the driveway and put it in park, letting the engine idle as he gazed at the house. It was dark, no stars in the sky tonight, but the porch lights were on and a warm glow fell from the windows on the main level. He spied Logan’s truck as well as Dooley’s black SUV parked behind Herschel’s old Ford. Billie’s small compact was nowhere to be seen, but then he supposed it was what she had used to get to The Hard Rock.
He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and his eyes lingered on the decorations that waved gently in the wind. A large sign on the back of Dooley’s vehicle said, ‘Just Married’ though it had come loose and it too, dangled in the breeze.
Just like his fiancé.
A harsh smile lifted his lips and he turned to Bobbi again. Her hand was curled underneath her chin, her breaths deep and even. That mad mess of hair was all over the place so her features were hidden, though her plump lips were visible. She moaned slightly and turned toward the window and it was then that his reality rolled away. He felt it peel back and the sensation was sharp.
Something hard—something he couldn’t name—punched him in the gut and Shane undid his seatbelt. He slid over and before he could stop himself, gently moved the hair behind her ear. He wasn’t sure how long he stared down at the simple Gaelic symbol that was there, the same one he had tattooed onto his left bicep. It meant ‘forever.’
It had meant that she was his forever.
His forefinger brushed along the lines and in that moment everything he’d ever felt for Bobbi crashed into him. It left him burning. Shaking. It left him full and then empty. He remembered the day they’d gotten the tattoos. He remembered how she’d wanted hers put in that spot—the spot he loved to lick and kiss. The spot that had her trembling in his arms.
It was his spot. And he couldn’t believe it was still there.
She moved beneath his touch and he removed his hand as she slowly murmured something. Her eyes flickered open and she glanced out the window, wincing as her head fell back against the cold glass.
“Please take me somewhere else,” she whispered, her shaking hand tugging at her hair as she exhaled and closed her eyes.
Shane eyed that tattoo again and before he could stop himself, he put the truck in gear and drove off into the night.
He knew he was crazy. Hell, he was full blown mental to even consider getting involved in her shit, but for whatever reason he didn’t want to analyze his reaction. Didn’t want to think about the consequence. All he knew was, in that moment, he didn’t want Bobbi anywhere near Gerald Dooley.
He wanted her back at his place. In his bed. He wanted her trembling in his arms while he nuzzled that spot. His spot.
After everything he’d been through, what the hell was that all about?
Chapter Five
Bobbi woke up swimming in a haze of sunlight and pain. With a groan she rolled over and winced, burying her head in the pillow in an attempt to block out the light.
Oh God, what the hell had she done last night? It felt as if she had drank an entire bottle of…
Oh, wait. Something stirred in her mind and she groaned again. She had downed an entire bottle of whiskey, or damn near all of it. And maybe some tequila thrown in as well. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. She hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol other than the occasional glass of wine in years.
Intoxication and control didn’t go hand in hand, and lord knows she was all about control these days. What the hell had she been thinking?
Right. She hadn’t been thinking. Because thinking and control went hand in hand and the alcohol had totally trumped them both.
Bobbi waited a few seconds for her head to settle and then a few more while her stomach stopped rolling, and then she opened one eye, swearing as the sunlight streaming in from the window hit her dead center. Slowly, her vision focused, and she let out a yelp—which only made her head pound worse—and rolled off the bed in a hurry.
Clutching her cranium she turned back and stared into the dark eyes of a dog with a longish coat the color of caramel. No, not so much a dog but a mutt really, one who was on the bed as if it had every right to be—which for all Bobbi knew, it did.
The dog rose and hopped off the bed. It ran over to Bobbi’s side as if waiting for her to do something. Its ears were overly long, with tufts of white hair gracing the ends and its eyes were as big as a deer’s. Its short stubby tail wagged madly, so hard in fact that Bobbi was afraid it would fall over.
